October 29, 2010
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I am becoming completely and totally unhinged. There, I said it.
This naked rambling of mine is raw and is, unfortunately, exceedingly true.
I am losing it.
As I have come to find out, it is that thing allowing us to function well within society’s confines. I am becoming angry, brash, proud, and everything is sweeping farther and farther away into black as I struggle to maintain the bare necessities of living in Western American culture. I am finding this lack of self-provision is enabling boat loads of lament, self pity, inadequacy, and a general prickliness I haven’t seen in years. Of course the French revolted when they couldn’t feed themselves…. It all makes so much sense now.
Jarrod doesn’t understand his role within my depression. His interest in shouldering this burden with me seems aloof and narrow. I need practical answers, to know what is true right now. I don’t need to know how countless others are suffering the same dilemma somewhere out in the intangible universe. I need to honestly know I matter, I am good at what I do, I am striving for the right path. If I threaten to throw myself in front of a bus, it might get his attention. [Aside: the only reason I haven't considered this yet is because I don't think it would outright kill me.]
I spent all morning sloughing through prayer after prayer for help, for aid. Apparently my idioms became lost in translation on the way Upstairs. One week of stretching turned into two, three, a month of really stretching, holding onto those kite wires that are so damn thin. Basics. Food. Gas. Shelter. How far can I stretch those around me- I’m not the only one feeling the burn, a simple reality making it all ten times worse.
How am I supposed to get married this year? How is that possible? I cannot feed myself, but let’s feed eighty of our friends. That’s a great idea.
Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help.help.help.help.help.help.helphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelp This is ridiculous. I matter. I must if I’m still here. I’m below the poverty line. I am still here. I can make it. I don’t know how. Can my art make it? I don’t know how. I can’t do this alone. I am alone. No one understands where this is going. I can’t go out. I have to stay here. I can’t find anything else. Where will I go? How long before Mel throws me out? Can she take this much longer?
… where THE FUCK are you?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
…. why are there only echoes?
