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.
3 comments
So if I’m not misinterpreting, this is basically the things I suffer most of, but written in fancy. You try to stop yourself from being open and sensitive, because it takes up a large amount of space. People will use that. They’ll just walk right in. Spread themselves all over your open web, like a computer virus. They’ll open windows asking you things like: ‘Would you like to delete your emotion.?’ and when you click OK, it crashes.. Blackout. You’re messed up and after you slowly restart, the people are gone. Just out of your life, leaving what they’ve broken. If you were to invade their space, they’d click ‘NO’. Because they don’t have any emotional capability in the first place. You can’t quite get to them, as they can to you. My youth is lost. They’ve had theirs and now they’re also trying to take away my young adulthood. I tell myself for the 500th time, I won’t let this happen. But whenever I think my firewall is strong enough, they’ll use water. Water on my CPU. As you’ve said, Water is necessary. But there’s nothing necessary in this world for me anymore. I don’t want to be me. But I also don’t want others to be the way they are. Two things you can’t do anything about. Anyway, your text just moved me. Thank you for this.!
I was going to write that you have no idea how comforting it is to realize that possibly I am not the only person struggling with this, but then upon rereading I realize you’ve pretty much got it. There’s no path, we’re screaming into the void. Yet, if we share the load, we don’t have to scream so loud perhaps.
I’ve only ever identified with the broken, the lost, the outcasts. I do not understand what it is to “belong” or “fit.” I have no excuse, great parents, finest education my money could buy, and now a stable and secure job. I don’t know how to be satisfied. I’ve been crying out for so long, it’s the familiar. I’m seeing a therapist Friday, what an interesting problem I will be to that guy.
Tonight, I understand alcoholism in reaction to the trapped way that we are forced to dance our figurative ballet, while people stomp on our feet. Yes, after all these years of writing and reading when sad I am poetic and metaphorical when most distraught. I envy Poe; losing himself in opium and prose is very much an end I would envision for myself.
Yet, sobriety. Yet, responsibility. Yet, what passes for sanity. I walk through one day at a time, and at the time I should be most joyful; realizing my life is another day shorter, that which I am most grateful for, I grouse and get frustrated. That’s the cost of passivity during the day.
Fear not, friend, death and the void come for us all. Some of us it takes longer to get around to, but have no doubt that we are already written on that list, and our days of frustration are numbered.
Keep trying. Don’t give in to that tendency to think things have to be done right the first time all the time. We’re learning creatures. It may only be that your desires are against present reality. Things change. I read a world of knowledge in what you posted, but I also perceive that you are going way out of your way to conceal certain thoughts. If you can find–and you can–someone you can trust, then find the way to speak the ugly truths and that will do much to set you toward the future reality which may well contain some of those desires you’re now at odds with.