Friday, December 16, 2005
Three weeks.
I remember this one conversation I had with my grandmother. I told her I love her and think about her a lot. I just don't call as much because I keep waiting for better times. It's hard to talk to someone you love, or haven't talked to in awhile when things aren't going your way. It's so much better the few times when they can ask you how you are, and you can say, "I'm great. Everything's great." And really mean it. And launch into stories about all the really great things that have been happening. And all the really great progress you've been making with whatever projects you're working on. And jobs. And you're great friends. And how you met the greatest guy ... Or whatever the fuck.
But lately, I don't feel like that at all. And so I guess I've been wanting to write on this blog about as much as I've been wanting to call my grandmother. And I love my grandmother. I just said that.
Wow, I've really worked myself up in the last few minutes. All this thinking. It makes me feel like I'm going to suffocate or cry or scream but I can't even scream out loud. And if I did I wouldn't know what I'm screaming about, and then I would only be making a scene, and the embarrassment and lack of self-control would probably just make me feel more fucked up.
Make me hate myself more, or the rest of the world.
What the fuck is this? It's like Teen Angst -- Revisited. Sounds like the title of a movie.
I've been having a really hard time in the last few weeks. Some of my friends have told me that I'm strong. That people have cracked under less. But I don't feel strong. I don't feel strong at all.
I feel pain all over. My body is mad at me. I'm mad at me. I'm filled with so much loathing I surprise myself. Horrible things come out of my mouth. Even horrible things about strangers.
I'm becoming everything I used to hate, except that sometimes I think the things I used to hate I maybe only hated because I couldn't be. Anger can be freeing sometimes. When it's not paralyzing you. When it's not boxing you in. When it's not misdirected.
But it's hard to find direction when you honestly don't know what's up or down anymore. When you honestly don't know your head from your ass or if maybe it's hard to tell because your head is up your ass. Fuckin' A.
I'm sorry. Fuck.
I remember this one conversation I had with my grandmother. I told her I love her and think about her a lot. I just don't call as much because I keep waiting for better times. It's hard to talk to someone you love, or haven't talked to in awhile when things aren't going your way. It's so much better the few times when they can ask you how you are, and you can say, "I'm great. Everything's great." And really mean it. And launch into stories about all the really great things that have been happening. And all the really great progress you've been making with whatever projects you're working on. And jobs. And you're great friends. And how you met the greatest guy ... Or whatever the fuck.
But lately, I don't feel like that at all. And so I guess I've been wanting to write on this blog about as much as I've been wanting to call my grandmother. And I love my grandmother. I just said that.
Wow, I've really worked myself up in the last few minutes. All this thinking. It makes me feel like I'm going to suffocate or cry or scream but I can't even scream out loud. And if I did I wouldn't know what I'm screaming about, and then I would only be making a scene, and the embarrassment and lack of self-control would probably just make me feel more fucked up.
Make me hate myself more, or the rest of the world.
What the fuck is this? It's like Teen Angst -- Revisited. Sounds like the title of a movie.
I've been having a really hard time in the last few weeks. Some of my friends have told me that I'm strong. That people have cracked under less. But I don't feel strong. I don't feel strong at all.
I feel pain all over. My body is mad at me. I'm mad at me. I'm filled with so much loathing I surprise myself. Horrible things come out of my mouth. Even horrible things about strangers.
I'm becoming everything I used to hate, except that sometimes I think the things I used to hate I maybe only hated because I couldn't be. Anger can be freeing sometimes. When it's not paralyzing you. When it's not boxing you in. When it's not misdirected.
But it's hard to find direction when you honestly don't know what's up or down anymore. When you honestly don't know your head from your ass or if maybe it's hard to tell because your head is up your ass. Fuckin' A.
I'm sorry. Fuck.
Labels: Depression, Writing
2 Comments:
Sounds like you need a Vicodin, a shot of Whiskey, and fresh batteries luv.
Try to relax a bit, not everything good is going to happen right this minute, and it rarely happens when you are trying that hard anyway.
Dave
By 
, at
8:52 AM
thank you, dave. i actually am trying to take things more lightly. but i do need a vacation.
