Indo

Indo means "mind, mood, heart". That is the sense of it.


I can't... I can't take it seriously anymore. I'm too sad, too disappointed, much too bitter to just... to understand it. To accept it. To see what it really means, what the hell it is about. I mean, is it serious this time? Sincere? I was treated too fucking bad a year ago, and since then too - I've felt like a piece of furniture, one that's there. You know it's there, it's a solid old piece of furniture, you use it, but you don't really pay any attention to it. It doesn't mean anything, anything at all. It's just there, and you don't even notice it. It's hard to say if you'd do more than crease your brow slightly if it wasn't there, and then use another piece of furniture.

Which is an interesting comparison, as in some ways I feel like that's a bit what happened, only this new piece wasn't furniture at all but living and breathing and worthy of some sort of attention. Existing, you could say. Sentient.

Or maybe I just feel bitter and forgotten, much because no one listens as everyone is too used to me babbling inconsequent nonsense all the time. So why listen, then?
Because... because it actually means something. Because sometimes, I say things worth listening too. Because I stopped babbling so much, and I keep quiet now, a lot of the time. Because even I deserve to be recognized as existing.

Then again, I'm that piece of furniture no longer in the house. And I'm thinking, is that what's happened? Suddenly you realise you should use that piece of convenient furniture. Or is it because I'm no longer counted as furniture?

Either way, even whether it's those ways or any other way, I feel... Sometimes, I think I should try and be a bit more receptive, actually just pick up on it. But I can't. I can't do that. Memories burn, memories of being burned. Unthinking, perhaps, but then I read some old sentences, and I realise - I can't just shrug it off as that. Some might very well have been very, very deliberate. (I can not trust anyone anymore, that they are not doing something like that without deliberation, and, I also learned to guess when I am not interesting, just what one can get out of me).

Trust? Fuck no, trust, there's only one chance for that, it seems. Can't force myself to do so again.

So when suddenly there's a wee bit of listening (no, not really, but sometimes there's a genuine question, or at least the seeming of really listening to the reply, so maybe it is so) or attention or reception or deliberate interaction, I wake up and go all "...what? Uh, wait, wait, what's this? ...you serious? You can't be... no, no, I don't really trust that this is for real, that this is truly meant."
I can't trust that it is. I can't trust that it's not just common courtesy, which, even if it were, would be much more than I've come to expect.

And I'm sad, and I'm angry, and I'm bitter. I feel so... yeah. What I just said. There I was, all open and happy and suddenly that thing happened again... "When burnt, will shy away." I don't blame only the depression, which in any case should have been more reason for not doing... that. When a friend is down into something like that, you... don't you try and be close? Don't you even force yourself onto him or her, just to show, I'm here, I'm your friend, you have someone close? And so on.
I could be completely wrong, that's nothing I'd be surprised about! But... it just hurt so much.

And it's no worry, really. It will take years, it does that for me. Years, many perhaps. But I will... it will dissolve into the mist. It won't be as painful (I think) and eventually I may be able to say something like "I'm over it". It's just that it takes me a very long time. You can never rebuild whatever it was. But you can let it lie, accept it, and after that long, long time, maybe I will stop being bitter, angry, sad. I'm hoping it comes soon. I want to stop seeing it, stop feeling it. I want to feel and see good things, new things, that maybe can become permanent. That may not end up like this.


I think I might even let it lie. I'm not sure I will do what I should, which is once again swallow my self-respect and ask for a chat. Once. Again. I should. I believe I would be better off. But... I can't. I don't want to do that again. It's been too long, too much. There can be no repairing anymore, it is so much past that.

I guess... sometimes, when the person or persons you need to talk to isn't there for you to talk to, you have to do it on your own. I wish I could have held all these discussions, all these quarrels, all these calm talks, with the people I once needed to talk to. But I never could, so I had them in my head, in my mind, for myself, and it didn't feel good but maybe it was a tiny, wee bit better anyway. Just a bit. I suspect that's all I'll ever get, and so, that's all I'll ever have access to, and I'll once again have to be content with that.
So many, now. I'm hoping there won't be more. With any luck, none so bad, none so much, and it'll thin out over the years.

Bitter. Angry. Sad. All I ever had were my dreams, my memories. And one truth I know, though after a cruelly short time it dissolved into dust and ashes, that it really, really was truth. Back then. It was. I should just wish for an opportunity to have dealt with things when afterwards it shimmered, faded, crumbled. It would have made this... it would take me less time. Maybe years off.
Wishes, wishes. No good do they do.
It's time for this embittered elf to go to bed. I'm hoping to be less so tomorrow. Things were just a bit triggered by some things. It'll be better.