vore

The past two weeks or so have been especially brutal. I haven’t felt able to express myself creatively. I also haven’t felt…like myself. I can think of several possible factors: I’ve been smoking way too much, haven’t been sleeping consistently and I’ve exposed myself to too many different people and types of content, so I’m having trouble processing it all and finding myself in the chaos of voices and experiences and sensations.

The latter was part of my resolution this year—which I just so happened, incidentally, to make at the beginning of the year, though it wasn’t a conscious decision to make a New Year’s resolution. My plan was to not allow myself to turn someone down if they wanted to hang out—unless I was already A.) doing something with someone else, in which case, I had to tell them that we could hang out later when I was done doing the other thing with the other person B.) if I was at work or C.) if I was sleeping. There’s a stipulation with the last one because I used to, before I made this resolution, sleep anytime I could. I didn’t have a set sleeping schedule because I work third-shift and it’s impossible to keep to a consistent schedule when you work third-shift. However: around the time I made this resolution, I also decided that I was going to sleep at a certain time and for a certain amount of hours and if I couldn’t sleep within the allotted time-frame, then I had to stay up. Of course: I still sleep irregularly, but I’ve gotten better about not indulging every opportunity, no matter how tempting, I get to nap. Because of this and because I’m out and about doing stuff all the time: I feel completely drained. My friends always want to do stuff. My sister, too. And because I won’t allow myself to say “no,” because I feel that I need to get out of the apartment and actually interact with people and be active and social, I go along with whatever they want me to do. There have been some perks: I’ve met some people (people through friends), that I otherwise would have never met and I’ve had experiences I would have otherwise never have had—all in the span of less than a month, mind you. But the toll it’s taken on my mind and on my creativity doesn’t make the trade-off seem worth it.

I’ve gotten better at talking to people—saying what I need to say when I need to say it in terms of glib water-cooler type banter, but I don’t feel like it’s made me a happier person. I still have “deep” talks with friends sometimes, but I don’t feel that I’m at my best, after being worn down by so many frivolous conversations and experiences, to participate in these conversations or offer anything profound. I can feel the same areas of my brain being activated but all too often I can’t seem to think of anything to say—or, if I do, it comes out in a sort of fragmented less-than-confident stream—not at all like it used to be. I think, because before, these were the only types of conversations I had with people—unless I was goofing off or riffing on something with them, which also happened pretty frequently. I had time to sit at home and think about stuff—stuff I’d read, seen or heard; stuff I’d been thinking about on my own. But, now, I get this feeling like I’m getting ahead of myself—trying to do too much at once. So, I don’t really stop to think about anything—unless it’s how sad I am because I can’t express myself—or I don’t think I can express myself like I used to.

So, what’s the solution? I don’t know. I really don’t. I need to get out and do things and maintain my relationships with people but it’s so hard for me. And I know I’m not one of those people, no matter how much I value my privacy, who can live for days cooped up in their apartment or parents’ basement trolling the Internet because they don’t need people. I feel like this is a very autistic kind of behavior and I’m only half-autistic. I love being alone and doing stuff by myself. Like I said: I love my privacy. And, sure, I am kind of a hermit. But there are times where I feel so alone and lonely and I know it’s because I don’t get out enough and spend time with people and maintain friendships. I only agree to do things when it’s convenient for me—when I absolutely can’t stand being in my own brain anymore and I feel like I need to immerse myself in society again. But, like my sleep schedule, I can’t keep it consistent. I can’t even find a good balance: alone-time vs. friend and family and people-time

I also feel really bad right now—super tragically sad—about this recent break-up. I spent this last year defining myself by Kristen and our conversations and I learned a lot because she was able to offer me pretty good insights into my character. I got used to it, though—to always having her around to talk to. And I didn’t realize until now how happy that made me—how genuinely great it was to have her around anytime I needed or wanted to talk about something. Even when we weren’t talking, just being able to walk out of the bedroom anytime I wanted and wrap my arms around her and be affectionate—it was great. And now I’m suddenly cut off from that and it fucking sucks. I’ve thought about dating other people but I’m not ready. Kristen and I haven’t been together for a little over a month but it would still feel like I was cheating on her. Or, maybe it would just feel wrong—like I was admitting to myself that it’s officially over.

I hate that I was able to feel so connected to someone at a time in my life when I wasn’t ready to feel connected to someone. I still have some growing up to do—some things to figure out before I can be confident in who I am and the path I want to be on. And it sucks that I don’t have this shit already figured out—that I couldn’t’ have found Kristen at a time when I had a secure job and I knew what I wanted to do with my life and who I was. I thought I knew this stuff before. But I think it changes when you put yourself in different environments—there is no constant “you.” After my last break-up, I was living with my parents and gradually re-building relationships I’d lost because my ex didn’t like me hanging around my friends. It took a while, but I eventually got back on track with everyone—and I made some new friends, too. I got used to hanging out with these people, working at FedEx and living with my parents. I was also going to school at the time. So I knew who I was—relative to that time and the things I was doing at that time. But, now, I’m out of school, I’m all alone, I’m too proud to ask my parents for anything and I’m still adjusting to this next phase of my adult life. It’s just nerve-wracking because I can see how this goes: I spend however long it takes getting used to something, then everything changes and I have to get used to that. And there’s no cop-out—there’s no Zen shortcut. I can’t just reject change—because change happens (forgive me for sounding like a high school Pothead philosoph) regardless of whether or not you’re ready for it. So, I have no choice but to adapt to change. And, jeezus krist, that’s easier said than done. It’s always been hard for me, which is why I’m one of the most nostalgic motherfuckers I’ve ever met. But I do think the more I get out and the more I expose myself to change and new situations, etc., the more adept I’ll be at a adapting (how’s that for some Shakespeare-level punning?).

I just hate that you have to participate in this never-constant series of events, always re-learning who you are and where you fit in, even when you feel smarter than it. It’s kind of the way I feel about punk music and punk culture. I’ve always envied the kids who were part of that scene—because they were the ones getting laid and doing drugs and doing super-cool and rebellious things, but I knew I was too smart for it. I knew that their identities, not to sound like an elitist, could be purchased at Hot Topic and that they needed each other to shape their beliefs—about politics, society, everything. Perhaps the hardest thing to overlook was how false their sense of community and everything that community stood for was when weighed against the original punks, who were also, all things considered, kind of disingenuous in what they professed vs. what they did. How can a movement be founded on the idea of personal and social freedom—how can a movement be so outwardly opposed to conformity and still conform to a mass herd-like set of tropes and customs and acceptable behaviors? That’s what always bothered me about punk as a concept and I was never able to overcome it and just swallow my pride and jump in—starting flailing about in the moshpit, so to speak, not caring that I was a walking contradiction and anyone could see it.

I think that’s what appealed to me about the hardcore kids at my school—as few as they were. I was friends with them, but I never went to the parties or shows consistently because I’d get this feeling like: What the fuck am I doing? These kids don’t have anything figured out. They’re living in a fantasy world—they’ve completely taken and made a mockery of everything punk was because they’re just imitating the identities of their favorite corporate-sponsored punk tour bands w ho are so transparently making music for the wrong reasons or posing and posturing as punks to look “cool.” Anyway: I feel the same way about participating in so many petty staples of living—right down to the way I can call out certain situations and things as four-chord facsimiles of things before them and things before that and on down the line. I just see it as futile: to actually care about anything. Because it’s all been done before. The joke gets recycled ad infinitum and I know the punchline, so what’s the fucking point? Why do I want to hear it again? This might be a sign that I’m a cynical asshole (Goddam, that was a good episode of South Park), but it’s how I feel and it’s how I’ve always felt.

I think that’s one of the reasons Ecclesiastes resonated so much with me: it said exactly what I needed to hear: that all is vanity and that there is nothing new under the sun. It’s a message I’ve seen before (in the works of Hesse, especially): but it still rubs me as so refreshing when I see it in a new source. Ironically: the only message—the only punchline—that I never tire of hearing. It’s so true. Everything is pointless. But part of me wonders if, because I realize this, and because I consider myself smarter than everything, shouldn’t I use that knowledge to get what I want out of life—or, at the very least, shouldn’t I use that knowledge to prevent myself from feeling depressed every time life throws me a curve ball? Maybe I’m not as smart as I think I am—I’m not as smart as everything. But I know what I want and I know what I need but I can’t trust others to be on the same page as me. I would have been delighted to continue my relationship with Kristen. I really did and still do, unfortunately, love her. But she wasn’t willing to wait around for me to figure shit out. And I don’t blame her. I can’t imagine living with myself—I hate it sometimes, even. So: I know why she left. And I knew I couldn’t expect her to stick around forever (because you can’t expect that or anything from anyone), but it still hurt like hell when she left—and it just continues to hurt like hell, only getting worse and worse each day. But why?

I wish I didn’t need people so much. But it’s the only way I can feel fulfilled—having real conversations and real experiences with people. I have to commit to it too. I can’t just appreciate people objectively. I mean, I can. But I don’t get much satisfaction out of only doing that and not diving in myself and exchanging information. I have to get my soul dirty with the stink of human interaction or else I don’t feel like I’m myself. But it sucks because the more I invest in people A.) the more it hurts when I don’t have them around anymore and B.) the harder it is for me to recover when I’ve entered a new phase of my life, trying to move my former self along like a dead dog on a leash. It’s a balancing act and I feel like it’s awkward for everyone. I’m always changing so if I knew a person at one stage in my life I feel like they expect me to still be that same person—so there’s a pressure to perform, to meet their expectations and then I can no longer be myself because I’m trying to be myself, which is just weird and unnatural.

I kind of wish I was one of those people who never really change or grow. They’re the same people in every situation, year-to-year. Consistently, I exhibit certain traits. If you were able to graph it, you could probably see frequent trends in behavior and traits—what adds up to my essential personality—but I don’t feel, internally, like I’m ever one person for long. I feel like there is a long-running streak that shows up throughout all phases of my life, but I don’t know what it takes to really pinpoint that essential quality and summon it at will.

It’s easy to say: don’t over-think it. Just be yourself. But that never works. I’m always being exposed to new people and my mind is always changing about things. Plus: I have a goddam nightmare of a psychosis which makes me deathly afraid of change.

I think I just need to find my footing—get used to the new arrangement—the new routine in my life before I can start to feel like “myself” again. I just hope it comes soon, because I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this crap.