instability

i’m feeling very unstable today. I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s like anxiety i guess, but without the active intensity part. I don’t feel “nervous” or “frightened” or anything like that… just very lethargic and scattered… like oppressively lethargic, to the point where i’d struggle to do anything physical at all. I should cut the grass, but i feel so… “weak and powerless,” and completely disinclined, like i just don’t give a shit. I’ll probably go do it right after this, and it’ll probably suck as much as i remember… but that’s not what’s stopping me. I don’t mind doing it, but i just feel like shit… less than shit. Everything sucks, even the few things that aren’t that bad. Like, hey, i have a decent water-cooled gaming PC… but it’s just “decent,” and it’s not even close to what i’d build if i could afford it. Okay it’s “close,” but it’s a system i’ve been gradually adding and upgrading parts for a while now, and will likely never reach the potential i intended to maximize, when i first started this system, almost 3 years ago. Everything sucks and i have no future, and i’ve been stuck in this fucked situation for several years now, with no hope of any chance to significantly improve anything. There are no jobs i could get which would pay enough. There are no jobs i could get which would not suck too much (“too much” is the operative segment there). The only possible work i could get, would be both insufficiently rewarding, and excessively onerous… and just downright unpleasant, which would actually result in a net-loss. There are no people i could meet, worth meeting, and neither can i be worth meeting, to anyone. I know i’m not what anyone wants, and it’s because i can’t be. People read that and want to dismiss and trivialize it as “making excuses.” Well, fuck you, those-people. If you won’t even bother to listen, then you’re just another stupid problem i don’t need in my life. I’m weary of trying to encompass all of my relevant experiences and circumstances into words… and even if i could, it wouldn’t matter. It just doesn’t matter. All the important stuff is stuff i can’t change, and so the only available possibility is to exist in ways i find excruciatingly unacceptable, and incessantly exhausting. Even being aware of my own existence is exhausting now.

I suppose it’s ironic that i sometimes define, or rather, view (as in “from an alternate angle”), my disinclination and refusal to strive to participate in a world and as a person in which i will never want to be… as “self-preservation.” If i weren’t so deteriorated, to the point of being nearly incapacitated, i’d probably be dangerous. As long as i don’t “recover” and become powerful, i won’t really have to worry about anyone seeing me as a threat. But the cost… is a bit high; perhaps higher than, even i, even realize. And that’s a bit of an understatement. But comparatively, i’m not sure which cost is worse, because i don’t think my best could ever possibly gain me enough improvement, in enough of the right ways, to be worth trying. And there’s one of those invitations for the “excuse-accusers” again. On one hand, i feel insulted when someone accuses me of “making excuses,” but on the other, i scrutinize their motives, and why they think “making excuses,” for myself, is a bad thing. Why shouldn’t i excuse myself? Maybe i should? Why shouldn’t i find a way to make sense of my own circumstances, and find a way to see things, that doesn’t require me to feel whatever it is i don’t want to feel? Hm?

For all the times someone has put me on the spot like that, it’s amazing how often those same people will then proceed to blatantly contradict themselves, without even realizing, by saying something like “it’s all about how you see it,” or “it’s all about choosing to see it differently, from a different perspective.”

Well… i’m choosing to see certain things from a perspective that is compatible with my very nature, and attempting to make things easier on myself, because my life has been far too difficult, and seldom has any of my relentless perseverance ever “paid off.” I put everything i had, every bit of myself, into everything i was ever allowed to choose… and nothing ever worked out. Whether that means “i simply wasn’t good enough,” or “just unlucky,” doesn’t really matter much, since the result is what it is: misery and a desire to exit, despite the endless and deeply appreciative lust for life, which never went away, after being developed through every moment of strife.

I want to live, but i can’t. I CAN’T! I can’t. I’m not unable “because i tell myself i can’t,” but rather, i admit my limits and failures, and acknowledge that the requirements were beyond what i was able to produce, even at my peak. I’m being real with myself, because that’s the only way to ever get to the bottom of “me,” and figure out exactly what i need to do, to make anything work out… that is, if there even is anything left to try, which might actually work out. And if there is, i just don’t see it as a realistic, reasonably justifiable expectation or probability. Sure, it’s technically plausible that i could make something happen… but the odds are so absurdly long and low, that it would be completely ridiculous for me to think i’ll actually make it… unless i can figure out something i’m missing, which would actually change… any of the stuff that really needs to change, and in a sustainable way, so that i don’t have to “overspend” myself, just to maintain it. I can’t overspend what i don’t even have. If i get into something and run out of “self” to give… it will all fall apart, taking part or most of me with it, and that will just be that. I’d like to avoid unnecessary, superfluous failures, especially in implausible pursuits. If i’m going to fail, i want to only fail at my best, while striving for something i can *actually* do. If i fail, i want it to be MY fault. I’m so fucking tired of being thwarted by “other people” and their… willfully ignorant and inconsiderate extended impacts on an environment i have no choice but to share, in order to even exist. Last i checked, having my own space is still too expensive, and there are no options available for me to afford it. At least, not anything “plausible.”

And all this just weighs so heavily, and never really goes anywhere. I’m just lucky to be able to distract myself from it, occasionally for an extended period, but usually just for an extended moment or few. I’ve had no other choice but to rely on distractions, for so long, that they don’t really work very well anymore, and so now, all this bothers me even while i’m distracting myself, which means i never really get a break from it.

After feeling so lethargic and demotivated, that i felt i had to nearly force myself to write anything at all… some of you may be wondering: “why bother?” “why write?” “why would anyone care how you feel right now, today, or any other day?” “why would you want to share any of this?”

I don’t know. I guess i just get to the point where i feel this is shaking and rattling me to pieces, and i’m so saturated by despair, i have to do something. This tends to be the least potentially destructive thing i can do, and can also be construed as beneficial, for me… because at least i’m writing, at least i’m confronting, regardless of reduced capacity, the chaos abound inside me.

You might not be able to see or feel it from where you are, and maybe not even if you were next to me… but i’m tormented at all times, and usually screaming inside. And i don’t mean screaming words at people, i mean just screaming. “AAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!!!…” Like someone shackled to a steel table, hooked up to electrodes, being skinned alive, with veins full of poison and salt in their eyes… and by the only person they’ve ever truly connected with… while she laughs like the devil, betraying her widely believed disguise. And the onlookers say “stop making excuses!” and “you deserve it!” and “just change your mind!” with menacing scowls and maniacal laughter… haunting hoots, hollers and howls… while awaiting their turn to wield the knives.

I think people would treat me very differently, by and large, if only i could achieve and maintain the position to impose consequences for their transgressions.

I don’t want to die without revenge… but neither do i want to live miserably, solely for revenge.

I want a different life, a different body, a different identity… to start again, anew, as something completely else.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with “hating myself.” I got over that bullshit a long time ago. I don’t and won’t hate myself… but as long as i am me, i’m stuck connected to “all these things i hate revolve around me.”

I would have liked to be me, exactly who i am and was, but with entirely different and flourish-conducive surroundings.

But existing keeps me trapped and tapped-into this hell i IN NO WAY created for myself.

As time wears on, it wears on me, and today, i feel particularly unstable.

I’m trying so hard not to break… but i’m all bent out of shape, and i just can’t handle much more bending.