The Reaping Fatigue
Updated: Oct 11
(Background: The Reaping Fatigue Era was a personal era in my life from 2018 to August 2023 where I became fatigued to the point of being a physical handicap. It also negatively affected my cognition, even though I still managed to write a lot. I solved the Reaping Fatigue Era by using two methods: Accepting reality, and developing a neuroplastical method.
This poem was written in an extreme state of mind where I thought my lifelong legacy is at risk due to not having a solution on the horizons. As said, I brought up solutions of my own, as no one cared enough to help me with it practically. The doctors were too uncaring to assist me quickly, so the condition deteriorated.
With a "new me" that I developed, I returned to thinking far better, along with researching existing and new articles on Philosocom. And indeed, the quality of my articles have improved ever since. Take this article as an example: The Tragedy of Philosophy -- Impressions and Truth -- How Our Perception is Hindered (philosocom.com). It was written in the 4th of March, 2023, only to be revamped in October 2023. It's quality has been improved because I solved my reaping fatigue period of my life.
And I did it for my readership).
Imagine having so many ideas to write about,
Imagine so many possibilities that wait for you,
To reap them and enjoy their abundance, from north to south.
Now imagine the vast majority of them taken away, probably for good,
By a neurological disorder that does not care for thee.
That is, you see, the incurable fate of me.
Imagine wanting to write about something, and though you have the time,
You lack the energy to even think deeply, so you resort to rhyme.
It does not care whether you're a paragon of justice or full of crime,
It can make you live on welfare's dime,
Making you a slave to taxpayer's work time.
Days pass by, and even though you want to write,
The lack of energy turns you into a wingless kite;
That which is made to fly across the skies,
And yet, you lack the energy to do so, only left on the Earth, to strive.
It is not mercy nor pity which I seek,
For I only wish to be remembered like the old philosophers of Greek.
Death is something I only want as a symbol of accomplishment,
So I will wait for it patiently, as for many other things, I can't.
I refuse being mocked due to many a disability,
I care not if it happens, for reduction is a realistic probability.
As long as I can still write, the idea of death I don't want to entertain,
Maybe another time I will have enough energy to properly write again.
There is a great competition in this niche, of that I am aware,
But as long as I am too weak to write articles, it's difficult to even care,
For life with this reaping fatigue is sort of a nightmare,
But perhaps another time I will write a new piece, in my lair.
The Reaping Fatigue is a reaper which makes it too little to deliver;
The idea of a greater life, and thus a bigger ego, makes it near impossible, to rationally consider.
For some reason I was punished by a chronic disorder that streams like a river,
A flow that drains energy that could've been used for something bigger.
But you have my word, as a philosopher and as a mister:
As long as I can still write, I will consider a new article to be written and thus published nearer.
Should I permanently, of writing, be too weak and even weaker.
...I will rest in hope my fatigue will not become my own grim reaper.
Escaping this mortal world is not something of which I am a believer,
So, in that case, I will just re-share until death will linger.
Even though there are many days which of new writing I wish to be your server,
I just need to face the truth and resume my duty as a re-sharer.