Echoes of a Black Flame

These things aren’t easy to talk about. Society tells us not to speak about politics, emotions, or trauma. But that silence is exactly the problem.

In my last post, I shared how I’ve been feeling. Like many men, I was left scarred after being falsely accused by someone I loved for years. The stress nearly broke me, I spent months in survival mode, constantly thinking, panicking, trying to stay afloat.

They gave me antidepressants. Mirtazapine. It numbed everything. No emotions, no colour, no life, just sugar cravings, weight gain, and emotional silence.

When I came off it, I thought finding love would heal me. But instead, I met people who didn’t understand what I’d been through. I gave too much. I got hurt again. Rejected. Invalidated.

Now, when I look at the world, it’s not just conformist, it’s cold.
Love feels out of place. Vulnerability seems dangerous. Everyone’s masking, numbing, surviving.

And it makes me ask:
What happened to us?
And… what have I become inside it all?

Maybe I’ve become some kind of accidental martyr, just for being open.
Some say I’ve started oversharing, but in a society where silence is the norm, maybe that’s exactly what needs to happen.

Having Asperger’s—or high-functioning autism, makes me a natural philosopher. Like other visual thinkers, even Einstein, I tend to dive deep into everything. I need to understand how things work: people, systems, emotions. It’s how I survive.

What scares me now is that I no longer wear the mask of “normal.”
I’ve let go of pretending. But being openly geeky, nerdy, emotional, and analytical makes me fear that I’ll end up alienated, seen as unworthy of love. The risk is becoming the classic lonely intellectual hermit: full of knowledge, but frozen out of connection.

I know I don’t fit into a conformist world. I challenge it.
And that might make some people feel uncomfortable, like I’m criticising them for being distant, avoidant, or emotionally closed.

But my aim is never to offend. Never to judge.
Only to be honest.
And maybe help others feel a little less alone in doing the same.

I’ll be honest, I think the reason I see a dystopia around me is because I feel everything so deeply.
Being highly creative, with a powerful imagination, makes life harder at times. I used to believe that becoming the ultimate artist—visionary, expressive, unique—would free me from loneliness. That people would admire me, and I’d finally be seen as someone of value.

But I see now that recognition doesn’t guarantee connection.

Society feels more complex than ever.
It’s built on subtle rituals, micro-expressions, silent rules I can’t always decode. I’ve watched people communicate so much through glances, small talk, gestures that seem simple on the surface but are loaded with meaning I don’t always grasp.

I’m not saying this to criticise anyone—just to express how different things feel through my lens.

In the past, dancing was my bridge to the world. I'd go out, express myself, and sometimes people noticed. But when it came to forming deeper connections, I often fell short—not because I didn’t care, but because I didn't know how to play the unspoken game.

But I haven’t withdrawn from the world.
I still believe in connection.
I still move toward it, just in my own way.

These experiences feed my imagination.
They shape my art.
Sometimes I drift into other worlds, not to escape, but because that’s where the emotions take form, where the truth speaks in symbols.

That’s how I navigate life.
Not through surface codes, but through vision, expression, and the worlds I create.

It’s strange, whenever I go out, something stirs inside me.
A surge of emotion, a tingling in my chest.
Music lifts me. It illuminates me. I feel alive in a way nothing else can replicate.

When I walk—headphones on—I get visions.
Whether it’s gothic, classical, or IDM, the sound awakens something ancient inside me. It lifts me high, out of the grey states I’ve lived through.
Out of depression.
Out of conformity.

One song in particular, Running After My Fate, has become like a portal. I’ve listened to it over and over, it takes me to another world. It helps me embrace how I now see this one: masked, performative, strangely muted.

And yes, I still struggle not to wear a mask myself. Sometimes survival demands it. But these days, I love that I no longer fit in. I love wearing black—the colour I was once judged for. To me, it’s power. It’s truth. It’s protection.

Still, I often feel alone when I go out to places where music plays.
I look around, and everyone else seems so still.
Expressionless. Unmoved.

And I wonder: Am I the strange one?
For letting the music move me?
For rising up inside, feeling like I could fly above it all?

Maybe.
But I’d rather be the one who flies than the one who never lifts.

And lastly if you have read this and feel like me, lets not feel like we are unwell and instead maybe its our society thats become so unwell around us.