The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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C'mon Collapse

I can dream up schemes when I'm sitting in my seat
I don't see any flaws til I get to my feet
I wish I never
woke up this morning
Life was easy
when it was boring

I could make a mark if it weren't so dark
I could be replaced by any bright spark
But darkness makes me fumble
for a key
to a door
that's wide open...

Instead of worrying about my clothes
I could be someone that nobody knows
I wish I never
woke up this morning
Life was easy
when it was boring

This song is pretty evocative of my mood right now. I realize it's more about Stewart Copeland's feelings regarding fame, but certain passages as well as the music itself remind me of how I feel. Particularly the part about how darkness (depression) makes you fumble for a key to a door that's wide open.

If you can think of sleep paralysis as a state where the mind awakes before the body does, then you might liken what I have to "wake paralysis." The body is awake, but my mind slumbers. Sure, I can wipe my own ass, but the higher level functions are all muted. My concentration is gone. My conation is a ghost of its former self. There are times, though, when it seems that my mind is subject to the torture of the four winds. It's not that it's inactive; it's that the furious energy is working against itself in every direction, with the net result being no evident motion and a great deal of anguish. So, quite simply, while it looks to an outside observer as if I am inert or lazy, I am in reality very violently rending myself from within. In short, it sucks.

I saw a shrink for two sessions, but he's going to refer me to someone else, as he plans to stop accepting my insurance (and all insurance, fucking ins. companies are a bastard to deal with on both sides). That won't start until the new year, though. Meanwhile, I'm going to spend the holidays with my girlfriend's folks, who are both very driven people. To them, my inactivity is baffling, verging on sinful. But I've always fancied myself an actor, right? So I'll act as best I can. A tour de fourth. My laptop's broken, so I suppose I'll spend my leisure time reading. Hopefully, GA is warm enough that I can go on long walks, as well.

If I could, I'd slow the whole world down. I'd bring it to its knees. I'd stop it spinning 'round. But as it is, I'm climbing up an endless wall. No time at all. No time this time.

I feel so disconnected from everything right now. Apparently, friends of mine have been without power for weeks now? *shrug* Also, I think it's Christmas next week. *shrug* I basically had to get Becca to do all my holiday shopping this year, because I can't even acknowledge the holiday. When I'm so worried about where my next meal is coming from, the fact that you want a video game or a CD or whatever the hell is so fucking alien that I just don't care. I mean, I understand, but I don't care. I can't care. I am so fucking exhausted from pushing my body to do every single menial task while my mind sleeps that I have nothing left to offer. Becca has been very kind and agreed to exchange charitable donations in each other's name this year, though she's clearly not very happy with it. But whatever. I'm tired of giving my money to people who don't need it, or deserve it. And I'm just as tired of other people's assumptions and presumptions that I should be delighted to receive whatever useless plastic crap made by wageslaves in China. I'm not talking about a war on Christmas here. I'm talking about having a reason to celebrate. I'm not looking for sympathy, or handouts. I'm looking for a chance to get back on my feet—hell, get on my feet in the first place. Because almost all my anxiety, be it about school, job, success, comes back to one thing: money. And I know this, because the times where I was in the black, making more than I needed to survive, were the times I moved forward. I went back to school. I got good grades. And I was able to move forward because wasn't agonizing about how I'd pay for stuff, how I'd live, how I'd eat. So a holiday where folks celebrate by moving large sums of money around is only a source of anxiety for me.

And then you will say, well, no, what about the family aspect, and the togetherness? Well, I'm not spending the holiday with my family. And since I didn't pay for the tickets (money again!), I didn't get to pick the dates we're in Atlanta. So my grandmother and I will only be in the same area for a day, tops, during which we will hopefully have time to meet for dinner. My girlfriend's family will most likely want to come along, so I'll have to see if we can return to my aunt's house after dinner to have some time alone with my family. Which will be pleasant. Then we'll return to her family's house, where we're staying despite my being highly allergic to their dog because (you guessed it!) money yet again. None of this speaks to the fact that my holiest of days have almost all been spent in solitude. My holidays don't come when your holidays come, by definition. Even if you move yours around, they can never be the same. That's just how it is.

I haven't written anything serious to my journal in awhile for just this reason. There's no way to say how I feel without it sounding alienating in our society. *shrug* I guess I feel alienated by society. So I draw my line in the sand and rant and rave while the teeming millions obliterate it with their oblivious footsteps. And so I box myself in not to keep you out, but to keep me in. To keep the horses from breaking free and tearing me apart. Depression is a depressingly narcissistic (or at least introverted; for some, there is no distinction) disorder, out of necessity. It's survival.

Whatever, at least I'm writing (in some form) again.

Always talking to myself.
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