I’m not going to be around this week as I’m having a wee holiday and trying not to think about life and its crapness.
Hope the week is kind to you all out there.
I’m binging on Asgeir a tad. There’s something about him. His eyes. His tone. His intensity.
I go through many phases with music. I’m always searching for something new to listen to. Something new to feel. I like lots of different styles, sounds, moods of music. Sometimes what I’m listening to and the songs that I continuously press repeat on are a good indicator of where my head’s at. I don’t dwell on morose music, much. Most of the time I cling to a track that will offer something – the promise of understanding, or tales of similar experiences, and stories of that desperate, never-ending search for something more, better, easier, gentler.
I’m in a weird space. Place. I’m at my parent’s house, where I grew up, since I was six. It’s familiar, it’s home… but it’s also not anymore. And it makes me think of the past. This house has memories and attached to them are emotions. And when I’m not lost in them, I’m left feeling a bit adrift. Lost. Aimless. I don’t know what to do, what I should be doing. I’m wasting my life.
This morning I baked muffins – zucchini and bacon. I don’t normally bake, my kitchen is too small and when you bake you eat. But I made muffins. I grated, microwaved, measured, whisked, mixed, scooped, put in the oven. That’s probably the most productive I’ve been all week.
Apart from that I’ve been escaping to the Scottish Highlands in the first Outlander book. I feel a little cheated. The start seemed okay, but it’s getting predictable and a little too convenient and superficial. I think. Oh well. It occupies my time and gives me a legitimate excuse to lie in bed for most of the day.
I must admit I don’t see much point to life at the moment. I don’t see what there is to strive for, I don’t see how things can be better, I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing and don’t know how long I can keep up this Groundhog Day of sorts. But whatever. I amble on. I am the stupid one for keeping up this tiring, unsatisfying cycle. For not finding a better way.
I’m haunted by the threat I pose to myself as the days go by and things don’t change. I’m haunted by the sense that I’m rushing toward an inevitable end. And sometimes I feel it would be best, and that others expect it. Expect is not the right word. I don’t know. I don’t know much. I guess that’s where part of the sense of futility of life comes from – what is the point if I feel my future is already decided? And it’s not a happy one?
I need to stop this line of thinking. I’ll shower and go to bed. Bed always helps… except when it just becomes a bed of dwelling. Who am I kidding? Bed won’t help right now.
I might drive. Yes. A nice night drive along the Esplanade. Maybe get pulled over the cops for a breath test – it is Friday. Listen to the music on shuffle. Find the ocean.
But I can’t. I’m being watched and I have to be normal.
Bed it is.
I’m still here. Sorry for the absence. Not that I expect anyone to notice.
It seems I am losing time. I’m on holidays at the moment – three weeks without work. It’s almost the end of the first week and I’ve no idea where it’s gone. A lot of time has been spent asleep, I guess that doesn’t help.
I’m feeling unreal. Detached. And alone, despite being with family. Friends have gone quiet on me and aren’t returning my messages. Which I deserve, because I don’t invest fully. I am not genuine. I am always holding back. But now no one is there I realise more fully how worthless I am. How nothing I am. How empty. Which is part of the reason I never fully show myself – they will see it too. I don’t deserve them.
It’s inhabiting my chest again. It being the weight that always comes back. The panic. The pain. Oh the melodrama. I feel like such a cliche. And a broken record. My psychologist says “stuck record”. I’ve never heard the saying before that way.
I saw him on Tuesday.
Oh how I despise myself and especially the version that sits in that chair in his room. I am not me. I can’t stand me. I want to claw her away until there’s something genuine and bloody but true. Who am I? I have no idea. I am nothing and I am failing at everything.
I could disappear and barely a soul would know.
I took this photo while watering the garden this afternoon. Sometimes I get a bit scared of going into my courtyard, because I don’t want my neighbours to see me. I’m on the ground floor and they can look down into my little space. I hate being seen. So this afternoon I went out with my earphones in and music playing loudly. I couldn’t hear the world because Ben Howard was singing in my head. His song – I Forget Where We Are. It’s my favourite at the moment. And I was out there even though the lady above me to the left was watering too, She probably thinks I’m rude for blocking the world out. But I am pretending I don’t know that she thinks I’m rude. I’m pretending I didn’t notice her at all.
I’m a bit strange today. My head is fast and desperate to talk. But to who, and to say what? I have nothing to say.
At the same time I’m tired. It’s exhausting being and trying to keep up with myself.
Yesterday it was windy, so, so windy. The trees were being whipped this way and that as the sky blew and blew. I wondered if the sky was trying to tell us something – trying to get our attention. All night the chimes rattled away and the palm fronds whipped against each other. The blinds slapped against the window as the air sucked back out again. In and out like waves in the ocean. Sometimes I think that there’s something in the air that is wrong and that something’s coming.
Today was hot but I was cold in my corner of the office. Outside though, was dry and shrivelled up. Tonight I watered my garden, and you know that smell that you smell when you water plants? I can’t explain it… but there’s a certain smell, anyway, it smelt like relief. Tonight there’s more relief – it’s dropping from the sky. It started with flashing in the sky, like a bulb was about to blow. Then the rumbling, and more flashing – this time like a camera flash going off. It rumbled and flashed for a while until finally the rain came. It’s still falling, only lightly, but enough. Gentle, steady, something. Better than nothing.
I am a bit strange. But it’s a relief too. Being this is better than being superbly sad. Being this is being something. I’m not quiet so hollow today. Strange, yes, but fleshier. More substance. I won’t want this to leave just yet. It’s better than sad and better than being so far away. There’s still a far awayness… but I’m more here.Just not quite feeling properly. Just thinking. Lots of thinking.
I’m going to go. I’ve got something to do. I shouldn’t, but I will. That’s okay. Or maybe I could sit in the rain instead. No. They might see.
Sometimes I get far away. I get like this when things are too much. I am distant. I am different. I feel nothing. I am nothing.
Nothing touches me. It all washes over me. I exist.
I do things but I am not conscious of the thought process that leads me to do them. Things just happen. I find myself in the car on the way somewhere and I am unsure about how I got there.
I push friends away. I don’t see anyone. I don’t laugh. I don’t smile. I am not in charge. I have gone away somewhere in me. I’m far away. It’s robot me you see.
I think when this happens more of me dies. More of my personality. I think I’m going to be an empty shell one day – all the good stuff is being taken away. I’m eroding.
I’m a bit stuck. I’m a bit messed up. I’m a bit unsure of what the point is. I’m a bit confused about what I’m meant to do. I’m a bit lost. I’m a bit frustrated. I’m a bit invisible. I’m a bit fed up.
I am hollowing out. I am nothing of substance anymore because everything is about getting through the day. And then the next one. And then the next. I can’t write anymore, I don’t have anything I’m passionate about, I don’t have strong opinions, I don’t feel anything real apart from this all consuming storm. I have no goals or dreams.
I found this bird by the side of the road. Dead. Decomposing. Forgotten. The traffic continued on its way past while the ants came and ate their fill, and as the grass grew around it. The rain fell last night and the bird’s broken little body was there, but it was gone. And where do birds go after they die? Is there a fruit-filled tree in the sky? It will be nothing soon. Just dirt and bones. One day soon I’ll be the same. Soon as in, in the grand scheme of things. I’m counting down the days, and I often find myself trying to find ways to speed up the process. But all that thinking about an end takes me away from the now. And life is passing me by and I have nothing because I’m so consumed by wishing it was gone already. Sometimes the thinking about an end distracts me from the now, which to be honest, is kinda shit. Kinda shit? It is shit. Catch 22 and all that.
But I have to do it less. I have to live in the moment more and be all mindful and shit. Easier said than done. How about this, how about you put me in an induced coma, rearrange some wires in my noggin and wake me up when it’s done? I’m over it.
Slow down. I wish I could. The last few days my head has been jumping all the over the place. I despise myself. Everything I say and do is wrong. I feel the hate in me like an electric current buzzing beneath the skin. I can’t be this. How am I this? I want to claw myself to pieces. I can’t stand this flesh I can’t stand this being. I can’t explain it. The panic. I know I’m a broken record but I need someone to get it. But that’s impossible – I can’t put this into words.
Around people I’ve been a rambling idiot. I don’t shut up when I should and I say ridiculous things. I can’t stand it. I am sarcastic and awful. I make stupid jokes. I am not me. I’m angry and edgy and weird. I feel like I don’t have any control.
When I’m not that I’m this. Sad. So sad. It absorbs me. I want to die. But I’m too weak. And, well, family.
Tomorrow I see my psychiatrist and I’m already super anxious about it. I can’t talk I can’t explain. I am trapped in myself. I am driving myself crazy.