Portrait of an Addict as a Young Man
What is it that leads an exceptional young mind to want to disappear? "why did all the things that to anyone else, even to me, looked lucky, enviable, feel like burdens? It was the year I got tired, the year I began to give up. It was when the
What is it that leads an exceptional young mind to want to disappear?
"why did all the things that to anyone else, even to me, looked lucky, enviable, feel like burdens? It was the year I got tired, the year I began to give up. It was when the conducting wand broke and the sounds from the pit overwhelmed the conductor and drowned the hall"
"Not recognizing yourself in the mirror is like seeing a photo that someone takes of you at a party and having your jealous eye drawn to the unfettered, attractive, someone-who-belongs-everywhere person gazing through the photograph over an impassable distance between their world and yours; you see that lucky bastard who you imagine has never had an uncomfortable, insecure, unadored moment in his life and you despise his ease instantly. And then you find out it's you. It can't be, you're sure it's not you. But when you see that he has your clothes on and, yes, Jesus, yes, when you see that it's you, you think for a second: Is it possible that someone might make the same mistaken assumptions about the you who is not you? It shakes you for a moment and you decide that in some essential way, the person staring back through the photograph is actually someone else. Or rather, he doesn't exist. The angle of the photograph and the lie it achieves are like a suit. So if you're standing in a dressing room, looking in the mirror, and see someone who look like the person in that photograph, you buy the suit, because if that person can't actually exist, it might as well look as if he does."
"in the swarm of faulty reasoning I still know this will end badly, that it always does, and that I'm loading a gun and pointing it at my temple. But that voice, instead of being a deterrent, becomes part of the persuasion. On the other side of this bag is either a groggy day and a no-harm-done return to life or some kind of apocalypse. Lose nothing or lose everything. And losing everything spunds like a relief."
"I know, if only for a moment, that my worry will change nothing and that everything is how it is supposed to be. That I will be okay. [...] When it feels like the end of the world, it never is."