What’s the point?
As I looked back through the last two years of my life on this blog, I can literally see the cycle. I get down, I work back, I feel good, I spiral. I feel low, I don’t write anything for a while, I start to feel good, things get great, as soon as anything takes a turn I start to post on here, and in the next few months it’s going downhill.
I’ve lived life more in the last 3 years than I ever have. I’ve done things I never would have, for good or bad, at any other point in my life.
I think I’ve learned a lot. I think I’ve solidified my beliefs. I think I know who I want to be, but I’m not sure who I am. It’s this uncertainty that rules the spiral of life. I wonder if my happiness is real when it comes, I wonder if my sadness if justified when it’s surrounding me. I wonder when I’m going to take a turn either way at all times.
I can’t look back at my life and feel bad, I just can’t. I’ve gotten to do some amazing things, and I get to live through some unrealistic experiences. I am proud that I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve done, and I’m ashamed and guilty a lot less for some of the bad things I’ve done.
I just wish I could some sort of balance going. I want to change some basic parts of my life, I want to not let “fuck it” become my motto, when it’s just a thought that’s good for coping with the bad. I want to push forward with more that I’m proud of.
I won’t do any of this if I keep fluctuating from anxious bewilderment at the way I think, to confusion around how I got where I am in a situation. I’ve found myself looking out at sunsets, landscapes, and even just situations and smiling more and more, yet that feeling of dread and sadness is in my stomach every morning when I wake up. I think I appreciate the good times and beauty in life so much more because I know the bad ones and the ugly. I know the feeling of uncontrollable darkness, so any glimpse of light is something to cherish.
I don’t know if anyone that knows me really knows how my thinking is processed. Everyone has their mind race. Everyone is worried or anxious at times. I’m not sure everyone jumps from thought to thought the way I do. I’m not bragging, it’s not a good thing. My mind is racing from morning to night. Numbing myself with anything from stupid entertainment to alcohol and drugs is the only things that slow it down. Or so I say. Or so I think. But is that the case?
I’m not so sure. In the beginning of the year, I did the whole 30 diet and about 45 days of pretty healthy living. At one point in that period I was “doing great.” My mind was at ease, my life was on track, and my thoughts were clearer. But was this true, even? I did healthier things that’s for sure, but I spent needless money on clothes and other shit I didn’t need. I didn’t take care of my car situation even though I had no excuse. I let my medicine prescription lag and ran out of my MS medication (which I haven’t restarted since). This was the “best” me I’d been in years. I did all this, but felt great. I was able to not worry about any of this, and be happy and productive at work.
I did everything because I used distractions to what’s important. I was focused on a doomed relationship that was in its balanced/happy period. I let that take over my mood. I let everything ride on that. I just “knew” that everything would be ok, if I kept that going, because I wouldn’t let me fail, because of her.
When that ended, I gave up on the diet, and just “had fun for the past 4 months. Where has that gotten me? While its temped to say back to the same place, there’s also a plethora of experiences that came with it. I value experiences, maybe because I don’t care about the future so much these days. I have always been able to say “fuck it” to the future’s terror, but have never been good at moving beyond the past.
I still think about every person I ever cared about in dating, not that there’s a lot of them, and I still cling to the feelings of shame that I had when I was in my early 20’s because I’d messed up and wouldn’t hit my goals in life. I still regard my family as something I either want to be proud of me, or want to forget exists so that I can just be me. This mentality is bad and good, not just bad. It leads to me being a decent friend and able to remember things from the past and act on them in the future with relationships. It makes me a hopeless romantic, and while sometimes a douche, a pretty tolerable one. It makes me care about how I got here, and realize that a lot of people helped me on my way. It makes me not really blame anyone else for their actions against, or affecting, me.
That blame falls squarely in my own head. I think some people think that I have no guilt for my actions at times, and think I deflect a lot. Trust me, I don’t. It sits firmly in there, screaming every day. It’s what makes me not mad when a relationship is over, because “I didn’t deserve her anyway.” It makes me deserve MS. It makes me a shithead for not taking the absolute care of myself. It puts the truth in my voice when I say that I know I will get cancer from smoking, almost as if I want it, or deserve it at the very least.
It’s what I have to figure out. That statement, alone, is probably a fallacy. Figuring this all out is something that is so far from achievable for me, that I need to stop trying for that. I’m not going to understand that way I think, I’m not going to understand why I feel the way I do, at times. I’m not going to understand why people are so different, yet so alike, that it’s scary. I’m not going to wake up one day, and believe in some miraculous meaning of life. I’m not going to turn a corner and do any of these things.
I’m, also, not going to do anything to myself, or give up entirely. I never will, I know that now. I’m not going to lose all of the parts of me that actually make me good, as I haven’t yet. I’m not going to lose the fact that I still look SoMa’s craziest homeless people in the eye, almost on accident as horrible as that sounds, because there was and is a person in there. My first instinct is to help people when I see distress, I’ve gotten “better” at ignoring that instinct at times. I don’t think I’ll lose that as “good” as I get at being a dickhead.
I’m going to be here. I’m going to change and grow, until the day I finally do die. I’m going to die too, that’s something else I know. I’m ok with that.
There’s no self call to action, there’s no moral of this post. There just “is.” There’s not anything I want to come out of this. There’s just me getting it out there. Me putting my thoughts on paper, and sending my emotions out in to the digital abyss.
There’s just it… at the end of the day, as many friend as I have, and as many people that I love and care about, and that do the same for me, doesn’t matter.
Because you’re always ending you days in your own head, and there all you have is yourself. Figure that one out.