Whew. I don’t know what it is I want from life, but I’m not getting it. I know, I know, probably because I’m not putting the right things into it. Can’t bake a cake without ingredients.
I’m trying to face depression head-on, and I don’t know if I’m making headway. Psychologist, self-reflection, and I feel like I’m working a 2000 piece puzzle where a piece is going in every month or so. I’m so terrible at being normal, at dealing with all the typical things. I’ve had to clean up three big piles of doggie diarrhea mess today, and it takes all my energy to deal with it. You’d think they might bark to let me know something is wrong, I walked them at the normal time.
Stream of consciousness… well, I tell myself that to justify sloppy writing. Maybe I’m too critical of myself, but I don’t want to let myself off the hook too easy. I don’t want to be complacent and comfortable as my radioactive half-life decays.
Keep it together. Get it together. Pay attention, Osaka!
It isn’t working, not yet. Will it ever? Hopes and disappointments, dreams and deferments. I’m doing something wrong. It isn’t religion, that would be escapism, pretending the problems are external in nature. I’m not saying God doesn’t exist, but if it does, it is completely and utterly beyond comprehension because it encompasses all of our positive and negative traits, everything. Heaven and Hell, good and evil, pleasure and pain, light and darkness, and all the stuff in-between those silly binaries, and off to the sides, and diagonal from, and in a coterminous dimension accessible from said point. I know, I’m not making any sense.
Bleh. You remember Sideways Stories from Wayside School? If you were a kid from my generation there’s decent odds you do. You remember the chapter about the kid who (spoiler alert!) signs a Faustian pact, offering the choice between freedom and safety, and the kid chose freedom? I feel like that kid, outside of societal norms, unprotected by the rules everyone else lives by. You get to be your own person, but there are consequences, social consequences. People are frightened because I’m different, so they hide that fear beneath disdain and indirect insults. If they get too forward, make themselves too known, and I confront them about it, they are scared shitless and back down like a bunny rabbit faced with a stray dog. Sometimes they say anything to apologize and get away, sometimes it turns out there’s a worthwhile human being under all that bullshit. You have to be ready for those consequences when you choose freedom. As it has been grossly ubiquitized, freedom isn’t free.
That’s the thing I hate about adults. They’re more subtle when they’re choosing to antagonize you. In school, you know who your enemies are, who the bullies are. You can opt to avoid them or to negotiate with them or to fight them, and the whole thing is pretty obvious and straightforward. Adults seemingly can’t handle being that direct so they won’t say anything to your face. If they did, you can bet that after I was done talking to them, they would shamefacedly never say such a thing again.
I hate these moments of negativity. Eventually they pass, but they make for a crappy day. Yeah yeah, you choose how you feel. Fine, I will try to detox this mood on some writing and romantic movies. Yes, as you guessed, the writing part is right here, these very words. All this venom I’m drawing out of my metaphorical wound has become a journal entry. They can’t all be pretty, they can’t all be insightful, they can’t all be creative. Once in a while I have to see ugliness in order to appreciate beauty.
I’m fighting back against the feeling of a rising tide of pointlessness. Oh, the moment will pass, but I dread that it sometimes returns. ::sigh:: This is just a bad moment. Breathe. I’ve been having some good days lately, don’t let a few disappointments and doubts ruin it. Don’t choose to have a bad evening, fight back, resist.
Music. I need music.