Vhalar 31, 723
.
Why did sad music make people sad? Was there some underlying wavelength that interloped with the emotions of those who listened? Were the recipients of such musical genius destined to encounter a melancholic fate? Was it something that could not be ignored by peoples’ ears? Was there some deep tone that could not be captured by the mortal eardrum that instead instilled shivers of sadness along the vertebrae? Kotton only felt the drums and the bass. He couldn’t comprehend the melody or the lyrics, but even knowing that he was always thrown into a state of depression, especially if the song held the whims of sadness. He was catapulted into a reality commiserated by profound artistic expression. The one that painted the song also portrayed the emotions that were associated with it, and in this case, those emotions were ones of devastation and grief. He didn’t need words to depict a picture, not if it was being expressed via instrumental notes.
He was placated at the bar, tending to a half filled glass of tequila. He felt the snare drum rumble under the floor and up his legs. It held so much emotion that a tear had began its journey, shedding steadily from his left eye. He brushed it away before it had time to fall. It was ridiculous to feel so much from such a simple song.
Wait… his memory failed him. He wasn’t sitting at the bar of a run down tavern was he? He was in fact where he needed to be every first day of the week. Had he been drinking so much that his memories of a time spent elsewhere began to bleed into reality?
He took a generous gasp of air and steadied his pounding heart. Whilst he oh so badly wanted to be sitting atop a stool at one of his most favourite haunts, he was instead eclipsed into a much different, less desirable destination. And that was sitting in front of his therapist. That’s where he was and this realisation gave way to unfiltered frustration. He wasn’t crazy; he didn’t need someone explaining to him what he already knew was wrong. But his father had insisted on him seeking professional help. So here he was. Yay.
Sometimes he wished his good conscience would simply ignore what he should do. He hated how a suggestion was turned into a declaration. Sometimes he hated that those lingering thoughts of ‘a virtuous person would’ pervaded his daily routine. People everywhere went against their parents; they did the opposite of what they were told to do. So why couldn't he?
“I think you put too much responsibility on your shoulders. You see this ultimate goal of perfection, but it just isn’t attainable.”
I can make it attainable, Kotton thought with a sneer.
His therapist shook his head before panning his gaze along the floor.
Kotton felt bad. His therapist had made a legitimate observation. It was only right that he should recognise it. “That’s twue,” Kotton conceded. His mind was still buzzing with a thousand bees, all insects of various originations of arbitrary ideas. “If I am given a task, I do feew the need to dewivew it perfectly. Ow else…”
“Or else what?”
Kotton hesitated, noticing his therapist’s stereotypical fist upon the chin- an obvious contemplative gesture. Wasn’t there a statue that mimicked this behaviour?
“Ow else... I feel like thewe is no one else who wiw do it the same way.”
“So you don’t trust people.”
Did Kotton not trust people? Perhaps he had lower expectations of his fellow co-workers than he did of himself. At least with him, he knew what to expect. He didn’t have control over the results of fellow employees. He wasn’t their parent. They could do what they wanted if that is what they wished. He wasn't paid enough to intervene at a supervisory level.
Kotton shrugged, not quite understanding the importance of the discussion. “I guess.”
“I have noticed you crave information. Learning new things is a passion for you.”
Kotton’s interest was quickly piqued.
“I mean, yes, but doesn’t evewyone?”
Was this a challenge? Did everyone else not desire to learn more? Were others’ brains stagnant upon reaching a certain threshold? He was always seeking more, always desiring something other than what had been given to him. He often felt like life was far too limited, almost as if its potential was subdued. It infuriated him that his own mind could not comprehend what its capacity truly could.
“The everyday normalcies aren’t enough for you. You desire more, and I understand that. I, too, was someone who needed more just to thrive.”
Kotton instinctively felt for the bandage under his long-sleeved shirt. He hated the ‘I understand’ comments people seemed to make. No one could truly understand how he felt. Everyone perceived things differently; it was like a toleration of pain. No ones tolerance of pain was the same, so why should anyone's emotional experience be different?
“I suggest you expand your horizons and find new things to discover.”
Kotton bit his tongue. He had tried that. He had tried cooking, he had tried learning new techniques of unarmed combat, he had tried to clean up his rusty understanding of languages. He had attempted to excavate himself from a long since mined tomb in order to uncover new hobbies and thereby discover unventured enthusiasms. Each and every encounter he had attempted had ended with restless defeat. And not one of them had escaped a regretful night’s sleep.
He continued to bite his tongue but let his therapist continue.
“I encourage you to seek out new hobbies, talk to new people, travel outside your comfort zone to realms that have yet to be discovered. Do you understand?”
The ethereal, dissonant and distant sound of a sorrow beat trembled amidst the air. Kotton felt it deep in his bones. His legs bounced in sync of the rhythm. He had been told so many things in his lifetime, and each and every one had yet to create the happily ever after he had been promised since childhood.
“Doctow,” he interrupted. He tried so hard to keep his teeth from clenching with wrath. “Is thewe anything I can do that I haven’t alweady done? I’ve done all that I wish to. I’ve found new hobbies, I’ve met new people, I’ve expewienced welationships, I have a stable job. I have a house and a weliable mode of transport. I am simply at a loss on what to do next.”
Kotton’s mind began to wonder, an epiphany quickly blossoming from the recesses of his chest. “Do you ever fink that some peopuw awe just destined to fink this way? I mean, what if this is the way fings are meant to be viewed? Pewhaps evewyone else is just viewing life through a cunningly cwafted facade and I am seeing past this veil of obscuwity? Who awe you to detewmine who is mentally ill ow not?”
HIs therapist looked at him with the blankest of expressions anyone could have mustered. It took him several moments to determine the next logical course of action. “I think we should increase the dosage of your medication. Life can be rough but there are many things to be happy about.”
Whether it was the innate sense of misery that had corrupted his soul, or his intelligent understanding, Kotton couldn’t help himself from stifling a laugh at the pathetic, evasive response. It beat around the bush and found a random, unrelated path to follow by way of answer. An internal roll of the eyes gave Kotton the energy needed to brush it off. He didn’t need someone certified to interpret people's thoughts and emotions to tell him what he already knew. He had seen countless people, all with varying degrees, and all of them had given him the very same answer. His question as to whether the world was actually reversed in point of perspective continued to remain without answer. And he was okay with that; it was just something he would just have to come to terms with accepting. He knew it was a difficult question to answer. But the fact that it could not be answered made him chuckle sardonically.
He might be a little egotistical, but sometimes his philosophical view existed without a contender. He desperately craved sensical and logical oppositions to disprove his theories. Sometimes he craved being wrong. He had had several people attempt to disagree with him, including his own father who was also a learned man, but the end of the conversation was always something to be picked up at another time- open ended.
Kotton also felt this way when it came to religion. People didn’t seem to be as philosophical as he was. And he was someone who regularly engaged an open mind. Even those in his secondary school classes hadn’t the capacity to comprehend his abstract deliberations.
His therapist cleared his throat, bringing Kotton back to the present. His fingers raked through his thinning black hair. “You tend to view life with negativity. How about you try to find things you enjoy, things that bring you happiness and maybe journal about how those activities make you feel?”
Kotton gave the wall beside him a thoughtful glance. Its bespeckled texture offered more intrigue than the advice he had been given.
What if his views were not negative, and instead were correct? What if everyone else had been drugged with the auspicious goal to progress and over-perform? One might say that he was being paranoid, or perhaps merely plagued by a malevolent creature. To this, he would argue without hesitation. Simply because the majority agrees does not make it right. Who was the one to instill a belief without an opposing and logical counter position? Just because something was deemed incorrect did not inherently make it so.
Kotton found his eyes narrowing with irritation. It took him a few deep breaths before he found his composure. He begrudgingly elicited a mumbled, “okay.”
His therapist seemed pleased with his response and quickly jotted an illegible note for a prescription.
“I’ll see you back in a couple weeks.”
Kotton looked at the floor, inescapable feelings of having been unheard and misunderstood. After a time, he raised his head and feigned a smile. “Sure.”
He couldn’t wait to exit the building.
He was placated at the bar, tending to a half filled glass of tequila. He felt the snare drum rumble under the floor and up his legs. It held so much emotion that a tear had began its journey, shedding steadily from his left eye. He brushed it away before it had time to fall. It was ridiculous to feel so much from such a simple song.
Wait… his memory failed him. He wasn’t sitting at the bar of a run down tavern was he? He was in fact where he needed to be every first day of the week. Had he been drinking so much that his memories of a time spent elsewhere began to bleed into reality?
He took a generous gasp of air and steadied his pounding heart. Whilst he oh so badly wanted to be sitting atop a stool at one of his most favourite haunts, he was instead eclipsed into a much different, less desirable destination. And that was sitting in front of his therapist. That’s where he was and this realisation gave way to unfiltered frustration. He wasn’t crazy; he didn’t need someone explaining to him what he already knew was wrong. But his father had insisted on him seeking professional help. So here he was. Yay.
Sometimes he wished his good conscience would simply ignore what he should do. He hated how a suggestion was turned into a declaration. Sometimes he hated that those lingering thoughts of ‘a virtuous person would’ pervaded his daily routine. People everywhere went against their parents; they did the opposite of what they were told to do. So why couldn't he?
“I think you put too much responsibility on your shoulders. You see this ultimate goal of perfection, but it just isn’t attainable.”
I can make it attainable, Kotton thought with a sneer.
His therapist shook his head before panning his gaze along the floor.
Kotton felt bad. His therapist had made a legitimate observation. It was only right that he should recognise it. “That’s twue,” Kotton conceded. His mind was still buzzing with a thousand bees, all insects of various originations of arbitrary ideas. “If I am given a task, I do feew the need to dewivew it perfectly. Ow else…”
“Or else what?”
Kotton hesitated, noticing his therapist’s stereotypical fist upon the chin- an obvious contemplative gesture. Wasn’t there a statue that mimicked this behaviour?
“Ow else... I feel like thewe is no one else who wiw do it the same way.”
“So you don’t trust people.”
Did Kotton not trust people? Perhaps he had lower expectations of his fellow co-workers than he did of himself. At least with him, he knew what to expect. He didn’t have control over the results of fellow employees. He wasn’t their parent. They could do what they wanted if that is what they wished. He wasn't paid enough to intervene at a supervisory level.
Kotton shrugged, not quite understanding the importance of the discussion. “I guess.”
“I have noticed you crave information. Learning new things is a passion for you.”
Kotton’s interest was quickly piqued.
“I mean, yes, but doesn’t evewyone?”
Was this a challenge? Did everyone else not desire to learn more? Were others’ brains stagnant upon reaching a certain threshold? He was always seeking more, always desiring something other than what had been given to him. He often felt like life was far too limited, almost as if its potential was subdued. It infuriated him that his own mind could not comprehend what its capacity truly could.
“The everyday normalcies aren’t enough for you. You desire more, and I understand that. I, too, was someone who needed more just to thrive.”
Kotton instinctively felt for the bandage under his long-sleeved shirt. He hated the ‘I understand’ comments people seemed to make. No one could truly understand how he felt. Everyone perceived things differently; it was like a toleration of pain. No ones tolerance of pain was the same, so why should anyone's emotional experience be different?
“I suggest you expand your horizons and find new things to discover.”
Kotton bit his tongue. He had tried that. He had tried cooking, he had tried learning new techniques of unarmed combat, he had tried to clean up his rusty understanding of languages. He had attempted to excavate himself from a long since mined tomb in order to uncover new hobbies and thereby discover unventured enthusiasms. Each and every encounter he had attempted had ended with restless defeat. And not one of them had escaped a regretful night’s sleep.
He continued to bite his tongue but let his therapist continue.
“I encourage you to seek out new hobbies, talk to new people, travel outside your comfort zone to realms that have yet to be discovered. Do you understand?”
The ethereal, dissonant and distant sound of a sorrow beat trembled amidst the air. Kotton felt it deep in his bones. His legs bounced in sync of the rhythm. He had been told so many things in his lifetime, and each and every one had yet to create the happily ever after he had been promised since childhood.
“Doctow,” he interrupted. He tried so hard to keep his teeth from clenching with wrath. “Is thewe anything I can do that I haven’t alweady done? I’ve done all that I wish to. I’ve found new hobbies, I’ve met new people, I’ve expewienced welationships, I have a stable job. I have a house and a weliable mode of transport. I am simply at a loss on what to do next.”
Kotton’s mind began to wonder, an epiphany quickly blossoming from the recesses of his chest. “Do you ever fink that some peopuw awe just destined to fink this way? I mean, what if this is the way fings are meant to be viewed? Pewhaps evewyone else is just viewing life through a cunningly cwafted facade and I am seeing past this veil of obscuwity? Who awe you to detewmine who is mentally ill ow not?”
HIs therapist looked at him with the blankest of expressions anyone could have mustered. It took him several moments to determine the next logical course of action. “I think we should increase the dosage of your medication. Life can be rough but there are many things to be happy about.”
Whether it was the innate sense of misery that had corrupted his soul, or his intelligent understanding, Kotton couldn’t help himself from stifling a laugh at the pathetic, evasive response. It beat around the bush and found a random, unrelated path to follow by way of answer. An internal roll of the eyes gave Kotton the energy needed to brush it off. He didn’t need someone certified to interpret people's thoughts and emotions to tell him what he already knew. He had seen countless people, all with varying degrees, and all of them had given him the very same answer. His question as to whether the world was actually reversed in point of perspective continued to remain without answer. And he was okay with that; it was just something he would just have to come to terms with accepting. He knew it was a difficult question to answer. But the fact that it could not be answered made him chuckle sardonically.
He might be a little egotistical, but sometimes his philosophical view existed without a contender. He desperately craved sensical and logical oppositions to disprove his theories. Sometimes he craved being wrong. He had had several people attempt to disagree with him, including his own father who was also a learned man, but the end of the conversation was always something to be picked up at another time- open ended.
Kotton also felt this way when it came to religion. People didn’t seem to be as philosophical as he was. And he was someone who regularly engaged an open mind. Even those in his secondary school classes hadn’t the capacity to comprehend his abstract deliberations.
His therapist cleared his throat, bringing Kotton back to the present. His fingers raked through his thinning black hair. “You tend to view life with negativity. How about you try to find things you enjoy, things that bring you happiness and maybe journal about how those activities make you feel?”
Kotton gave the wall beside him a thoughtful glance. Its bespeckled texture offered more intrigue than the advice he had been given.
What if his views were not negative, and instead were correct? What if everyone else had been drugged with the auspicious goal to progress and over-perform? One might say that he was being paranoid, or perhaps merely plagued by a malevolent creature. To this, he would argue without hesitation. Simply because the majority agrees does not make it right. Who was the one to instill a belief without an opposing and logical counter position? Just because something was deemed incorrect did not inherently make it so.
Kotton found his eyes narrowing with irritation. It took him a few deep breaths before he found his composure. He begrudgingly elicited a mumbled, “okay.”
His therapist seemed pleased with his response and quickly jotted an illegible note for a prescription.
“I’ll see you back in a couple weeks.”
Kotton looked at the floor, inescapable feelings of having been unheard and misunderstood. After a time, he raised his head and feigned a smile. “Sure.”
He couldn’t wait to exit the building.
