Under such disappointing times, we distract ourselves.
Showing off our petty chemical fires. They glow so wrong.
So you follow your dreams, or at least the dreams you’ve settled for.
But if you followed your dreams…
I want the answer. I want the cure for dying alone.
I thought that I was meant to be a hero.
Now they’ll all see how much I’ve grown.
Sing loud and scream and yell and raise your fists and cause an avalanche.
If you squeeze him hard enough, God might show the way.
Or if you’d just grow up,
You’d see that there’s little in this world worth screaming for.
So fall in love, and lie down.
My desk arrived yesterday. It’s super French, super classic. It’s almost ruined by the modernity of my computer but never mind that. I feel as though now I don’t ever have to leave my bedroom except to eat and make tea. I’ve been suddenly working on making my bedroom a sanctuary. Quite convenient since now I’m just at home most of the day (I still try to go out but I know that will dwindle when my funds give out from under me.)
Let’s focus on what I have been doing successfully. I’m one week away from six months vegetarian. Though I still can’t figure out for the life of my why I am… except that it’s healthier. Sort of. I’ve been nomzing on Hot Cheetos as of late. Stress relief? Nah. Just the tasteeeee. Though I’m fairly certain I’m going to cave soon on the meat front. And maybe just try to be very minimal about eating it. It’s strange though because eating certain foods appeals to me (you know, favorites/comforts) but then the thought of eating chicken or steak itself again makes me a little queasy.
Yesterday was a rough day in terms of my general level of anxiety. Today I woke up much better. More resolved to continue applying. But after hitting submit things are by and large out of my hands. And that’s a pretty scary thing especially since I need to constantly keep busy (that’s just my personality: can’t stop, won’t stop…?)… gah.
Even listening to music and watching movies feels wasteful of my time… which then becomes even more stressful… it’s very hard for me to enjoy anything unless I know all my ducks are in a row. Work first, work hard, play little bit later. Unemployment does not suit me AT ALL. I just want to be productive again.
I’m not sure how to explain the past two weeks. I feel like I am subsisting on a plane not fully connected to reality. The days are blurring together through an incoherent string of events. I can’t seem to remember when any given moment ends or begins. Everything is seemingly unconnected but as a result of a previous cause.
I resigned from my job two weeks ago, a week after returning from my meditation retreat. Honestly I know this puts me in a bad way for a little while but its in my best interest… for the long-term. But this in-between state of no routine is really strenuous. And every evening I commit to creating a routine for myself but then just… the hours slip and I have accomplished a great deal of things somehow. But… it doesn’t feel like accomplishment.
I think I should be joyous that I finally have the time to read, watch all the things on the list, visit the coffee shops… and yet, the only thing I want is to work. Work is my all-defining life purpose. There just cannot be any enjoyment when all the time is supposed to be enjoyable.
And naturally there are emotional and physical struggles permeating this weird existence of mine. I’ve managed to contract a full-time lover of sorts. Which doesn’t help either of us. But I suppose it passes the time. And it ensures that I don’t get lost in my mind during this weird transitional phase. Because I feel like given the lack of his presence I would potentially be under the influence of sleeping pills for as many hours as possible.
Despite my weightlessness and this floating feeling of ‘nothing makes sense’ I am quite grounded in my cognizance that this situation does not merit suicidal thoughts or behavior. Which is throwing me down a further rabbit hole of confusion. My instinctual behavior is suicidal, is depressed, is self-destructive. And yet I’m submitting resumes every day and maintaining some semblance of social ties (though presumably not with everyone as my ‘absence’ has been duly noted by a few friends).
And I’m trying to figure out if I’m SECRETLY unknowingly depressed or if this time I just really am not depressed?? Making hay stacks out of straw? Honestly I feel like I am gazing at the world with open eyes and blindsight. I’m fully immersed in the sea but I am oblivious to the waves. Both metaphors lead down a bad road.
I have been giving advice to my depressed friend. I’ve been shrugging off phone calls from family in which I’ve been asked if I’m honestly OK.
Honestly I don’t know. But I’ll keep going on like I’m not.
My state is just like this weather. It can’t decide between cloudy/moody/windy and hot, clear skies. It looks and feels like the temperature drops every couple of minutes and then suddenly the sun comes out to play. Then — it’s just cold again. Or is it just warm again?
Simone de Beauvoir was a French writer and existentialist philosopher. I think the most grand title in this world is that of philosopher. A bonafide thinker of thoughts. A deceptively simple thing but I think the difficulty lies in being able to properly express thoughts in a coherent manner.
“I am awfully greedy; I want everything from life. I want to be a woman and to be a man, to have many friends and to have loneliness, to work much and write good books, to travel and enjoy myself, to be selfish and to be unselfish… You see, it is difficult to get all which I want. And then when I do not succeed I get mad with anger.”
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“I am too intelligent, too demanding, and too resourceful for anyone to be able to take charge of me entirely. No one knows me or loves me completely. I have only myself.”
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I can deeply relate to both of these quotes. Anger is my pervading emotion due in large part to all my conflicting desires that ultimately leads to something akin to “want[ing] everything” … and all at once. This is a phrase I have used multiple times in my writing. I think desiring is okay – given it is sufficient fuel for moving forward. But many times it is closer to debilitating, this desire for all the things.
I’ve been spending my few minutes of spare time thinking, thinking, thinking. And doing less writing. Just being in any given moment makes you realize just how impermanent everything is versus monumentalizing it in spoken/written form.
So I am back from my vacation and while I initially thought I would write about it, I think recapitulating it as many times as I have, in conversation, has made me really not feel it necessary to do so. I learned a lot of things while on vacation for 12 days. And that’s all I’d like to say at this time.
Mostly I just wanted to get back into the motion of writing even if sharing words mostly not my own, but words I can understand.
Image Credits: Aphelis.Net
Nothing ever happened to me, nothing ever would happen to me. There was nothing for me. The future no longer existed for me. If my days were to go on like that, nothing would separate me from my death–nothing! Not a thing! To be bored is to die! My life was dead, and yet I had to live. It was suicide. Others killed themselves with poison or with a revolver. I killed myself with minutes and hours.
— Henri Barbusse, “The Inferno”