Angst
Why am I 36 and still making posts like this? I honestly cannot remember a time when I didn't regularly wake up in the middle of the night worrying about something... or where I didn't sometimes suddenly get a cold sweat and a panic attack in the middle of work.
I still have not figured out what causes those things. I have not figured out why I suddenly and intensely feel hollow, like my soul had been removed and there is nothing but darkness.
I still don't know why I write about this like I am some 16 year old proto-goth. Heh.
Something slammed into me intellectually last night. Early in the week, Pete's mother let me read his suicide note. It was typical Pete, where there was an air of whimsy to it as he made his appologies, instructed as to what to do with his ashes and belongings and an eloquent reason as to why he saw this day coming. It left me with more questions than answers, and left me with this ominous feeling. I made notes.
Last night, I had promised Kari a date night. She has been the only thing in my life with enough gravity to keep me sane during this marathon of pain and self-doubt that Pete's death is plaguing me with. I needed to try to get life back to normal, and I wanted her to have a good night out... Like we did on Saturday.
After copious amounts of sushi we hit blockbuster and rented a silly lark of a movie that turned out to be intelligently written and quirky as hell. We enjoyed the movie greatly, until a suddent twist happened at the end that left left me feeling like my insides were torn out. A funny, intelligent movie spent 100 minutes being silly... and then one brother was holding the other brother as he died.
No. NOT THAT THEME. NOT TONIGHT. With an ashen heart, I slogged through the last 5 minutes of the movie when one of the happy, silly characters reached out to the living brother and stated : "Come on, let us live life like we are living the best story ever".
That got my mind grinding. Life is what we perceive it to be. I've not figured out how to override The Doom when it comes... But...
Ice washed over me. I got up from my couch and flipped on my laptop. Kari lamented that the movie went into brotherly sorrow suddenly, as my mind raced. I called up my notes of Pete's letterm and opened my private live journal.
In Pete's letter there is an overwhelming atmosphere that he is broken and could not figure out how to get back up. He lamented that he frittered away his friendships and that he didn't deserve most of them and that he had withdrawn due to the fact that he felt like he had disappointed everyone for so long that he saw only one way out.
I switched to my private journal, Nov 12th, 2009, 3:24AM (I use ... to skip parts that I still need to keep private)
-----
You are failing
You are a failure
No matter what you do or how much effort that you put into it, I cannot fix what is broken, and what is broken is me.
Feelings of futility wash over me often, in varying degrees
...but I keep asking myself if I am broken. Did I break sometime in the past few
years?...I doubt that I can fix myself...Here I sit at 3AM, typing ANOTHER missive about how desolate everything feels...now it looks like my subconcious has decided to start to poison my mind during the night...
I don't know what is wrong. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if it can be fixed...I wish I knew how to feel at peace, but I feel that I've felt dread for so long that I've damaged myself.
-----
It struck me. In the middle of the night, it is common for me to bolt awake with a feeling of panic and dread and dissapointment in myself. The elements of being broken and being a disappointment is common to my personal writings to myself and in Pete's suicide letter.
I had not put those two together before about 7 hours ago after seeing that movie. It took an hour to settle myself down again and I promised Kari that I'd make a call this morning and try to find somebody professional to talk to about this.
I still have not figured out what causes those things. I have not figured out why I suddenly and intensely feel hollow, like my soul had been removed and there is nothing but darkness.
I still don't know why I write about this like I am some 16 year old proto-goth. Heh.
Something slammed into me intellectually last night. Early in the week, Pete's mother let me read his suicide note. It was typical Pete, where there was an air of whimsy to it as he made his appologies, instructed as to what to do with his ashes and belongings and an eloquent reason as to why he saw this day coming. It left me with more questions than answers, and left me with this ominous feeling. I made notes.
Last night, I had promised Kari a date night. She has been the only thing in my life with enough gravity to keep me sane during this marathon of pain and self-doubt that Pete's death is plaguing me with. I needed to try to get life back to normal, and I wanted her to have a good night out... Like we did on Saturday.
After copious amounts of sushi we hit blockbuster and rented a silly lark of a movie that turned out to be intelligently written and quirky as hell. We enjoyed the movie greatly, until a suddent twist happened at the end that left left me feeling like my insides were torn out. A funny, intelligent movie spent 100 minutes being silly... and then one brother was holding the other brother as he died.
No. NOT THAT THEME. NOT TONIGHT. With an ashen heart, I slogged through the last 5 minutes of the movie when one of the happy, silly characters reached out to the living brother and stated : "Come on, let us live life like we are living the best story ever".
That got my mind grinding. Life is what we perceive it to be. I've not figured out how to override The Doom when it comes... But...
Ice washed over me. I got up from my couch and flipped on my laptop. Kari lamented that the movie went into brotherly sorrow suddenly, as my mind raced. I called up my notes of Pete's letterm and opened my private live journal.
In Pete's letter there is an overwhelming atmosphere that he is broken and could not figure out how to get back up. He lamented that he frittered away his friendships and that he didn't deserve most of them and that he had withdrawn due to the fact that he felt like he had disappointed everyone for so long that he saw only one way out.
I switched to my private journal, Nov 12th, 2009, 3:24AM (I use ... to skip parts that I still need to keep private)
-----
You are failing
You are a failure
No matter what you do or how much effort that you put into it, I cannot fix what is broken, and what is broken is me.
Feelings of futility wash over me often, in varying degrees
...but I keep asking myself if I am broken. Did I break sometime in the past few
years?...I doubt that I can fix myself...Here I sit at 3AM, typing ANOTHER missive about how desolate everything feels...now it looks like my subconcious has decided to start to poison my mind during the night...
I don't know what is wrong. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if it can be fixed...I wish I knew how to feel at peace, but I feel that I've felt dread for so long that I've damaged myself.
-----
It struck me. In the middle of the night, it is common for me to bolt awake with a feeling of panic and dread and dissapointment in myself. The elements of being broken and being a disappointment is common to my personal writings to myself and in Pete's suicide letter.
I had not put those two together before about 7 hours ago after seeing that movie. It took an hour to settle myself down again and I promised Kari that I'd make a call this morning and try to find somebody professional to talk to about this.