Sanity, Sobering Times

I think this island is making me go crazy. I can't focus, and everything feels so significant and heavy, and I just want to be back on that god forsaken boat. Alyxandr might be planning a coup d'etat. He's training my people to fight... Not that we would put up much resistance.

I thought I heard voices while I was walking through a forested area. I turned every which way, and nobody was there. I started seeing things too. Like skeletons, and broken weapons on the ground. I haven't alluded to such visions and sounds in my interactions at the times, but I might soon. My advisor suggests that I write more. I think it might help. I've begun writing auxiliary pieces. Reviews, poetry, things like that.

I remember a few lines from some old poetry books.

Hope?
Nope.

How clever, isn't it? I think it's a little cheesy, but it's surely clever. I find solace in the pessimism of others. It helps me feel a little better about myself. I guess that's a little conceited, but maybe I should elaborate.

I find solace in the pessimism of others because it makes the rest of the world seem human, and prone to the same errors that I make. Errors like letting Alyxandr guide my people.

A child asked me what year it is a few days ago. I hadn't really kept track personally, but I knew there was a log of something as basic as that. I approached them yesterday.

"It's 2046."

The child thanked me, and played with their friends. I stood there and thought the following:

"Wow, it's been a while since we've been out here."
"I've been eating nothing but fish for 30 years."
"I haven't been in a relationship for at least 35 years."
"I'm alone, and I smell like 30 years of fish, and all I can brag about is how I piloted a ramshackle ship that hauls refugees around."
"I hate my life."

Then I went on the previously described walk through the forest, and found myself terrified by my vivid imagination.

I just want the world to stop, and then I want to get off.