(no subject)
Lately I've been feeling...
Schizophrenic isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.
For some reason, my thoughts have been drifting and disassociative, like an e.e. cummings poem.
No punctuation, chaotic analogies and an underlying presence of something sinister and altogether sacchrine-sweet.
I'll be fine one minute, and then feel like utter shit the next. That's the worst part, the chaos. I can handle being depressed, and I'm pretty sure I could handle being happy (For all intents and purposes I assume I can) but the constant fluctuation is unbearable. The only steady element of this is that there isn't any steady element.
Example:
I gave my neighbor a lift to the recycling center. Not a problem at all. We talk about the impending rain, and how he's hoping to get back home before he has to bike home in a downpour. I agree and silently try to figure out the most efficient way to the center (California to Lincoln to Yajome to Jackson, it was around 5 and Jefferson was packed). Drop him off, head back towards home with no incidents whatsoever.
As I come towards the First Street Overpass I notice that the clouds are all a matte grey, but the remaining sky at the horizion is such a vivid blue. It almost looks like I'm taking the overpass into that blue sky, and my next realization is that I have a strong urge to jerk the wheel to the right and burst through the barrier, off the overpass, and into oncoming highway traffic. But not even in a depressed, morose way. More of a medical feeling; sterile and precise. Like it was the next logical step.
One minute I'll be drawing up a lessonplan for teaching photo composition and in a seemingly unreleated epiphany I'll realize that everything that drives me is for my own fulfillment, because I know that nothing I ever do will make anyone proud of me, regardless of outcome. No success nor failure will bring me anything from anyone. It's not in the depressed way it sounds; the idea that people won't ever be happy with me. The recognition that this is a fact and that, instead, I do everything I do because I want it to be done. On the other side of the coin, this doesn't mean I'm hyper-motivated or anything. There are plenty of things I would like to do, but cannot convince myself to follow through with. But those things that I do follow through on, the things that I really do, I do entirely for my own satisfaction.
I was about to say(type) that I just wish I could stick to one feeling, instead of bouncing between extremes. But that's too bi-polar sounding. I don't even really feel the euphoric happiness or the crushing depression, I simply have random bouts of realizations, like I had felt that way all along and it's the most natural progression ever made. Like in a dream, where everything is alien but somehow you understand everything's intricate nature. It's simply understood, not meant to be questioned or analyzied.
And to top it all off, my iPod isn't working.
But I'm okay with that. For now.
Schizophrenic isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.
For some reason, my thoughts have been drifting and disassociative, like an e.e. cummings poem.
No punctuation, chaotic analogies and an underlying presence of something sinister and altogether sacchrine-sweet.
I'll be fine one minute, and then feel like utter shit the next. That's the worst part, the chaos. I can handle being depressed, and I'm pretty sure I could handle being happy (For all intents and purposes I assume I can) but the constant fluctuation is unbearable. The only steady element of this is that there isn't any steady element.
Example:
I gave my neighbor a lift to the recycling center. Not a problem at all. We talk about the impending rain, and how he's hoping to get back home before he has to bike home in a downpour. I agree and silently try to figure out the most efficient way to the center (California to Lincoln to Yajome to Jackson, it was around 5 and Jefferson was packed). Drop him off, head back towards home with no incidents whatsoever.
As I come towards the First Street Overpass I notice that the clouds are all a matte grey, but the remaining sky at the horizion is such a vivid blue. It almost looks like I'm taking the overpass into that blue sky, and my next realization is that I have a strong urge to jerk the wheel to the right and burst through the barrier, off the overpass, and into oncoming highway traffic. But not even in a depressed, morose way. More of a medical feeling; sterile and precise. Like it was the next logical step.
One minute I'll be drawing up a lessonplan for teaching photo composition and in a seemingly unreleated epiphany I'll realize that everything that drives me is for my own fulfillment, because I know that nothing I ever do will make anyone proud of me, regardless of outcome. No success nor failure will bring me anything from anyone. It's not in the depressed way it sounds; the idea that people won't ever be happy with me. The recognition that this is a fact and that, instead, I do everything I do because I want it to be done. On the other side of the coin, this doesn't mean I'm hyper-motivated or anything. There are plenty of things I would like to do, but cannot convince myself to follow through with. But those things that I do follow through on, the things that I really do, I do entirely for my own satisfaction.
I was about to say(type) that I just wish I could stick to one feeling, instead of bouncing between extremes. But that's too bi-polar sounding. I don't even really feel the euphoric happiness or the crushing depression, I simply have random bouts of realizations, like I had felt that way all along and it's the most natural progression ever made. Like in a dream, where everything is alien but somehow you understand everything's intricate nature. It's simply understood, not meant to be questioned or analyzied.
And to top it all off, my iPod isn't working.
But I'm okay with that. For now.