three flat tires and a race to be run
Something bad has gotten in here, some bad fucking mojo.
I can't get my head around it. It's like everything in my life is on crippling foundations. Skyscrapers that have stood for years and years are now swaying and threatening to fall and destroy me in the process, level my whole city. And I'm on the top floor somewhere, teetering between bracing for impact and panicking beyond self-control.
Perhaps I need some kind of medication to help me through these bouts? I've been self-medicating with alcohol and now these little yellow pills I got from Nikki. The alcohol keeps me out of arm's reach of dealing with things, I think, or it's enough of a vacation that I forget how fucked up things are in my life -fucked up, and yes, for the most part, I'm the only one to blame- but these little pills just take the edge away, they make it easier to not fucking stress myself into little circles.
I doubt the validity of things I do, of my own descisions, interactions that I have, I'm saying sorry over and over again because I feel like I'm being offensive somehow, or being a burden to those around me. Perhaps it's just that slant that this kind of shit has, this kind of clouding that makes me feel fucking horrible about others having to deal with me -even though for the most part I try to keep it checked. I guess I'm used to the idea of being there for others, and now with all this bullshit on my head, I'm not even available for them.
Julie says that she can tell I'm going through a hard time, and we're just walking down the street when she says this. I feel like a nest of snakes has burrowed into my chest, and now the snakes are constricting slowly around my heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to live. I'm trying not to show it, so much, but the truth is, lately, I haven't given a shit about how my face looks. Almost like it's too much work to look like I'm not in pain. And part of me echoes that it's fucking dumb for me to pretend that shit isn't going on, that I'm not depressed.
Depressed. Depression. It feels fucking strange for me to say that shit, and I've had that word in my mouth from time to time in the past few weeks. I keep expecting this shit to lift like a fog, like the bouts of sadness and melancholy that I've experienced from time to time in the past two to ten years. But it's not lifting. Every time I wake up, I curse, either quietly or out loud, screaming into my pillow sometimes, because I wake up back in this life, back to a wall of fucking bullshit that I can't seem to put my hands to.
And a few months back, I was so optimistic, I was so ready to take it all on. "I'm in a different space," I'd said. I felt truly different for the first time in a long time. Even eating food was a different experience for me. Like I didn't want to eat something because I knew I liked it, I wanted to eat what I was in the mood for, or how much I wanted to eat would regulate. Sometimes, I'd only want a few bites. Was it a change of scenery, as the train ran to new territories, and a couple months ago, I hit a switch that turned right into the fucking tunnels?
What the fuck am I supposed to learn here? IS this even about learning? Have I learned on so much credit lately, and this is the pay-up, the pay-off, the work that I have to put in for so many meal tickets? That's probably more the truth, if I believe that's how things work. The things I've said I've needed to take care of were eggs that were cracking, and now I worry have turned into killer fucking vultures that are threatening to murder me, and I feel weak.
I really fucking feel weak, like I can't even combat this shit. It's hard for me. I'm not used to it, and I'm more dejected that I'm so weak I'm actually starting to get used to the weakness, the helplessness. Oh god, there must be something to that. As soon as I wrote this line, I felt that terror in my chest, that panic, the snakes squeezing tighter around my chest...
And perhaps I've relied to heavily on others lately, the company of those close to me, and the distraction of social interaction -not that I've been THAT social, but social enough. I felt that seizing when she mentioned that she might be doing an internship in Washington state this summer. There was tenative talk, prior to that, that she might spend this spring break up here with me, or go to Mexico with friends. If she goes to Mexico, then I might not see her for another year, a year and a half? No, no...there might be visits, me comming down to see her in the next few months, or the second semester of next year, but I can't count on that; she might not even be in a space to have me out there. I've been spending time with her lately, grinding my teeth down, telling myself that I need to knuckle up, that I've gotten used to the luxury of her support, and I'll need to let go soon, start letting go, start picking up my own ass off the concrete when I fall down.
She does NOT fucking belong to you Ed, no more than you belong to her. She's never really belonged to you, so you need to stop acting like she does, or has at some point. It feels like she's a light in my life that's dimming darker by getting further and further away. And you knew this would happen. Again, you knew from the start that things fall apart. Even if you are more connected than ever before, she's still not going to be around forever for you to lean on when your knees buckle.
And then, so many things I'm trying to put my hands to, to grab and force and MAKE right in my life, I wonder how much of these things that are out of my control are really me just being undiscliplined, and how many are actually out of my control. The world can't be under my control to such fucking desperate degrees, have I forgotten or overlooked the chaos that is life, and the world? And what ARE you doing that IS in your control? What are you doing that is girding yourself against the chaos of the world, of life? I feel like you've gotten soft, Ed. You've gotten soft like a king on a throne that hasn't seen battle, let alone been needed on a battlefeild for years and years. Perhaps there are things I need to look at like the lesson Musashi learned, when the rains came and wiped out his crops, over and over again; he finally learned that he must work with nature, not against it. Working against it only destroyed his crops, over and over again. Working against the nature of people, instead of looking at them, and empathizing and knowing who they ARE and how they move, will only lead to some kind of destruction.
Goddamnit. I can't get down with the sad poetry and floozy words like I did when I went through this shit the last time. The psychological self-abuse was so immediate, so cleansing, so purifying, it felt like everytime I left my writing, I was a little bit less filled with poison, I felt like a bit more was comming out. This time around, it's alot of waiting and feeling sick, and wishing I could vomit or squeeze out the poison.
So I'll write when I can, I guess.
I can't get my head around it. It's like everything in my life is on crippling foundations. Skyscrapers that have stood for years and years are now swaying and threatening to fall and destroy me in the process, level my whole city. And I'm on the top floor somewhere, teetering between bracing for impact and panicking beyond self-control.
Perhaps I need some kind of medication to help me through these bouts? I've been self-medicating with alcohol and now these little yellow pills I got from Nikki. The alcohol keeps me out of arm's reach of dealing with things, I think, or it's enough of a vacation that I forget how fucked up things are in my life -fucked up, and yes, for the most part, I'm the only one to blame- but these little pills just take the edge away, they make it easier to not fucking stress myself into little circles.
I doubt the validity of things I do, of my own descisions, interactions that I have, I'm saying sorry over and over again because I feel like I'm being offensive somehow, or being a burden to those around me. Perhaps it's just that slant that this kind of shit has, this kind of clouding that makes me feel fucking horrible about others having to deal with me -even though for the most part I try to keep it checked. I guess I'm used to the idea of being there for others, and now with all this bullshit on my head, I'm not even available for them.
Julie says that she can tell I'm going through a hard time, and we're just walking down the street when she says this. I feel like a nest of snakes has burrowed into my chest, and now the snakes are constricting slowly around my heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to live. I'm trying not to show it, so much, but the truth is, lately, I haven't given a shit about how my face looks. Almost like it's too much work to look like I'm not in pain. And part of me echoes that it's fucking dumb for me to pretend that shit isn't going on, that I'm not depressed.
Depressed. Depression. It feels fucking strange for me to say that shit, and I've had that word in my mouth from time to time in the past few weeks. I keep expecting this shit to lift like a fog, like the bouts of sadness and melancholy that I've experienced from time to time in the past two to ten years. But it's not lifting. Every time I wake up, I curse, either quietly or out loud, screaming into my pillow sometimes, because I wake up back in this life, back to a wall of fucking bullshit that I can't seem to put my hands to.
And a few months back, I was so optimistic, I was so ready to take it all on. "I'm in a different space," I'd said. I felt truly different for the first time in a long time. Even eating food was a different experience for me. Like I didn't want to eat something because I knew I liked it, I wanted to eat what I was in the mood for, or how much I wanted to eat would regulate. Sometimes, I'd only want a few bites. Was it a change of scenery, as the train ran to new territories, and a couple months ago, I hit a switch that turned right into the fucking tunnels?
What the fuck am I supposed to learn here? IS this even about learning? Have I learned on so much credit lately, and this is the pay-up, the pay-off, the work that I have to put in for so many meal tickets? That's probably more the truth, if I believe that's how things work. The things I've said I've needed to take care of were eggs that were cracking, and now I worry have turned into killer fucking vultures that are threatening to murder me, and I feel weak.
I really fucking feel weak, like I can't even combat this shit. It's hard for me. I'm not used to it, and I'm more dejected that I'm so weak I'm actually starting to get used to the weakness, the helplessness. Oh god, there must be something to that. As soon as I wrote this line, I felt that terror in my chest, that panic, the snakes squeezing tighter around my chest...
And perhaps I've relied to heavily on others lately, the company of those close to me, and the distraction of social interaction -not that I've been THAT social, but social enough. I felt that seizing when she mentioned that she might be doing an internship in Washington state this summer. There was tenative talk, prior to that, that she might spend this spring break up here with me, or go to Mexico with friends. If she goes to Mexico, then I might not see her for another year, a year and a half? No, no...there might be visits, me comming down to see her in the next few months, or the second semester of next year, but I can't count on that; she might not even be in a space to have me out there. I've been spending time with her lately, grinding my teeth down, telling myself that I need to knuckle up, that I've gotten used to the luxury of her support, and I'll need to let go soon, start letting go, start picking up my own ass off the concrete when I fall down.
She does NOT fucking belong to you Ed, no more than you belong to her. She's never really belonged to you, so you need to stop acting like she does, or has at some point. It feels like she's a light in my life that's dimming darker by getting further and further away. And you knew this would happen. Again, you knew from the start that things fall apart. Even if you are more connected than ever before, she's still not going to be around forever for you to lean on when your knees buckle.
And then, so many things I'm trying to put my hands to, to grab and force and MAKE right in my life, I wonder how much of these things that are out of my control are really me just being undiscliplined, and how many are actually out of my control. The world can't be under my control to such fucking desperate degrees, have I forgotten or overlooked the chaos that is life, and the world? And what ARE you doing that IS in your control? What are you doing that is girding yourself against the chaos of the world, of life? I feel like you've gotten soft, Ed. You've gotten soft like a king on a throne that hasn't seen battle, let alone been needed on a battlefeild for years and years. Perhaps there are things I need to look at like the lesson Musashi learned, when the rains came and wiped out his crops, over and over again; he finally learned that he must work with nature, not against it. Working against it only destroyed his crops, over and over again. Working against the nature of people, instead of looking at them, and empathizing and knowing who they ARE and how they move, will only lead to some kind of destruction.
Goddamnit. I can't get down with the sad poetry and floozy words like I did when I went through this shit the last time. The psychological self-abuse was so immediate, so cleansing, so purifying, it felt like everytime I left my writing, I was a little bit less filled with poison, I felt like a bit more was comming out. This time around, it's alot of waiting and feeling sick, and wishing I could vomit or squeeze out the poison.
So I'll write when I can, I guess.