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lykomancer-- Thomas Hobbes
...This is going to be a long and soul-searching bit of drabble. You've been warned.
I chose my title quote because, as some of you may know, I am plagued by despair. Whether this is a symptom of my chemical inbalance-caused depression, a result of my natural cynicism and anger, a healthy and normal reaction to this crazy, fucked-up world, a manifestation (along with apathy) of learned helplessness, none of the above or all of the above...I don't care.
(Although, for what it's worth, I'm voting on answer F) All of the above.)
[What's another night all alone / When you're spending every day on your own? / Here we go...]
I feel so lost so much of the time. Nothing's right, even when nothing's wrong. I don't have any energy, any inspiration, any drive or goal other than-- most of the time-- finding out what in the hell is wrong with me. I feel restless and lazy and angry and apathetic all at once. I want to climb the walls, but not have to leave my bed.
[I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare / I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair /...and the world is havin' more fun than me]
I've gotten angry-- I suppose envious is a better word-- at others who seem to have goals and plans; people who at least sort of know what they want to do make me so damn mad. They don't inspire me; they infuriate me.
And yeah, I've gotten the It's perfectly natural for you to not know what you want to do... it might be that you don't figure it out until you're 25/30/42/60/dead. That would be fine if just wanted a plan or goal, but that's not how I feel; I feel like I'm wandering around missing some vital part of me, like an arm or my liver, but I don't know what's missing or how I can make the aching stop.
Another analogy: It's like when you see someone else do something you used to be an expert at, but now can't do...you can't grip a pencil to draw because of carpel tunnel, or speak out because it's a dream, or whatever...and all you can do is stand there, ripped apart with jealousy and longing and possessiveness, struggling to live vicariously through this other person and failing because they -aren't- you.
[I'll try to think about the last time / I had a good time / Everyone's got somewhere to go / And they're gonna leave me here on my own]
It doesn't sound logical. I know that. I'm not stupid.
But goddammit, I'm supposed to be doing something-- something important, something major. Something that would make a difference for the better in this shithole world for a lot of people.
I know that, too. I know it in my heart, in my bones and blood; I know it, and it is undeniable-- I know, because I have been trying to deny it for years.
There's a damned reason I am here, now, in this place, skilled in the areas I am, with the quirky charisma I seem to have...and I want to know what that reason is.
Hey, you'd be pissed too if you kept feeling like the butt of a really immature cosmic joke.
(Actually, I'm reminded of something like "Pin the Tail on the Donkey"-- I'm clutching the tail, blindfolded and dizzy, stumbling around the room, while god(s) laugh and occasionally (drunkenly) try to "help".)
The Universe should be glad I don't hold grudges.
[What the fuck is wrong with me? / Don't fit in... / How did this happen to me?]
What brought all this on? my faithful readers might be asking.
Short answer: the sermon this morning at church.
Longer answer: I'm been feeling even more out of whack lately... just nauseas with the feeling. And I've been thinking about it more and more, wondering where I'm actually going. It's been building. Then I went to church and the sermon was on daring to dream, doing the impossible, and how to handle it when a dream of the impossible takes over your life.
[We all know there's always something tearing you apart / It's always so much longer than you counted on / And it hits you so much harder then you thought / But you don't worry, you don't worry / Cause you've got soul]
*scowl, glare, middle finger at the heavens* ...fine! Fine. I'll play this game. I got nothing to lose but my mind anyway.
[Amen... Good night, amen...]
I will get my =fucking= M.Div., and I will get =fucking= ordained, and I will get a thrice-cursed congregation if I damned well have to.
Point me in the general vicinity and I'll do my best to give the paper ass his tail, ok?
Jess is playing ball with the universe, and she bloody well expects to win.
Ah, hai, so da. It doesn't quite follow the form perfectly but,
Dayzed
It seems like it's always one of those days.
You know what I mean-- the kind where
everything seems to fall almost but not quite
into place, leaving you hanging with bated breath, like
the anticipation of an unfinished sentence. You
want to leap ahead and fill in the missing parts
and rearrange stuff like old furniture; you
want to make it read what you want, go where
you want... but you can't do that; days
and lives can't just be rearranged on a whim, like
a sentence. Days are more than their component parts,
and you cannot string events together like beads-- quite
the opposite! All you can do is savor the not-quite-
ness of it all-- touch that aching part inside of you like
the compulsive fingering of the painful bruise. You
take a breath of the unseasonably warm spring day,
and press down, biting your lip against the pain. All the parts
of your body and soul awaken, alive to the spot where
you're hurt, and you feel yourself bloom, wondering, where
is the immune system of the soul? This can't be you;
you're not like this at all, walking through the days
blankly, rubbing that sore spot on your spirit like
grim masturbation. No, this is wrong; this isn't quite
it. You could be greater than the sum of your parts;
you could be a contender, still-- a somebody. Parts
of you are worth something; parts where
there isn't this sickness of dwelling on the days
when the sun is shining and the air smells quite
good and there's nothing actually wrong, but you
still feel out of place, not right, kicked to the curb...like
a lonely stranger walking bareheaded in the rain; like
there is no place in the world for you where
you can feel healed and safe within yourself, and you can't quite
manage to express this the way you want; days
go by and you some to realize that, partly,
days and lives are like sentences, and that you
seem to have a difficult time with both, like you never managed to figure out where
to begin and end, how to quite wrap your tongue around the complexities of parts
stringing together to form a whole--and you fear that this will be so until the end of days.
~"For as long as space endures
And for as long as living beings remain
Until then may I too abide
To dispel the misery of the world."
--The Way of the Bodhisattva - Shantideva - 8th century
___
...God, either Jenny's making waffles or I'm experiencing the olfactory symptoms of schizophrenia. I hope it's the former, for several reasons.
...This is going to be a long and soul-searching bit of drabble. You've been warned.
I chose my title quote because, as some of you may know, I am plagued by despair. Whether this is a symptom of my chemical inbalance-caused depression, a result of my natural cynicism and anger, a healthy and normal reaction to this crazy, fucked-up world, a manifestation (along with apathy) of learned helplessness, none of the above or all of the above...I don't care.
(Although, for what it's worth, I'm voting on answer F) All of the above.)
[What's another night all alone / When you're spending every day on your own? / Here we go...]
I feel so lost so much of the time. Nothing's right, even when nothing's wrong. I don't have any energy, any inspiration, any drive or goal other than-- most of the time-- finding out what in the hell is wrong with me. I feel restless and lazy and angry and apathetic all at once. I want to climb the walls, but not have to leave my bed.
[I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare / I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair /...and the world is havin' more fun than me]
I've gotten angry-- I suppose envious is a better word-- at others who seem to have goals and plans; people who at least sort of know what they want to do make me so damn mad. They don't inspire me; they infuriate me.
And yeah, I've gotten the It's perfectly natural for you to not know what you want to do... it might be that you don't figure it out until you're 25/30/42/60/dead. That would be fine if just wanted a plan or goal, but that's not how I feel; I feel like I'm wandering around missing some vital part of me, like an arm or my liver, but I don't know what's missing or how I can make the aching stop.
Another analogy: It's like when you see someone else do something you used to be an expert at, but now can't do...you can't grip a pencil to draw because of carpel tunnel, or speak out because it's a dream, or whatever...and all you can do is stand there, ripped apart with jealousy and longing and possessiveness, struggling to live vicariously through this other person and failing because they -aren't- you.
[I'll try to think about the last time / I had a good time / Everyone's got somewhere to go / And they're gonna leave me here on my own]
It doesn't sound logical. I know that. I'm not stupid.
But goddammit, I'm supposed to be doing something-- something important, something major. Something that would make a difference for the better in this shithole world for a lot of people.
I know that, too. I know it in my heart, in my bones and blood; I know it, and it is undeniable-- I know, because I have been trying to deny it for years.
There's a damned reason I am here, now, in this place, skilled in the areas I am, with the quirky charisma I seem to have...and I want to know what that reason is.
Hey, you'd be pissed too if you kept feeling like the butt of a really immature cosmic joke.
(Actually, I'm reminded of something like "Pin the Tail on the Donkey"-- I'm clutching the tail, blindfolded and dizzy, stumbling around the room, while god(s) laugh and occasionally (drunkenly) try to "help".)
The Universe should be glad I don't hold grudges.
[What the fuck is wrong with me? / Don't fit in... / How did this happen to me?]
What brought all this on? my faithful readers might be asking.
Short answer: the sermon this morning at church.
Longer answer: I'm been feeling even more out of whack lately... just nauseas with the feeling. And I've been thinking about it more and more, wondering where I'm actually going. It's been building. Then I went to church and the sermon was on daring to dream, doing the impossible, and how to handle it when a dream of the impossible takes over your life.
[We all know there's always something tearing you apart / It's always so much longer than you counted on / And it hits you so much harder then you thought / But you don't worry, you don't worry / Cause you've got soul]
*scowl, glare, middle finger at the heavens* ...fine! Fine. I'll play this game. I got nothing to lose but my mind anyway.
[Amen... Good night, amen...]
I will get my =fucking= M.Div., and I will get =fucking= ordained, and I will get a thrice-cursed congregation if I damned well have to.
Point me in the general vicinity and I'll do my best to give the paper ass his tail, ok?
Jess is playing ball with the universe, and she bloody well expects to win.
Ah, hai, so da. It doesn't quite follow the form perfectly but,
Dayzed
It seems like it's always one of those days.
You know what I mean-- the kind where
everything seems to fall almost but not quite
into place, leaving you hanging with bated breath, like
the anticipation of an unfinished sentence. You
want to leap ahead and fill in the missing parts
and rearrange stuff like old furniture; you
want to make it read what you want, go where
you want... but you can't do that; days
and lives can't just be rearranged on a whim, like
a sentence. Days are more than their component parts,
and you cannot string events together like beads-- quite
the opposite! All you can do is savor the not-quite-
ness of it all-- touch that aching part inside of you like
the compulsive fingering of the painful bruise. You
take a breath of the unseasonably warm spring day,
and press down, biting your lip against the pain. All the parts
of your body and soul awaken, alive to the spot where
you're hurt, and you feel yourself bloom, wondering, where
is the immune system of the soul? This can't be you;
you're not like this at all, walking through the days
blankly, rubbing that sore spot on your spirit like
grim masturbation. No, this is wrong; this isn't quite
it. You could be greater than the sum of your parts;
you could be a contender, still-- a somebody. Parts
of you are worth something; parts where
there isn't this sickness of dwelling on the days
when the sun is shining and the air smells quite
good and there's nothing actually wrong, but you
still feel out of place, not right, kicked to the curb...like
a lonely stranger walking bareheaded in the rain; like
there is no place in the world for you where
you can feel healed and safe within yourself, and you can't quite
manage to express this the way you want; days
go by and you some to realize that, partly,
days and lives are like sentences, and that you
seem to have a difficult time with both, like you never managed to figure out where
to begin and end, how to quite wrap your tongue around the complexities of parts
stringing together to form a whole--and you fear that this will be so until the end of days.
~"For as long as space endures
And for as long as living beings remain
Until then may I too abide
To dispel the misery of the world."
--The Way of the Bodhisattva - Shantideva - 8th century
___
...God, either Jenny's making waffles or I'm experiencing the olfactory symptoms of schizophrenia. I hope it's the former, for several reasons.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-06 10:03 pm (UTC)I'm just glad that you're not the kind of depressed that precludes being angry or sad. You'll get through this; it'd be if you were like that that I'd really start to worry about you.
Good luck getting some tail. :P
no subject
Date: 2005-02-06 10:30 pm (UTC)