It's around 3 AM.
In these strange, midnight urges... I always reach an apex. This is usually when I write something. The extremes that come out in my writing are from breaking points and culminations of my emotions. The maximum and minimum... and nothing in-between.
It makes me feel dejected. And in my boredom, I started looking through random blogs. Most of them were stupid, or a camwhore's brothel, or in another language. But one came up more than once, and in English, so I read the first post. It was from Father Bill Haymaker:
"When my children were small I would often take them to a park to play. It would all start out in perfect harmony, but it was inevitable that eventually, an argument would ensue. The subject of dispute would invariably be over who was in ‘control’ and who claimed ownership and control of which toy.
How strangely similar this can sound to the relationships between adults and governments.
Wanting what someone else has, to the point of resentment, frustration, and even hatred is no stranger to the human scene. Our Cemeteries and history books are filled with the sad evidence of this.
The gifts given to us here and now are God’s blueprint for us, His guidance for each of us to build a satisfying and productive life. And the best part is that we can make that life with what we’ve got, and without taking or longing for what anyone else has.
When is the last time you took an inventory of what you really have? Have you possibly lost track of being able to identify what makes a difference in your life and what is nothing more than decoration?
If you can’t do it mentally, try writing on something as simple as a sticky pad. What really matters in your life? Name them clearly and give thanks for them. And then use them, share them, as God intended.
You’ll be busy for the rest of your life, and content as well."
I know it's generic in a way... but it's obviously written by someone who meant it. And it made me think one of those generic thoughts: "What
do I have to be thankful for?"
And, in humor and boredom, I wanted to list them as instructed, because I get so focused on the negativities that I convince myself I have no reason to live.
--I'm smart. A lot of people say that they're smart, intelligent, booksmart, whatever. I'm smart in my own way. I know a lot about the way people act, even if I usually can't put it into my own actions. I learn things more quickly than a lot of people, and I understand a lot of things that other people don't... a bit too Incorporeal for an answer, I guess. But I'm smart.
I'm a good writer. That is, to say, I write well. I understand grammar and useage of larger words to illustrate a point. I write with my personality in mind, and I think I portray it well. I write a million times better than I speak, though.
I have a deep appreciation for things symbolic and artistic. Not terms and definitions... but I am empathetic to a very high degree when it comes to things of personal nature. I'm emotionally smart... but all of my intelligence is usually wasted because I don't take the time to think about it.
I think by whim, represent myself by whim, live by whim. I don't like overthinking things, because when I start to, I find too many problems. I live for the moments that are seized in a spontaneous and serendipitous way. This blog is a good example of when I overthink things... because I delve so deeply into myself that all I can see is what's wrong with me.
I throw myself into tangents when I give myself a purpose, even something as simple as listing what I'm thankful for. But, reading the above quote was one of those things... one of those midnight things that sparked something in me.
I get really anxious at times like these. I desperately need someone or something to give me purpose, even if only fleeting. It's always about how I need something from someone else, as if I abhor living in my own skin, and sometimes I do.
It's at these times that I take a Valium, and try to calm myself. In the end, I guess all I can do is depend on an outside stimulant to make me feel safe inside my soul. When I think about it like that... it makes me sad. Not depressed, or forlorn... or envious. Just pure sadness.
In this relaxed state, this medicated state, I can at least have some lucidity. All of the swirling, darkened mass inside my brain slows to a placid hum. A relaxing vibration.
There is so much of my life that I have lost because I did something stupid. There are so many things I regret because I didn't take the time to appreciate them, and they left me. There are so many people I still want in my life, but I will never even have the chance to say, "hi". And, even if I found an opportunity, I'm viewed as mentally unstable, because I try too hard, because I'm just too goddamned desperate for a connection.
And all I can do is sit here, and write about it. If I spiral out of control, towards finality... does that make me less of a Human being? Will the people around me scoff and wag their fingers, because they think I should have done things differently? Is there a single person who would listen with an understanding ear, instead of telling me where I went wrong?
My mind hasn't grown dull. On the contrary, it's become so sharp that it's bleeding me constantly. I would do anything to feel comfortable in my own skin... I would give anything to know what it is that would lead me there.
So many times in my life I've felt like a castaway, seeing people for the first time in decades. I overcompensate the loneliness in my life with meaningless exuberance. And there is always a point where I realize I'm unwanted, uncomfortable and unwelcome. That point when I know I may as well leave. Because, even if I don't, those people will leave me just the same.
When I display these words on a public medium, I feel like a fool because I imagine people reading it with spite in their hearts. All of these words are honest and from the core of my mind. I don't have a chip on my shoulder, and I don't think my suffering, or lack thereof makes me better in any way. There's an entire subculture devoted to taking advantage of negative and sorrowful emotions... I don't believe in that.
But that's my ego talking, to cushion myself against criticism. Not that anyone would say anything back to me... I'm surrounded by the guise of an illusionary chip on my shoulder. That confidence... it's not real. There is no substance to it, because I have a weak heart and a weaker will. I get broken easily, and it's usually my own fault.
Still, when I can put these things into words... it makes me feel like I have some beauty, somewhere inside of me. And that is what writing is to me. Not to prove a point, or to argue... but to represent how I feel about something. If I couldn't write on here, I would have exploded long ago.
And this is who I am. Hidden until the midnight oil's burning, guarded until I can't hold back anymore. I'm ritualistic in a lot of ways, and one of them is prayer. I don't believe in Christianity, or any of the organized religions enough to pray directly to a God or Deity... but I guess I pray to my Id, my inner self.
There have only been a handful of moments where I've desperately prayed for something, anything to save me. There have only been a handful of moments when I've raised my fist in anger, fury against my life, uprooting my position and casting out the poison. These extremes... are the only things that have kept me alive, but did they have to make me feel so fucking insane all the time?
Maybe someday I'll be able to understand myself. That's my prayer to the ghost of Me. I pray that I will love myself someday, and I'll wait here, hating everything I am until it happens.
