I don’t think I’m smart. I’m a fucking idiot, because what intellect I have is selective. I can understand Java code, but I can’t understand why 90% of humanity can’t give a straight or honest answer to simple questions. I can feel myself desiring to go over the brink, and I grab my own shirt and pull back to where everybody else is; the agreed on perception, a collective dream that you all know as “reality”
There are treatments I would like to try, but no idea of the intervening steps. Just so, there is a lifestyle I think that would push me to this edge less often, but the between me and it; a vast void. I feel like a widow, pacing my widows walk, thinking of what I long for, knowing that I may never find it. Water does seem to be at the heart of every “world is brutal” metaphor. Yet, water is required, and I don’t think that being unfathomable is an essential quality of other people.
I bang on, and I cry out against the nonsense of it all. Then I find others, who have but a tiny glimpse of the whole that I see. The waste, degradation, in contrast to what could be, the ever present and persistent well being. See, glory is not an apt goal, because it can only be glorious in comparison to the suffering we live through day to day. What is most sought is to be so well that our problems are petty, that we struggle against annoyances, instead of against the yawning void of human misery.
Here I am, staring at the enormity of it. Knowing that a dent is the most I will ever make. Wondering if it matters at all. I could retreat into my own delusional fairy tale world, and be done with the miserable preoccupation of my companions. Yet, pain is the sobering thing, that thing which makes it all real to me. A world without pain? Utter agony of a different kind all together.
Head in the clouds, but neck and body feel six feet under. I’m hoping getting a new therapist will help, but I have been for 24 years searching for just one person who can understand well enough to get why I feel unsettled about the whole thing; everything I see represents opportunity, and the force I have to deny myself simply to be cogent and sensible is immense.
Then I have others tell me how glorious it must be, to have all the time and intellectual resources which they long for. Bless them, they don’t know. When I was told that knowledge was the source of all sadness, I underestimated the magnitude of pain. I underestimated, assumed that when I knew enough I would also know enough to set corrective action into motion. I don’t. I still feel like a child, lost and alone, grasping for meaning.