Still feeling pretty fucking cranky.
And you know what? Good. I’m not going to get anywhere if I just wallow in fatuous contentment all the goddamned time.
I will only change if I get mad and stay mad long enough for the rage to power and focus my energies on attacking my depression till it’s dead, dead, dead.
After all, it fucking deserves it.
And it’s not like I am happy. I don’t even qualify as content any more. The best I can say is that I am not miserable most of the time and even that is beginning to wear thin.
I am so fucking sick of the same old dead end routine. This can’t be how the rest of my life plays out. I can’t spend whatever days I have left just playing video games and blogging whilst I rot away from the inside just because I am too broken to move.
Damn right it’s not good enough.
My rage contains far more than enough heat energy to propel me to a new and superior state of equanimity. One where I am actually happy and fulfilled instead of being merely distracted and numb.
THERE SHALL BE MORE. This, I declare. Somehow, I will find a way to expand my life to include some kind of forward momentum. Somewhere, there’s a place where the light I shine will be seen by those who can lift it higher. Sometime soon, I will start climbing the ladder of worldly success and not stop until I’m up there in the heavens where I belong. Where I have always belonged.
I deserve so much better than this sad little existence of mine. I have a truly amazing mind, oodles of charisma and charm, a genuinely sweet, kind, and helpful personality, and so much to offer the world I should qualify as a natural resource.
And all I have to do is go out there and claim my place in the sun. And for that I have to stay angry and proud and ambitious and keep dreaming those big, big dreams.
I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m just saying I can do it. I can get all those lovely things I have been craving for oh so long : money, acclaim, a place in society, the recognition of my peers, a home, a husband, a wacky little found family of my own, and a whole lot of very geeky toys.
And, you know, fulfillment and all that crap.
But that all means that I have to be willing to sacrifice my short term contentment in order to achieve a long lasting happiness. Things will need to get a whole lot worse before they get a whole lot better.
I have built enormous stability and strength into my negative downward spiral, and it will take seriously potent mojo to overcome all that and make room for growth.
Not looking forward to that. But it has to be done.
So make it so. Let it be done. I hereby declare that I am lighting the bonfire that will burn away all my tired old bullshit and send the rocket of my ambitions into outer space.
Look out world, here I come.
Look for a new light in the sky!
More after the break.
No big change
Nu surprise, my manic trip from earlier did not instantly transform my life.
But that’s stinkin’ thinkin. That’s the evil of depression’s “all or nothing” bullshit. Like thinking things have to be perfect or they’re not good enough, or love has to be absolutely without conditions or it’s not real, or that your achievements have to be so spectacular they are at the theoretic limit or they don’t count.
Seems crazy, I know. And it is.
These ARE symptoms of mental illness after all.
And while my results from my earlier emotional exertions are regretfully sub-miraculous, I still feel different.
Better, though in a rather rugged away. I feel like I have clawed my way one rung up the very long ladder that leads to where I want to be, and that feels good.
And I am going to remember the lessons of today.
1. I am capable of overcoming my deep well of inner bullshit enough to force myself into a positive and hopeful mindset via the all encompassing power of being royally sick of my stupid fucking life.
2. I can look my own amazingness in the face without blinking. I have cringed away from my own light and the real truth of how extraordinary I am for far too long. Now I am taking responsibility for these incredible gifts of mine and in doing so, I know that I am taking on the responsibility of actually doing something with them. Even if (when) that means exiting my cramped but cozy comfort zone. Fuck my comfort zone. This coffin of a life just ain’t big enough for me any more.
3. I am strong and powerful and fierce when I tap in to my decades of suppressed rage. That shit’s potent when used as fuel. I don’t have to float through life like I have no power to influence my own fate. There’s still plenty I can do.
4. I can face reality. It won’t be easy at first and I will no doubt have to redirect myself outward many, many times. I have spent my whole life with my face turned to the wall and steadfastly ignoring all that goes on behind me in favour of the soothing false reality of media consumption and that’s not something you can change on a whim. But I have all I need to negotiate reality successfully except the will to do so. And that can change.
5. Nobody is coming to save me. So I was abandoned. Well everyone who did it is has “gotten away with it” because it’s in the past. No matter how piteously I flounder or how winsome and adorable I make myself, I am and still will be all alone. It’s far too late for anyone to say “You poor thing!” and scoop me up in their arms and hold me close and tell me everything is going to be all right – except for myself. So the choice is clear : rescue myself, or wither away and die.
And I ain’t dying.
Yeah I don’t want to “have” to rescue myself from myself. And yeah, on some fuile level I feel like I am “owed” more nurturing and protection and well…. parenting.
But it’s not going to happen. Ever. Unless I provide it for myself.
And I am strong enough to do that.
It just might take a while.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.