Posts Tagged ‘despair’

It’s Times Likes Right Now

May 28th, 2017

Memorial Day Eve, 2017.

 

My grandfather was a veteran of the Korean Conflict. Thankfully he did not see time on the battlefield or else I would not be writing this. So the proper day to honor my grandfather will be Veterans’ Day in November.

 

Or after snapping at a family member, because it is times like this that I miss him.

 

Oh Grandpa,

 

It’s been nearly three years since you passed. The further I get away from your passing the more I understand why I miss you. We got along pretty well for the most part, you and me. We understood each other.

 

We had a few flareups but it was never as frequent as it is with the rest of them. Is it me? Of course it is. Why is it that I got along way better with you than I do with them? Why did we have an understanding that I don’t have anywhere else?

 

I am bewildered now. You were my support system. I’m trying to put another one together but it’s difficult.

 

I love you and I miss you. I understand now. I’m sorry. I don’t know how you did it for so long.

 

Mike

Is This The End Of The World?

April 14th, 2017

If you have been paying any attention to the situation between the United States and North Korea, you would know that tension is high, and leaders from both countries seem too eager to START with a nuclear bomb.

 

I am going to note some of my thoughts and feelings at this strange time in the world. I don’t even feel like I’m writing for anyone in 2017. If the nukes get dropped and a lot of us die, I want to talk about what I was dealing with at the point it happened. I’m writing this for some survivor years from now, or the next generation or later.

 

I am a thirty-nine year-old man from Kentucky. I have things I want to do before I die. I have goals and dreams and aspirations. I live in a small apartment. Right now, my grandmother is staying with me until she gets approved for her new apartment. She hopes to get into a building complex for elderly people. It may take up to two more weeks, she has been with me for three weeks already. Although she doesn’t mean to, sometimes she gets on my nerves. She means well and she worries a lot. We don’t worry about the same things.

 

I wish I could be with a girl I care very much for but she has a boyfriend. Maybe its for the best, especially for her. Maybe my life is a labyrinth that people should be warned against nearing. Even killer whales mate, don’t they?

 

I hated the circumstances that led us to this moment in time. It seems so preventable now that I type about it. Somebody should have done something to stop all this from happening. Eventually, all of us end up in the meat grinder of the industrial complex. Some people don’t know and some don’t mind so much. Some people do know and mind very much and they fight back.

 

I truly hope that Trump is taken out of power before he gets us into a nuclear war. He has been in office less than 100 days. He doesn’t know how to de-escalate a problem. No one in North Korea is going to put a check on their dictator. It’s up to us in the US. Two idiots at a standstill willing to blow up the world over a pissing contest. It would be funny if it weren’t so depressing and plausible.

 

I don’t want to write anymore today. It hurts to think about this too long.

Antarctica Starts Here

March 9th, 2017

The most useful aspect of this website is as a running check on my mental state. If only it were primarily a tool of artistic expression. And it may have been once upon a time. Now this website is a mere tool of survival. I’m doing the best I can, hurling words into the void. I almost feel like this is the captain’s log on a ship that is lost at sea forever, words not to be read until long after I’m dead from scurvy or mutiny.

 

I don’t know a lot of people who are happy. Most of my friends are going through some sort of crisis. Loneliness, isolation, depression, existential dread. I don’t have the ability to diagnose my state or locate the root cause of it. I’m afraid that the root cause of my problems are like those of many people, and come externally. How do you cut the strings that are pulling you to and fro? How do you gain the strength to move on your own after that? How do you live in a system that is designed to divide you, conquer you and put you at battle with those you’ve been divided from?

 

So when you’re in that state of being, how do you escape? If it’s external stimuli torturing you, does it take external stimuli to rescue you? What comforts you in the dark of the night when nothing is comforting? Where do you turn? Who loves you when you need to be loved? Who holds you when you need it? Who lies to you and tells you everything is going to be better eventually? And where is she now that I need her?

A Dark Night That Lasts Years

February 16th, 2017

A dark night of the soul. Nights of spiritual despair. Moments where you cry for relief only to find none coming. Prayers that can’t be answered immediately, if at all.

 

I have been extremely depressed lately, and not just for political reasons. Just so happens that the political stuff is the easiest to talk about since it affects us all. But we all get depressed from time to time, right? Even if you’re not given to chronic depression and anxiety like I am.

 

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day, a day for lovers and the love-struck. Not for me, it’s not. It’s just a day between February 13th and 15th. I wish it weren’t so. I wish I had a love to call my own.

 

Who will comfort me in these uncertain times? Who will tell me I’ve been spending too much time on Twitter, please come and spend time with me instead. . .?

 

I don’t talk about my personal life on this space for a very good reason: I don’t have much of a personal life. Not that I would go around blabbing like an informant every time I went on a date. . . it’s just that there aren’t very many dates.

 

I’m relatively new to Whitesville. But I’m not a social person. I’m sensitive and self-conscious. Making a connection seems nearly impossible.

 

Maybe I can’t handle it. Maybe it’s just too much pressure. I’m like one of those Japanese men who have stopped trying to find a mate. Maybe I should get a pillow with a manga babe on it to be my girlfriend.

 

Maybe this is my life. Maybe I’m alone because I’m with the only person who can stand to be with me.

“Could you be loved?” – Bob Marley. Evidently not, Bob.

 

By the way, I finally got a hair cut last week. I figured it would be good to look less like Hagrid from Harry Potter. I’ve halfway shaved this fluff on my face into a somewhat organized look as well. I’m almost presentable.

Unlit

January 15th, 2017

It happened again yesterday. Thought about going out. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I forgot how strong the depression and anxiety could be. It appears that I have underestimated my enemy.

 

I’m not the social person I used to be. What if I don’t know anybody? What if I only know one person and they’re working the room, too busy to sit with me? I can be alone at home, I don’t need to be alone out there surrounded by other people.

 

I don’t go out unless I have to and social events are not “have to”. I don’t put myself out there anymore. Please don’t look at me and judge me. You don’t know my life. All my friends went on with their lives and left me with mine.

 

My heart is a bottomless pit. It’s a tough environment. I put on the air of anger and defiance. Man cannot live on that alone. Sometimes I really am angry and defiant. Sometimes I am resigned to the dumbness of life. You lived your entire life like a unlit candle in a drawer. Never knowing what it felt like to know what your life was for.

A National Panic Attack

November 23rd, 2016

Help me. Could you send somebody over here to check on me? I’m having a hard time breathing. I can’t catch my breath and my heart keeps pounding faster and faster and I think I’m having a heart attack and I’m scared to death and I want to scream and I’m alone and I need help. Please help me.

 

………….

 

My name? My name is America. My address is 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Send somebody right away, please.

 

…………..

 

I started feeling this way about two weeks ago. I felt it for a little while and then I started feeling a little bit better and it’s come and gone in waves and now it’s really on top of me. I don’t know if it’s a heart palpitation or what.

 

……………

 

The fear is getting to me. It’s getting to me. Yes, you can call me back at this number. Please help me. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything.

 

……………

 

I tried ignoring it. I tried dealing with it. I tried giving it a chance. I tried and it just got worse. I can’t make it stop. I can barely sleep because of it.

 

 

I’m scared. What else can I say? I’m terrified at the prospect of President Trump. The idea haunts me. His face haunts me when I close my eyes at night when I try to sleep. His wicked, perverse face and his inbred, mean, ugly family in control. Unchecked, unbalanced. Wielding absolute power like a malevolent king. The end of Amerika. I hate him. I hate him as much I hate any sex offender, any deadbeat, any abusive parent, any swindler, any cheat, any known liar and any hatemonger.

 

Is this really going to happen? I guess I’m afraid because I know no matter what happens there’s a fight ahead. There’s a painful long fight. Because the hatemongers, the bigots, the racists, the Nazis are all emboldened and empowered by Trump’s “victory”, in which he lost by nearly two million votes.

 

Even if Hillary Clinton were to challenge the results of the vote in the swing states where there has been evidence of tampering (Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania), the damage has been done. Over 700 acts of post-election racially-tinged violent acts and incidents have occurred since then. If she somehow won a recount, then that would only inflame tensions even more. But she did win. The popular vote. This shouldn’t be happening.

 

And yet here we are. And yet other people have moved on, trying to get on with life. I can’t do that. I can’t allow myself to become acclimatized to authoritarianism.

 

Have you ever watched someone in the last years of their life? Have you watched an elderly person compromise with their inability to do the things they had been able to do in the past? I have, up close. It’s heartbreaking. Finally, you see this elderly person that you love on their death bed, no longer able to do anything. Not even able to take water to quench their thirst and you hear the death rattle in their throat. But by then you’ve resigned yourself to it. You know they will eventually pass into the next realm, whatever that may be.

 

We’re not there yet, not as a country. This is not the death rattle. But if we’re not careful that day will come. It only took Hitler about twelve years to go from launching the Third Reich to cashing out with his lover Eva Braun in a burned-out bunker in a devastated Germany.

 

I’m afraid. People are too busy laughing at fucking memes to understand what is at stake. Pushing faster toward an seemingly inevitable endpoint where everything has been ransacked and burned down and we have to start again literally from the foundation up.

 

You can’t tell me it will be all right, because it isn’t. And it won’t be. Even if a miracle occurred.

My Sweet Lord/Today Is A Killer

September 7th, 2016

 

Today is a killer.

 

I maintain that there is a God. A vindictive, petty God. He has made us in His image. He will shit on us. And the only thing you can do is climb out of bed and raise both middle fingers in the sky in defiance of Him. You have to tell Him to go fuck Himself. Because He will make your life as hellish as possible.

 

Being yourself will put you in a lonely place, especially if you are not like the others. You want to give love to people. You want to be loved in return. When you are not like the others, it will make you strong or it will make you whimper. Regardless, you will be rendered bitter and lonely.

 

People who sing to God sing because they need God. They don’t sing for the people in the pews. They do it for themselves. “God knows I need to see you but it takes so long my Lord. . . but everything today is a killer.”

 

And God reassured his flock, the flock that he pranked and trolled and tortured for ages, and he sayeth unto them “I will be there for you when everybody else is gone.” And sadly, many people believed that shit.

I need

September 4th, 2016

I don’t want to focus on what I don’t have.

 

If I focus on everything I don’t have, eventually I’ll remember that something I don’t have is something I actually need.

 

If I don’t have something I need, I need to get it. What if I don’t have a plan to get it? What if I don’t know how to get it? What if getting it is beyond my means?

 

I have a lot of things I need to fix. I don’t know where to start. It’s too much. I can’t do it.

 

I am not in control of my life. My destiny belongs to the wind and the tides. I am a piece of debris left on the open ground, vulnerable to pickup by strong gusts, tornadoes, streams, creeks and the like. I do not control how long I float or how long I fly.

 

That Elton John song “Candle In The Wind” about Marilyn Monroe? At least the candle had a base holding it down, I assume. Even if the wind put the flame out it didn’t get knocked over because of inclement weather.

My Arm Hurts

April 22nd, 2016

My left bicep hurts. I hurt myself this morning when I was adjusting my mattress. I fell over and used my arm to keep from banging my head against the wall. I didn’t bang my hang but I pulled a muscle. What made me think I had the arms of Samson that would keep me from banging my head and also keep me from falling down? I have taken a pain reliever but that’s it. I hope this is a temporary situation.

 

My computer needed repair again. Do not buy a used computer. My used computer did not come with all the screws in it. It cost $50 to get repaired. The lack of screws caused the housing to come loose which caused the power jack to come loose and then the the zzzzz…… my god. The hinges and the screws and the power jack and used computer. Never buy a used computer.

 

Since I last checked in, Chyna and Prince died. I don’t know what to say. I enjoyed watching Chyna in the WWE. I liked a lot of Prince songs. Still do. I’ve heard more unreleased Prince songs than I’ve heard released Prince songs. I was really sad about Chyna being dead and then Prince dies and then Chyna becomes an afterthought after a few hours. I haven’t even thought about Prince yet.

 

I keep thinking about how hard it has to be when one is removed from reality and humanity. When you really need love and compassion and empathy but you can’t seem to get it at that moment. Prince was a superstar, a beloved musical legend. Chyna was a fallen star, a reality show reject who dabbled in pornography. And they both died, too young and alone. One from chosen isolation, one isolated by default.

 

I try to be kind to everybody now. I know what it’s like to need kindness and not be able to get it.

An Inefficient Fairy Tale

November 7th, 2015

Once upon a time in a dark kingdom of wickedness and tall dead trees, there lived a peasant boy with his kindly grandfather in a long metal cabin.

The peasant boy was taught by his grandfather that he was just as good as the mightiest prince and that no man, be they of noble stature or nay, was better or worse than he. The peasant boy took this to heart and remembered it his entire life.

Furthermore, since no one was better or worse than he, there was no reason to assume he could not one day be considered noble. Because while he may have been taught that all men were created equal, he did not in his heart believe that. Or maybe he did, and recognized early on in his young life that those of nobler stuff were given more praise, more rewards, more chances to succeed, more. . . everything. Certainly more than a lowly peasant boy living in a long metal shack would get. This made him feel sad at the way the world was and sad for himself because he was not a noble.

 

The boy would spend the rest of his life trying to become a prince, or a king, or something of higher stature than he grew up in. He went into the world and attempted to be seen as a noble. But no matter how hard he tried, he ended up being a jester.

 

He sang songs, he told tales, he made merry and he developed a sharp wit. He became a very good jester, a very fine jester indeed. But this did not make him happy. Being a jester left him at the mercy of those he entertained. If they enjoyed his songs and jokes, he may be invited back to perform again. If they didn’t, he would be banished. Sometimes they liked him but could not figure out which other jesters and troupes to have him perform with.

 

The jester performed for big crowds and small. Mostly small. Sometimes he would begin performing in a king’s court and find part of the way through the performance that the King, his Queen and most of the assemblage had nipped out for a cigarette. Verily, the jester would announce he had two songs left to perform and a few patrons would drag themselves back in out of sheer politeness.

 

All the nagging feelings of self-doubt that plagued the jester in his childhood grew up with him and continued to haunt him. Was he really a good jester? What if he was actually terrible? There are other jesters who are far more successful than he, having found major-label patronage by a big time noble or clergyman. He attempted to pass the hat on the street corners but would have to give all the money back after the deadline passed without meeting his funding goal.

 

The jester began to feel like he had banged his head against the wall over and over. Perhaps he should not have become a jester. Perhaps he should have gotten a real estate licence instead. And furthermore it occurred to him that the most successful jesters make far less than they earn, having to tithe a percentage to their agents, managers, vendors. Plus they had to recoup expenses. Furthermore, he had never seen a jester become a king.

 

He discussed this on the internet but what he got in response didn’t help. “Try being a female jester. A three-day jester festival may only feature a dozen female acts or female-fronted troupes out of hundreds of performers.” “You think that’s bad? How about the feminist movement excluding jesters of color?” “I’m a trans jester and I prefer to spell it ‘jystyr’.” This didn’t not make him happy or thankful that he wasn’t a transgender woman of color. It only made him sadder and seemed to confirm he had made a bad life choice far too soon.

 

As a child, he had wanted to be a noble. Then he wanted to be a jester. Then he wanted to be a success. But he wasn’t a success. So he decided to stop being a jester. And now he was nothing. Now he had no purpose and nothing to work for. And he was still sad.

 

He went home to his long metal cabin/shack. It was falling apart. His bed was broken. His favorite comfy chair was also broken. His grandfather was older and becoming infirm. It would not be long before his grandfather was gone. Then what would the ex-jester do? He became afraid to lose his grandfather until the old man became so sick that the boy wished he would pass if only so the old man could have peace.

 

When he was a boy, he had a dream and the support of the one person who loved him the most. Now he was older and he didn’t have his grandfather. And he didn’t have the dream anymore. He had a broken-down bed and a chair that was uncomfortable to sit in. He turned out to be less than a peasant. He was not able to earn his keep, as a jester or as anything else. He was disenchanted. He was disenfranchised. He was dis-abled. He was disabled. He was disabled.
He is disabled. You can not hear him in the courts of noblemen any longer. There are always merry bands of singers, those who practice jape, and hilarious jester. He is at home in his ill-fitting comfy chair playing Tetris and waiting for the next event in his life to happen to him. He does not feel empowered to go out and change the course of his life. He does not feel like he can change the course of his life, not without significant help.

 

Because he is disabled, you see.

 

This was an inefficient fairy tale. It didn’t have a snappy ending and it took to long to get there. If you want, go back and reread it and stop every few paragraphs to listen to a song from your favorite Disney movie. See if it helps.