Saturday, January 8, 2011

My Apologies

I have to apologize for this entry.  It isn't what you want to read.  It isn't what I want to read.  I want to read what happens next in my sick murder story.  I'd like to be able to write what happens next in my sick murder story.  I live on the delusion that someone, somewhere, might read it and enjoy it for some random reason I don't know or care.
But instead I'm siting here, alone in my room, feeling a billion different emotions that circle over and over in my mind like a whirlpool, sucking me down as I try to swim.  Every positive thought I have is pushed down by a handful of reminders that I've thought that before and it didn't work then so why would it work now?
This is the breakdown I referred to earlier.  The downfall and destruction of my previous belief system.  I find it pitiful that it's such a common story it's not even worth telling, except that it's happening to me so I can't help but repeat it.
It's the story of the dreamer who opens their eyes and becomes disillusioned.  The true believer who loses faith.  The excited, curious child finding out about what fake is.  The thing that happens to people when they become "adults"- something I always swore I would never become.
It's the realization- the factual, reality-based understanding that my life is never going to match the dreams I had as a child, a young adult, or an artistic college student.  That real life actually is that- and here's the killing judgment- bad.
I don't mean to paint it so bleakly.  I'm not seeing a one-sided world of never ending pain and damage- that I could reality check and talk myself out of.
No, this is worse.  This is the realization that a job is just a job- whatever pleasure you get from it you create, if you feel like you're fulfilling a dream it's because you're convincing yourself of that.  That a relationship is just a relationship and that happily ever after isn't a reality- it's a belief that we hold onto because it's too painful to realize the truth.  That relationships are lives- they begin, and they end.  There are no guarantees of happiness and there is nothing you can do to secure them from pain.
I asked recently why those around me still believed that their jobs, their marriages, their lives would work out the way they want them to.  I think I figured out why.  It's isn't that they're stupid, it isn't that they don't see what I see.  It's because seeing what I see is entirely too unpleasant to do on a daily basis and they need to believe in something- as fictitious as it may be- or they wouldn't be able to keep going as we all we have to.  Day in and day out life has to go on, so we do what we have to to make that happen.
I've been thinking for a while now that I could get over this whole breakdown if I could accept life for what it is without that judgment that it isn't good enough.  If I could look at things as they are and instead of constantly comparing them with the dreams I grew up with (which real life will never, ever match because they weren't real) and instead just say that whole "it is what it is" slogan and move on I could be happy again.  I could be the person who I thought was myself again.
My favorite movie (Garden State) which I think of often comes to mind.  One line in-particular:  "I know it hurts. That's life. If nothing else, It's life. It's real, and sometimes it fuckin' hurts, but it's sort of all we have."  That line always struck me as so wise, so profound.  Like "Yeah, I know it sucks.  But that's what it is."  No judgment, no disappointment, no soul-crushing letdown.  Just acceptance.
I have none of that tonight.  Tonight I look at my life and even with logic pointing out that I feel hopeless right now because of the 7 going on 8 month long (and so far fruitless) job search and the issues in my personal life I still can't escape one, painfully strong question: If this is all there is then what the hell's the point?
It sucks me down into the whirlpool and I can't seem to get my head above water.

1 comment:

  1. Bev, honey. I'm going to die. You're going to die. Every person we've ever known? Going to die. Death is the end of life. Any life comes with an end; if it doesn't end, it isn't life. Living in fear and loathing of an end is ingratitude for existence at all. Did you like me? Did you like Tom, Dick and Harry? Then don't be cross that we bite it. That ingratitude for us living at all. Before we go we'll laugh and make others laugh, hold doors open, run away from rain, shovel the neighbor's walk, donate to charity and kick ass at videogames. Some stuff will be fun, some will be hard, and some will be painful. Pain occurs in a life of any significant length. You can't secure your life from that any more reliably than from ending. You can only guarantee yourself less happiness. To live in misery because there is misery is ingratitude to any happiness there is. Maybe we'll do something awesome beyond happiness and pain, maybe we'll change a life or cure a disease or write the next great novel - maybe, and the odds go up if we try. Maybe we'll just live and it'll seem as worthwhile as we let it. That's realism. Anything darker is a delusion that many of us have to see our way through.


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