A Happy Death
In some sense, my life has now become an open book and I must say these past few chapters have been progressively dull. I had hoped 2007 would bring some change,not because it's a fresh start but being that I was determined to have a more positive outlook on life.
Now about this positive outlook. I've tried to take it on several times before, it just didn't stick.I keep concluding that it's something you were born with or not. I have a fairly good photographic memory of sorts and recall many details of my youth, unneccesarily so. From what I recall I have always been perverted, odd and for the most part dissatisfied- even from age 8. I recall having bouts of wanting something more, or believing I was a psychic, in touch with the heavens and destined for greatness. And that could all be childhood naivete, but a part of me wants to believe this is still true.
Is this what I must amount to? My former self asks. A lonesome noone, fulfilling someone else's dreams of being a contribution to society and all that academia has to offer. Vomit.I have become bored with this, and my alternate options seem none the more satisfying. I quite often lament on my lack of drive and passion until my whole existence is filled with apathy. Pointless this, Why that, life sucks and other seemingly teenage rants. Just suck it up and go on! But here I am nevertheless.
I tend to think on all the people that have helped raise me and invested all their time in my well being and I feel some pressure not to let them down. They expect this success from me (according to the world standard) or at least follow in some kind of path similar to theirs- marry,kids,career,blah blah blah. Is now the time to tell them I stopped believing in Jesus, I would love to try anal sex one day and I have no intention of returning home? Some things are better left unsaid.
I am left feeling numb most days which makes me wonder if I have tendencies of a sociopath. A little ( Ok a lot) antisocial, very unmoved and untouched by my surroundings, and so self-obsessed with my own feelings. I find it hard to sympathize with others lately, although I believe I understand their distress. The wars and famines of the world, the tears of my own friends and family moves me none. I have ill relatives that I refuse to call. I hate being in the hospital and around the elderly. Let's just say I am not very personable, although I find them somewhat intriguing and could spend hours in observation. It concerns me that I could think of inflicting harm on others and not find it disturbing- not only in the physical sense. I find most people and their company boring and it leaves me feeling disappointed.
I listen and talk to my mother and it makes me not want to age. I feel bad for her at times, and wished that she had a more fulfilling, exciting life besides working hard (and I mean struggling) to put me through many a good school and give me a comfortable life. She was and still is quite stunning and I remember when I used to think the world of her, even up until I was about 21.I don't want to get to her age and be in an unhappy marriage, with ungrateful and selfish children who perhaps won't come to visit you in the nursing home that they'll put you in. And that is life?
The depression comes and goes these days. Sometimes I still feel like committing suicide- not so much because I feel down, but more because things seem unimportant and useless- not hopeless. I don't care enough to try and get this "thing I want" because afterall I am not sure what that is. I could fleet around being a butcher for a few days, then a toymaker the next. I dream of travelling from place to place, leaving no trails behind. Adventures with many men, including boozed up-drug filled nights. Sailing,gambling,wearing all black at funerals of past lovers. What should hinder me? Money,routine,testicles.And so, I read books. I used to think I should do something with my imagination but with so many people to go around, I won't be missed any. I am not that special, and neither is anyone else. It's what life is to me is what's important and currently it's neither here nor there.
I spend half to all of my days wondering what went wrong. With the people I used to keep in touch with, the fun I used to have. The single time I have felt recently somewhat alive and concerned with the world of the living was unfortunately through a man. And it seems like the gods above have fated me for a life of misery, because this man is also now removed from my life which only adds to the stagnant waters I have been swimming in. With him,I had begun to seek out fresh wonders of the world, new foods, new activities and the joy one gets from feeling free with a kindred soul. Of course these sneaky gods have always cast me as the other woman.
Nowadays, I feel like an object, just a vessel eating and living in order to maintain a level of activity. Just another part of the environment interacting. All these feelings affect my mood no doubt and the pendulum effect can make one dizzy and unsure of oneself. I stare in the mirror and no longer appreciate my own face. I find it somewhat repulsive along with everything I contaminate.The most unsettling question is "Who are you?" And it shocks me everytime I hear myself slowly mouth, "I don't know." Small talk begins to become a pain as I believe I have nothing to say, although I was never one to talk just to fill the silence. What is it that people have to keep talking about in the sordid repetition of their daily lives?
I am currently reading "A Happy Death" by Albert Camus, I can only wish that I too have one even if the life that led up to it may not have been. At some point I hope to be content, in knowing that the world too is a chaotic off-balanced place and that somewhere along the line I had a fine time and will leave a pleasant aftertaste in the lips of the men that feasted on me.
Now about this positive outlook. I've tried to take it on several times before, it just didn't stick.I keep concluding that it's something you were born with or not. I have a fairly good photographic memory of sorts and recall many details of my youth, unneccesarily so. From what I recall I have always been perverted, odd and for the most part dissatisfied- even from age 8. I recall having bouts of wanting something more, or believing I was a psychic, in touch with the heavens and destined for greatness. And that could all be childhood naivete, but a part of me wants to believe this is still true.
Is this what I must amount to? My former self asks. A lonesome noone, fulfilling someone else's dreams of being a contribution to society and all that academia has to offer. Vomit.I have become bored with this, and my alternate options seem none the more satisfying. I quite often lament on my lack of drive and passion until my whole existence is filled with apathy. Pointless this, Why that, life sucks and other seemingly teenage rants. Just suck it up and go on! But here I am nevertheless.
I tend to think on all the people that have helped raise me and invested all their time in my well being and I feel some pressure not to let them down. They expect this success from me (according to the world standard) or at least follow in some kind of path similar to theirs- marry,kids,career,blah blah blah. Is now the time to tell them I stopped believing in Jesus, I would love to try anal sex one day and I have no intention of returning home? Some things are better left unsaid.
I am left feeling numb most days which makes me wonder if I have tendencies of a sociopath. A little ( Ok a lot) antisocial, very unmoved and untouched by my surroundings, and so self-obsessed with my own feelings. I find it hard to sympathize with others lately, although I believe I understand their distress. The wars and famines of the world, the tears of my own friends and family moves me none. I have ill relatives that I refuse to call. I hate being in the hospital and around the elderly. Let's just say I am not very personable, although I find them somewhat intriguing and could spend hours in observation. It concerns me that I could think of inflicting harm on others and not find it disturbing- not only in the physical sense. I find most people and their company boring and it leaves me feeling disappointed.
I listen and talk to my mother and it makes me not want to age. I feel bad for her at times, and wished that she had a more fulfilling, exciting life besides working hard (and I mean struggling) to put me through many a good school and give me a comfortable life. She was and still is quite stunning and I remember when I used to think the world of her, even up until I was about 21.I don't want to get to her age and be in an unhappy marriage, with ungrateful and selfish children who perhaps won't come to visit you in the nursing home that they'll put you in. And that is life?
The depression comes and goes these days. Sometimes I still feel like committing suicide- not so much because I feel down, but more because things seem unimportant and useless- not hopeless. I don't care enough to try and get this "thing I want" because afterall I am not sure what that is. I could fleet around being a butcher for a few days, then a toymaker the next. I dream of travelling from place to place, leaving no trails behind. Adventures with many men, including boozed up-drug filled nights. Sailing,gambling,wearing all black at funerals of past lovers. What should hinder me? Money,routine,testicles.And so, I read books. I used to think I should do something with my imagination but with so many people to go around, I won't be missed any. I am not that special, and neither is anyone else. It's what life is to me is what's important and currently it's neither here nor there.
I spend half to all of my days wondering what went wrong. With the people I used to keep in touch with, the fun I used to have. The single time I have felt recently somewhat alive and concerned with the world of the living was unfortunately through a man. And it seems like the gods above have fated me for a life of misery, because this man is also now removed from my life which only adds to the stagnant waters I have been swimming in. With him,I had begun to seek out fresh wonders of the world, new foods, new activities and the joy one gets from feeling free with a kindred soul. Of course these sneaky gods have always cast me as the other woman.
Nowadays, I feel like an object, just a vessel eating and living in order to maintain a level of activity. Just another part of the environment interacting. All these feelings affect my mood no doubt and the pendulum effect can make one dizzy and unsure of oneself. I stare in the mirror and no longer appreciate my own face. I find it somewhat repulsive along with everything I contaminate.The most unsettling question is "Who are you?" And it shocks me everytime I hear myself slowly mouth, "I don't know." Small talk begins to become a pain as I believe I have nothing to say, although I was never one to talk just to fill the silence. What is it that people have to keep talking about in the sordid repetition of their daily lives?
I am currently reading "A Happy Death" by Albert Camus, I can only wish that I too have one even if the life that led up to it may not have been. At some point I hope to be content, in knowing that the world too is a chaotic off-balanced place and that somewhere along the line I had a fine time and will leave a pleasant aftertaste in the lips of the men that feasted on me.
posted by RulesofConduct at 2:12 AM
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