When you finally notice the performance—and can’t unsee it.
I can’t sleep in a room with a ticking clock. It’s not just the sound—it’s what the sound means. Once I hear it, I can’t unhear it. It drills into my brain, marking time I didn’t consent to lose. It’s a sensory overload, sure—thank you, ADHD—but it’s also a metaphor I can’t ignore. The absurdity of life, measured in ticks and tocks. The kind of absurdity you only start noticing once the veil’s been lifted.
And once it has been lifted? Good luck putting it back down.
The Day the Curtain Dropped
I started noticing the cracks early. I was thirteen when a pastor stood in front of a youth group and preached that “others” were created by God to serve white men.
That was the moment it shattered for me.
The trust. The programming. The belief that adults knew what they were talking about. I remember thinking—I’m more educated than this man. And he’s preaching?
From there, I dove into research. I ripped into religious lore with a kind of urgency, like if I didn’t make sense of the mess, it would drown me. It didn’t take long to discredit it for myself.
That’s when it started: the noticing.
All Theater, No Plot
Fake media. Fake jobs. Fake smiles. Fake Christians. The kind who use “faith” as a badge of superiority rather than a tool of compassion.
Once you see the performance, it’s hard to unsee. You realize it’s all theater—and worse, you’ve been cast without auditioning. You’ve been given lines. A costume. A role.
And suddenly, you can’t pretend it’s real anymore.
There’s no prize at the end. No “happily ever after” for playing your part well. And when you finally understand that, it’s not rage that hits first—it’s deflation. Like you’ve been running a race where the finish line doesn’t exist.
Between Detachment and Deep Care
So now, I engage with the world differently.
Yes, I’m more detached. But I’m also more sensitive than ever—to my own authenticity. I’ve grown unwilling to fake it, even if everyone else still does.
When the noise gets too loud—literal and metaphorical—I retreat. I go inward. I create a space where the rules are mine. Where I don’t have to perform to be accepted.
Where I hold onto the things that still make sense:
Knowledge. Experience. Love. A peaceful spirit.
Solitude Isn’t Escape—It’s Sovereignty
In my solitude, I rebuild.
I create ideas. I chase possibilities. I reimagine humanity—not as a series of expectations and scripts, but as a collection of truths waiting to be uncovered. I don’t need applause. I need quiet. And in the quiet, I remember what’s real.
Not the ticking.
Not the fakeness.
But the stillness in my own presence.
And If You’ve Started Noticing Too…
Brace yourself.
Once you hear the ticking, you can’t unhear it. Once you see behind the curtain, there’s no pretending the show is real.
But don’t stop there.
Keep digging. Keep questioning. Keep looking for your own why.
The world won’t hand you truth. But you can carve it out—one tick at a time.
Reflection Prompt:
What’s one “ticking clock” in your life—the sound, routine, belief, or expectation you can no longer ignore?
How has noticing it changed the way you see the world… and yourself?
Be First to Comment