Yesterday, whenever that is, I just wanted to vent - and I didn't want to hear anything. Tomorrow, I'm going in for surgery. If you have anything to say, I'm listening. (Cam assures me that there are better ways to get attention and affection, but he didn't fill me in on what I would have to do for that) I'm going to spend most of my waking time on Wednesday calling people, until I can get back to a phone or a computer. Until later, this will probably be it.
Something abaddonx99 said piqued my mind. It's somewhere between introspection and self-analytic bullshit. Lately, I'm too tired of keeping all of my problems inside, and not telling the people who (I don't know how this works anymore) want to know how I feel when I'm not trying to make people laugh. You can read it if you think you might be one of those people -
It's very hard to get anything done when a part of you keeps telling you that you've already failed, and nothing you can do will ever make a difference. The worst part is, I believe, and it's very hard to shut up your own mind.
My Fundamental Problem --- I believe that I have failed. Somewhere in the past, I had been working hard, and I slacked enough to lose pace with the life that I should have achieved. I'm not owed it, I just fucked up, and the rest of my life will be an object lesson of what happens when striving for perfection is given up in favor of a momentary respite. The logical conclusion from this, in my own neuroses, is that I have slipped from grace. Having slipped from grace, I do not deserve friendship, appreciation, or love of any kind. In the back of my mind, I distrust everyone who believes that I have any kind of worth
Somewhere between the accident, the illness, and school, I lost track of the person that I was, whatever it is that makes me the person I am. Only recently do I have any belief that I can be what I was, that there's something in this pitiful human soul worth saving. (***ahem, Hyperbole, ahem***)
Logically (I'm told) this idea is inconsistent with reality. ***clears throat*** Of course it is - it's a neurosis. Neuroses take root in the cracks of our self-esteem and burst full-bloom in psychically impossible ways. THey are not bound by the emotional or logical rules of this world. They carry around little pocket dimensions of reality that they can function perfectly well in, thank you very much. Like vampires, their coffins, and the dirt of their homeland.
That's not to say that it hasn't gotten better. It has - it's just taking a really damn long. And for the first time, I have enough distance to see it for what it is - from the outside. Not from inside the cage.
So, Question: Why is it that I had to come off the anti-depressant medication to come to this conclusion?.
Coming off of the medication, I discovered something odd - I'm becoming (in the subtlest ways) the person I was 6 years ago. Before I was on the medication, I religously organized things (czech), yell at family members when they're way out of line (czech - as opposed to smiling and nodding at a serious breach of civility and trust), and cry at appropriate times (czech), which is something I haven't done in about 2 years. It's only little things right now - my own mother tells me she doesn't notice any difference. They say you're a different person on the meds than when you're off them. I guess we(you)'ll find out when I get back.
Well there's too many windows in this old hotel
And rooms filled with wreckless pride
And the walls have grown sturdy, and the halls have worn well
But there is nobody living inside
Nobody living inside
Gonna pull in the shutters on this heart of mine
Roll up the carpets, and pull in the blinds
And retreat to the chambers that I left behind -
In hopes there still may be love left to find
Still may be love left to find
Seek inspiration from daily affairs -
Now your soul is in trouble and requires repairs
And the voices you hear at the top of the stairs
Are only echoes of unanswered prayers,
Echoes of unanswered prayers
-=- Dan Fogelberg, Heart Hotels -=-