Soliloquy, NEARly

Woodward Forest-Lich
4 min readJun 22, 2022


It's alright Francis, I know what this is. It's just myself talking to myself about myself… - Thomas Michael Shelby

I wish I knew what to say; I tend to have a knack for finding the words, despite them not always being the right ones. Today… I woke up so vacant in my skull, that I think that has to be why it won't stop throbbing. The dull ache behind my eyes and under my temples lingers like an ever present unwanted massage, not inspiring pain as much as discomfort. I could pretend I'm certain of the cause, but the truth is my head feels and runs too fully to be empty. This means the pain isn't from hollowness, it can't be, not when I spent this much of my existence overburdened by thought.

I wish I wasn't drawing a blank, it's one of the few things I can't stand. I've never been a talented individual or blessed with natural ability for things, my wheelhouse was slightly more deliberate than innate. Most the time I've been alive was spent lost in thought, considering all the things and variables around as I did so. Being this far without data, words, or intellectual stability is new, yet irritating in its antiquated nature. It feels like being 4 again: having no answers, loaded with stimulus; a mentality with no ability to see connections, correlations or conclusions. My lack of charm or proficiency in almost anything meant I had to rely on my ability to think my way through and out of things. When your only asset begins to falter, people like me come undone in the wake of it.

I wish I wasn't in pain, or sleepy or tired; I weary of waking up everyday before my alarm writhing for no reason. I'm not sure what the cause is anymore, but I haven't been at peace in weeks if not longer. This isn't new, my mind is rarely ever settled. It tends to be the only asset and even IT decides arbitrarily to betray me at a whim, it's never acted so spiteful as to incur physical damage before though.

Could it be a side effect? Could it be my psyche lashing out? Finally mounting the weight of it all like Atlas, defying me to crumble? Or is it a plea for help; an alarm ringing loud for me to finally take heed to the toll I've demanded it pay, a stipend it cannot afford?

I won't pretend my head wasn't taxed even when at rest, not unlike many of us humans, workers, hell nations of us… I can't be alone in this slog of slow profound mental exhaustion with no reprieve. Sometimes I swear I can hear the processor in my cranium whirring from being overclocked for weeks on end, sometimes from problems outside. Many, so many, come from within… I can't calculate the sheer magnificent degree of magnitude to which I've destroyed myself silently. Alone, amongst friends, irrelevant all the same; the voice in my head I can't tell to be quiet is the ultimate psychological assassin. It knows my weaknesses, and it's so good at counseling me like an advisor.

I wish I didn't think my stress is what is killing me because that means there isn't a simple fix to it. I've tried many solutions to tell my nerves to numb themselves a bit, to calm lest suffering ensue. It lives to ignore me, while I live to regret the hours I invest playing 7 different games of chess…Playing the game - Life I think it's called -, trying to think 20 moves ahead of every second of my day. I inevitably fail, and then comes the self flagellation of tearing my ineptitude to pieces internally. I'm good at running the numbers, even in situations that involve human players, but I'm not perfect… unfortunately. I tend to miscalculate the outcomes, followed by the self loathing at my ineffectual brain. I'd argue that there's something wrong with me, if it wasn't so commonly said by everyone - including me - my entire life…

I wish things were better, and not just for me… A lot of the woe tends to come from thinking outside myself. Statistically speaking I can't be the only being in the galaxy who is afflicted thusly. The " weight of the world " was always the most condescending thing I've ever heard, as if more people shouldn't be doing so. I totally empathize why they don't; why would anyone subject themselves to considering anyone nameless and faceless, suffering on the other side of the world for the benefit of me in ways I can't even name. I won't grandstand to everyone about all that ails the planet, everyone knows what is wrong even if they only recognize the small matters. From the people dying to make what I enjoy and eat, to my relatives home and abroad losing food, sleep, or livelihood daily. I know we all to some degree are feeling the burn based on what must be sacrificed to continue forward another week, just to have the right to carry on the week after.

I wish… but that's not enough; if longing for it did anything life would be better. I'm sick, I can't deny that today… and I have NO idea what is wrong with me. I'm used to having at least a good theory as to the immediate state of my surroundings; lately I've slipped. I'm good and deducing the fly in the ointment, the smudge on the lens. I was certain I pinned what's been battering me daily - and has longer than I can recall-, I was off. My body is turning against me, and I don't know how to appease it anymore. The worst part beyond not knowing why I can't get better is that I no longer have the energy or mental faculties to find ways to blame myself for it anymore… it's seething and bleeding out of my pores… and I can't find a way to hold the levees. I wish I knew how to…

But more than anything, l wish to one day wake up in a world where I need to wish less…


Woodward Forest-Lich