JAMM & espy--
Take One:
My brick wall came December of last year. I'd achieved absolute lack of velocity: job I loathed and couldn't lose, an apartment with maximum privacy, room-mates & co-workers I called 'friends' but couldn't relate to, inability to write or draw anything to fruition, lack of faith in magic or god, the lot. And like every other time I thought I was done, like when homeless, suicidal, or walled off from my mind with chemical help, something in me couldn't say die.
So I began trying things that went against my inclination (read: stagnation). Trying to love everyone, irregardless of my misanthropy; trying on alternate worldviews, excercising, meditating, practicing / studying tarot every day; keeping an actual journal, divesting myself of crap possessions, attending marches and participating in causes I didn't necessarily understand or believe in. In short, I opted not to give up, because -not giving up- was the only thing my mind and body knew how to do.
It's an irrational course, and I'm afraid it doesn't qualify as terribly inspirational. I'm no closer to being resolved as to how I work, or understanding other, or being closer to my fellows, but then few of us are or ever will be. I've never found meaning, but I will say that at least I've found peace. I'm actually productive for the first time in my life, doing things I enjoy & care about; maybe that's my secret:
I started pursuing the ideals I had as a child. Living, loving, writing, drawing.
Christ, this keeps up and I'll turn into a hippy. (Suppose there are worse fates.)
Take Two:
Main reason I checked this thread is, since my Aunt's death, I had started work on a script involving suicide, and have been researching the topic (failing birth rates in N. America, upswing in military suicides, ratio of homicide to self-destruction involving guns). Past a certain point, I couldn't see the cause for the percentages.
Every time I've ever been close, I've used 'reason' to paint myself into the appropriate corner; the full text of my excuses wouldn't fit on a tombstone the size of the New Jersey turnpike. But no-one's ever talked me out of it; I've always had to dissuade myself, to reprogram myself, to realize that my motivation is meaningless and misdirected, that all I'm hearing in my head is a doppler of the world losing faith in itself.
And maybe ego is the only thing that's stopped me: I don't want my epitaph to be an echo.
Take Three:
Why not have a nice cup of tea instead? |
