Making my way, every day;
Walking the road, bearing the load.
Making it a little, but not all alone;
Starting a life, getting it going.
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Just a man, pausing in his daily walk to ponder.
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Wednesday, February 20, 2002
Ok everybody, the words for today are irrational and despair - mostly because that seems to be what's happening for me lately: being irrational and feeling an intense despair, that is. Sometimes, I wonder if I've got a wire crossed somewhere in my brain that files everything that happens under the "make me feel like shit" heading. That appears to be what happens, regardless. Much as what a friend of mine keeps telling me makes sense (that my perception of things being good or bad makes them so), but it doesn't rectify the situation anymore than me thinking that I can fly will help me to take off into the air. There just is any cure for this within the bounds of me. And of course, my emotions just compound the situation. I want to be angry, to hate, but I don't know what to target. I'm angry at this whole forsaken world for everything it's done to me, but a big part of it was/is unintended. And I want to be angry at myself for letting myself hurt so much, but the only way to stop hurting is to stop feeling, apparently, and the hope - even the terribly miniscule hope I have - of being happy someday won't let that happen. And I want to hate too. I want to hate myself - and sometimes, I do - but that's not going to get me anywhere and I'm really hoping that it's unfounded. And I want to just hate everybody else, because they all seem either indifferent to me, or out to get me in some way or other. And I know that that statement can't be true (or can it?). It's so irrational that I can't even begin to understand it. Suffice to say that, if I could think of a way to crawl under a rock and die without harming anybody else, I'd do it. But, that's just not right. I just want to stop this - stop hurting, and fearing, and thinking, and hoping - and be normal. But I'll never be "normal". There is absolutely no chance of that happening. It's like the being the kid with a birth defect who wishes with all his heart and soul to just be like everybody else, but it can't ever be; except that I'm all screwed up and deformed where no one can see it - and that's even worse, in some ways. But that's all well and good to say, but it fails on two counts: it sure isn't helping me brighten up any, and no one fucking cares what the hell I think anyway. It is almost as if I don't exist - people rarely notice me, and when the do, it usually follows that they'll have some calumny for me and that's it. I could understand people not liking me if I was some kind of bastard, but I'm really hoping that I'm really not one (and not just sitting here thinking that I'm all Mr. Nice Guy and really AM a bastard). But who is to know? The only people who give a rat's ass either way are not where I can chat with them right now, and they have lives of their own to live, and don't need me throwing any of my troubles their way. Basically, I'm just screwed, and that's all there is to it. And I hate it, but there's nothing I can do about it. And that REALLY, REALLY sucks.
11:38 PM
Sunday, February 17, 2002
I had a terrifyingly accurate thought today. I have noticed an internal tendency to want to "categorize" my life story into one genre or another. But no matter where I want to drop it in - say, tragedy, or maybe romance, or perhaps comedy - it doesn't really fit. Of course, that's because it has too many layers and levels - like any story that has a dash of realism to it - to fit neatly into one category or other. But, the closest fit, as for right now, would be tragicomedy. That is to say that, while the present isn't so hot, there's still some hope for the future. Thus, while it has tragic elements, until we see how it ends, it can?t be a tragedy if it ends happily. And the comic elements come in several varieties: most obviously, there are the (many) literally comic moments - funny little incidents, and happy periods where you laugh, out of a lack of other ways of showing that you empathize with the general good feeling; then there are the things I look back on, that become comic more in an ironic sense, or even in a regretful sense - to the outside onlooker, it's like watching one of those old MGM cartoons with the "ig'nant hick", because, being outside the story, they can see all the mistakes one is making; and then, there are those dark comic moments - when one laughs because it's the only way of surviving the soul-numbing, heart-wrenching, spirit-destroying pain that assaults every fiber of your body, when the laughter has a more "wrong" timbre to it. And besides, there has to be some lightening of mood in even the darkest tragedy. I mean, there could be no honest statement by myself or anyone else that life is all bad. It just seems that way when you're on the downward slide, and sometimes that downward slide can seemingly go on forever. It also doesn't help to see, looking back, that you may have made a life altering mistake or three. When one gets as desperate for human affection and caring as some have, they tend to overstress every opportunity for a relationship to develop (especially in the sense of it as yet another opportunity to be rejected) and thereby crash it before it ever gets off the ground. Having personally walked away from a few of those crashes, I am left staring at two questions. First, am I about to do it again? Second, how much longer can my luck hold out? After all, I will eventually get into an emotional crash that I won't just walk away from, if I keep on like this. But, the only way to avoid anything for certain is to abstain from it, and I refuse to abstain from something so important as human interaction. Unfortunately, I had to give up on the relationship game for a long time, having gotten hurt very badly several times in rapid succession. And now, the road back is both long and perilous, and it gets harder to make the start with every passing moment. I fear that I will try to make the trek and fail; I fear more that I will live out my days cut off for lack of trying; I fear most of all getting my insides all ripped up again. You can only come back form that so many times, and I think I may be running out of chances already.
11:25 PM
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