despair
i havnt been on the boards for a while, i tried to break away for a while. Nothing helps it though, i go away, i come back, i try as hard as i can to overcome and let go, and always, my pain is waiting for me.
I feel betrayed. The pain i feel, the isolation and lonelyness, it is ignored, forgotten, pushed aside. So i ignore, i forget, i push it down. No one is here for me in this new life, and i have fallen into the trap of getting stuck again.
I have been thrusting my life into the hands of strangers, trying to make some connection, but i trust no one. I have never trusted anyone, i dont know if i ever will. I used to think i trusted my friend, the one friend i had, but this is the one thing niether of us could bear to trust anyone with. I made the desperate leap towards the truth, he is still hiding. He is never going to be there for me, because he sees abuse as a weakness to be overcome, not a loss to be mourned.
I feel like i have wondered into someone elses dream with taking the theripuedic approach. It offers all these rewards that i am losing faith in. Confidence, pride, love. Evil people use these things like a drug, they abuse the peoples hope. And clinging on to futile hopes may become all anyone has left, and they are forever at the mercy of a promise of a future that will never happen.
Romance is the philosophy of believing them anyway. Since death comes for us all, we are dreams that dream, and all we are is what we believe, and what the dream dreams of us.
I have always believed in my dreams, because even though i felt i was destined to never see them come to fruition, they were the only joy i ever had. I may have been outcast, forsaken, and unloved, but i had my dreams to nurture, to love and care for, and that is really the only love i know, unconditional, overpowering, destined to fade and be born again for all eternity.
But here, in the supposedly real world of flesh and material comfort, i can find no solace anywhere. I eat because i know i am supposed to or i will die, i go to class because i know i must do something or i will fail. Fail what? To experiance life, to escape poverty and depression. There is no joy here for me, no matter how hard i try to love this world, it just does not love me back.
I just cant find that last something, the blow that will win the fight, the extra oopmh to finish what i started. It is there, waiting for me, it is the reason i dont give up, but i just cant figure out how to overcome the fear and doubt that grip me as i am about to succeed.
Sometimes i wonder, does anyone ever come out of therapy ready to fight a war?
My mind flits over all the things i COULD have done. Can still do, if only i could find that missing part fo myself. Music, learning songs by watching people play them, learning by LISTENING to the damn RADIO. I learn the notes on the first five frets of my guitar, then i stop.
Chemisty. Just picked up a book from the library and started reading. And i UNDERSTOOD. I learned. I was pronouncing organic molycules by thier nonclemnature like i was a todler learning to speak, i watched while the subtle forces at work behind the universe dance in a buetifull rythym begin to take shape in my mind. Then, one day, gone. I could only pick up the book and i would start to feel scared and dizzy, the textbooks became intimidating tomes i could never hope to understand. I was not stuck, there was nothing i did not understand, my mind just refused to work.
And writing. THis is the most painfull for me. If i wanted to go down in history as doing something, it would be writing a story that changed the world. Again and again i would get almost feverish with drive and vision, and again and again it would fade, leaving me a little emptier every time. I once wrote nearly 20,000 words in three days, about a fifth of a small trade paperback novel. Some writers are lucky if they turn out 1000 words a day.
And art, too, maybe the most painfull of all is not being able to share what i see with other people. After everything i have tried and failed still i made the effort to see. And i did, for a little while i was a student of the minds eye, and i would have been a talented begginer if i had given myself a chance. But now my hand shakes and wobbles as i try to draw a line, i doodle here and there, but they are warped, childlike, barely recognizable as anything at all. I had to stop drawing, because the pain of the process of watching myself grind my dreams into dust before my very eyes. It wasnt my mistakes, it was the deliberate acts of sabotage i would commit on the image. If i had to watch myself screw up because i couldnt find the confidence to believe in myself every day for a hundred years, i would not have been able to save my drawings from myself.
What on earth could possibly be so important that it needs to rob me of my life? What possible defense, what horrifying pain lurks in my mind that every second of every day i have to wonder, if only i could find the power, if only i knew what choice to make and could will myself to do it, what dreams would come?
The pain is coming back as i write this, and that is good, i had forgotten how much pain i am in. I have been numb. It is time to get back in the fray, to make stands, to watch myself fall and get back up again, and believe in the hope that maybe today will be the day i can stop running.
I feel betrayed. The pain i feel, the isolation and lonelyness, it is ignored, forgotten, pushed aside. So i ignore, i forget, i push it down. No one is here for me in this new life, and i have fallen into the trap of getting stuck again.
I have been thrusting my life into the hands of strangers, trying to make some connection, but i trust no one. I have never trusted anyone, i dont know if i ever will. I used to think i trusted my friend, the one friend i had, but this is the one thing niether of us could bear to trust anyone with. I made the desperate leap towards the truth, he is still hiding. He is never going to be there for me, because he sees abuse as a weakness to be overcome, not a loss to be mourned.
I feel like i have wondered into someone elses dream with taking the theripuedic approach. It offers all these rewards that i am losing faith in. Confidence, pride, love. Evil people use these things like a drug, they abuse the peoples hope. And clinging on to futile hopes may become all anyone has left, and they are forever at the mercy of a promise of a future that will never happen.
Romance is the philosophy of believing them anyway. Since death comes for us all, we are dreams that dream, and all we are is what we believe, and what the dream dreams of us.
I have always believed in my dreams, because even though i felt i was destined to never see them come to fruition, they were the only joy i ever had. I may have been outcast, forsaken, and unloved, but i had my dreams to nurture, to love and care for, and that is really the only love i know, unconditional, overpowering, destined to fade and be born again for all eternity.
But here, in the supposedly real world of flesh and material comfort, i can find no solace anywhere. I eat because i know i am supposed to or i will die, i go to class because i know i must do something or i will fail. Fail what? To experiance life, to escape poverty and depression. There is no joy here for me, no matter how hard i try to love this world, it just does not love me back.
I just cant find that last something, the blow that will win the fight, the extra oopmh to finish what i started. It is there, waiting for me, it is the reason i dont give up, but i just cant figure out how to overcome the fear and doubt that grip me as i am about to succeed.
Sometimes i wonder, does anyone ever come out of therapy ready to fight a war?
My mind flits over all the things i COULD have done. Can still do, if only i could find that missing part fo myself. Music, learning songs by watching people play them, learning by LISTENING to the damn RADIO. I learn the notes on the first five frets of my guitar, then i stop.
Chemisty. Just picked up a book from the library and started reading. And i UNDERSTOOD. I learned. I was pronouncing organic molycules by thier nonclemnature like i was a todler learning to speak, i watched while the subtle forces at work behind the universe dance in a buetifull rythym begin to take shape in my mind. Then, one day, gone. I could only pick up the book and i would start to feel scared and dizzy, the textbooks became intimidating tomes i could never hope to understand. I was not stuck, there was nothing i did not understand, my mind just refused to work.
And writing. THis is the most painfull for me. If i wanted to go down in history as doing something, it would be writing a story that changed the world. Again and again i would get almost feverish with drive and vision, and again and again it would fade, leaving me a little emptier every time. I once wrote nearly 20,000 words in three days, about a fifth of a small trade paperback novel. Some writers are lucky if they turn out 1000 words a day.
And art, too, maybe the most painfull of all is not being able to share what i see with other people. After everything i have tried and failed still i made the effort to see. And i did, for a little while i was a student of the minds eye, and i would have been a talented begginer if i had given myself a chance. But now my hand shakes and wobbles as i try to draw a line, i doodle here and there, but they are warped, childlike, barely recognizable as anything at all. I had to stop drawing, because the pain of the process of watching myself grind my dreams into dust before my very eyes. It wasnt my mistakes, it was the deliberate acts of sabotage i would commit on the image. If i had to watch myself screw up because i couldnt find the confidence to believe in myself every day for a hundred years, i would not have been able to save my drawings from myself.
What on earth could possibly be so important that it needs to rob me of my life? What possible defense, what horrifying pain lurks in my mind that every second of every day i have to wonder, if only i could find the power, if only i knew what choice to make and could will myself to do it, what dreams would come?
The pain is coming back as i write this, and that is good, i had forgotten how much pain i am in. I have been numb. It is time to get back in the fray, to make stands, to watch myself fall and get back up again, and believe in the hope that maybe today will be the day i can stop running.