the art of procrastination and not living
Words are failing me again. Recently I have been experiencing new and exciting things. One of the most interesting developments of not just 2011, but the past decade has been my ability (or lack thereof) to feel.
In 2001 (yes, I'm returning to that year again, but not for 11 September), I acquired my first copy of the album that defined the decade. This topic has already been written about, but for those who don't recall, the album was Dark Side of the Moon.
Dark Side of the Moon instantaneously became my mantra; I had to breathe in the air; I was on the run; One day I had found that 10 years had passed me by; I was ready for my great gig in the sky; economic insecurity and fear and hatred of money was an issue; it was not us versus them, it was ME versus them; the only colour I liked was grey, because it was murky and unclear; the lunatic was in my head and it was me; it was all soon eclipsed.
But, I digress. From 2001 to late October of 2002, life was sort of on a path I did not understand. I recall Halloween Day 2002 being very distraught; I wore a suit to school as my costume, I had green hair, I had plenty of make-up on, and fishnets on underneath my pants. I didn't know who I was. That day I sort of felt something come over me that I still can't explain. The depression started setting in.
A few days later, on the second of November the process was clear: my wall was built. From that day forward, music --one of the guiding forces of my life --ceased to matter. I could hear the sounds, but they didn't move me the way they had in the past. My grandparents (grandmother had just died in April of that year)were dead, my mentor's death from 1999 was still on my mind, and I was unclear about where to go. My sexuality was a big issue; it was yet another topic on which I didn't know where I stood. I was a train wreck.
I broke down on November 2nd. I cried to my sister about being suicidal. But it didn't feel genuine. My wall was built, and though I was banging on it to get out, and though I started therapy and anti-depressants, my heart wasn't in it.
The next several years were spent behind the wall. It was over 10 years that passed me by, before anything really changed. 2002-2010 did have some really fantastic moments, some moments to be proud of and that deserve recognition. Among them, completing high school; getting reacquainted with the trio; some new musical discoveries; completing 2 college degrees; having a few jobs; etc.
But none of it mattered. I shouted, and no one seemed to hear. The reality is, I think, they did hear me. I could not hear them, because behind my wall all I could hear were the echos of my mind. All I heard were frothy emotional appeals and hostile attacks that I always thought came from hostile people who didn't know me. They knew me; I did not know myself.
People, rather naively, say that I am smart. I am formally educated, but I am not smart. My self-education, my knowledge of others was nil. No matter the grade I got on papers, I wasn't learning anything. The struggle was for naught, because even though I thought I was dong the right things for the right reasons, nothing could have been further from the truth.
I was talking on the phone recently with someone about how 2007 and 2008 were pretty bad years for me. It seemed to catch them off guard and surprise them a little.
The point I'm trying to make here, as I procrastinate on doing more important things, is that the sounds I heard in 2001 filled me with such great emotions. The emotions were so tense that my reaction was to build a wall. The wall started in March of 2001 and was complete by November 2002.
For almost 10 years after, the wall remained. Sometimes I sort of chipped away at some of the bricks, but mostly I added to them. I wallowed in my own shit so much figuratively, it became literal.
I don't know what happened, really. Sometime this year, around January this year, I felt music in ways I hadn't felt in a long time. I ignored it, because I was depressed about losing my ability to eat (even though that was killing me). The economic insecurity never left; the gambling and marijuana took over where the food and alcohol had been.
I got sober in April of this year. The fact that I had felt those sounds in January didn't really register with me. The first few months were spent not adding to the wall, but I wasn't ready to dismantle it yet either. In fact, I didn't think in those terms.
I went from searching for that one beat, to fucking up so bad that I got lost in the woods. I wandered for a while, continuing to isolate myself. I spent a while there sort of going to meetings, taking long walks, and reading a lot.
Nothing was learned. I didn't know what I was doing. I had no direction. The music was still being felt, but I didn't understand.I'm still not sure I do.
August came and life changed. The sudden upheaval to my idyllic life of doing nothing, sleeping in, and eating poorly ended. I had to get real if I was to survive. All the changes, and my focus on politics, my continued isolation, not to mention my medication needing to be adjusted left me angry and confused.
This continued for a while. I started making minor adjustments, such as cutting back on the sweets, adjusting the meds, working on sleeping regularly, going to more meetings, etc.
Life started improving. In late October (around the 22nd), I really increased my attempts at those subtle changes. The results have been fantastic.
The uber-sensitivity that was leaving me angry and confused has started to evaporate. I am also no longer feeling like I am carrying the cross of others, absorbing their pain the way my body used to absorb the alcohol I was continually poisoning myself with.
I still have a lot of growth to do. I am still selfish and self-seeking.
To make a long story short (too late), the ability to feel as I did in 2001-02 came back. It has slowly trickled in.
In early November, on the 5th to be exact, the music came back in ways it was not experienced since 2nd November 2002. Thus, for 9 years and 3 days I was in perfect isolation.
Again, there is still so much more to do. But I feel better.
The point, again, however, is that I can feel. The numbness is going away. I'm still scared, but my reaction isn't clenched fists and gritting my teeth. Nor am I reduced to tears and nothing. I can feel, and that is the most important thing that has changed.
In 2001 (yes, I'm returning to that year again, but not for 11 September), I acquired my first copy of the album that defined the decade. This topic has already been written about, but for those who don't recall, the album was Dark Side of the Moon.
Dark Side of the Moon instantaneously became my mantra; I had to breathe in the air; I was on the run; One day I had found that 10 years had passed me by; I was ready for my great gig in the sky; economic insecurity and fear and hatred of money was an issue; it was not us versus them, it was ME versus them; the only colour I liked was grey, because it was murky and unclear; the lunatic was in my head and it was me; it was all soon eclipsed.
But, I digress. From 2001 to late October of 2002, life was sort of on a path I did not understand. I recall Halloween Day 2002 being very distraught; I wore a suit to school as my costume, I had green hair, I had plenty of make-up on, and fishnets on underneath my pants. I didn't know who I was. That day I sort of felt something come over me that I still can't explain. The depression started setting in.
A few days later, on the second of November the process was clear: my wall was built. From that day forward, music --one of the guiding forces of my life --ceased to matter. I could hear the sounds, but they didn't move me the way they had in the past. My grandparents (grandmother had just died in April of that year)were dead, my mentor's death from 1999 was still on my mind, and I was unclear about where to go. My sexuality was a big issue; it was yet another topic on which I didn't know where I stood. I was a train wreck.
I broke down on November 2nd. I cried to my sister about being suicidal. But it didn't feel genuine. My wall was built, and though I was banging on it to get out, and though I started therapy and anti-depressants, my heart wasn't in it.
The next several years were spent behind the wall. It was over 10 years that passed me by, before anything really changed. 2002-2010 did have some really fantastic moments, some moments to be proud of and that deserve recognition. Among them, completing high school; getting reacquainted with the trio; some new musical discoveries; completing 2 college degrees; having a few jobs; etc.
But none of it mattered. I shouted, and no one seemed to hear. The reality is, I think, they did hear me. I could not hear them, because behind my wall all I could hear were the echos of my mind. All I heard were frothy emotional appeals and hostile attacks that I always thought came from hostile people who didn't know me. They knew me; I did not know myself.
People, rather naively, say that I am smart. I am formally educated, but I am not smart. My self-education, my knowledge of others was nil. No matter the grade I got on papers, I wasn't learning anything. The struggle was for naught, because even though I thought I was dong the right things for the right reasons, nothing could have been further from the truth.
I was talking on the phone recently with someone about how 2007 and 2008 were pretty bad years for me. It seemed to catch them off guard and surprise them a little.
The point I'm trying to make here, as I procrastinate on doing more important things, is that the sounds I heard in 2001 filled me with such great emotions. The emotions were so tense that my reaction was to build a wall. The wall started in March of 2001 and was complete by November 2002.
For almost 10 years after, the wall remained. Sometimes I sort of chipped away at some of the bricks, but mostly I added to them. I wallowed in my own shit so much figuratively, it became literal.
I don't know what happened, really. Sometime this year, around January this year, I felt music in ways I hadn't felt in a long time. I ignored it, because I was depressed about losing my ability to eat (even though that was killing me). The economic insecurity never left; the gambling and marijuana took over where the food and alcohol had been.
I got sober in April of this year. The fact that I had felt those sounds in January didn't really register with me. The first few months were spent not adding to the wall, but I wasn't ready to dismantle it yet either. In fact, I didn't think in those terms.
I went from searching for that one beat, to fucking up so bad that I got lost in the woods. I wandered for a while, continuing to isolate myself. I spent a while there sort of going to meetings, taking long walks, and reading a lot.
Nothing was learned. I didn't know what I was doing. I had no direction. The music was still being felt, but I didn't understand.I'm still not sure I do.
August came and life changed. The sudden upheaval to my idyllic life of doing nothing, sleeping in, and eating poorly ended. I had to get real if I was to survive. All the changes, and my focus on politics, my continued isolation, not to mention my medication needing to be adjusted left me angry and confused.
This continued for a while. I started making minor adjustments, such as cutting back on the sweets, adjusting the meds, working on sleeping regularly, going to more meetings, etc.
Life started improving. In late October (around the 22nd), I really increased my attempts at those subtle changes. The results have been fantastic.
The uber-sensitivity that was leaving me angry and confused has started to evaporate. I am also no longer feeling like I am carrying the cross of others, absorbing their pain the way my body used to absorb the alcohol I was continually poisoning myself with.
I still have a lot of growth to do. I am still selfish and self-seeking.
To make a long story short (too late), the ability to feel as I did in 2001-02 came back. It has slowly trickled in.
In early November, on the 5th to be exact, the music came back in ways it was not experienced since 2nd November 2002. Thus, for 9 years and 3 days I was in perfect isolation.
Again, there is still so much more to do. But I feel better.
The point, again, however, is that I can feel. The numbness is going away. I'm still scared, but my reaction isn't clenched fists and gritting my teeth. Nor am I reduced to tears and nothing. I can feel, and that is the most important thing that has changed.