Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Another one already? Didn’t we have one just yesterday? I wasn’t done with that one yet.

Well it’s what I am thinking, anyway.

Feeling fairly shitty. Welcome to morning – the subjective kind – chez moi. I feel dizzy and disoriented and faintly short of breath, and part of me wants to just crawl back into bed and sleep till the world is not so damn hurty.

That might take a real long time, tho.

And the sad truth is that sleeping for a really long time – basically being in a coma – really appeals to the sick part of me. The idea of making it through all that time without having to deal with anything feels like it would be a victory to that part of me.

It would be so darn…. efficient.

After all, my life mission appears to be to make it through each day with a little pain as possible. How better to do that than a coma?

Look at me and my big big dreams.

So that is the bloom of my degeneracy, folks. I have become envious of people in vegetative states. They must be so happy with nothing to deal with.

I’m only partly joking.

I feel so weak lately. Like I can’y deal with anything in any other way than to bury my head in the sand with my video games and endure time rather than enjoy it.

I need to find my fire again. Generate some momentum. Find a really good outlet for all this surrendering sadness inside me.

That’s the sadness that turns, crying, from the world and says “no.” Not defiantly, either. Passively. No rage, no resistance, no sorrow even.

Just a sad little voice saying “No. I can’t. ” as it turns away from the world.

It’s the same voice that said it while I was being raped at the age of four. The voice of the part of me – a very big part – that never came back from that day. That withdrew deep, deep inside my mind to that little island in my sea of sorrows and has lived there in fear and loneliness ever since.

And it’s cold and it’s dark and the sun is a pale grey disc in the sky and the seas are dead except for some wretched sea grasses and the occasion shoal of depressed fish darting through them listlessly.

They don’t have anything better to do either.

And I want to leave this little island. But then again, I don’t. I think I like the idea of being free to walk the mainland with everyone else in the sunshine and warmth and being healthy and strong and good.

But at the same time, the very notion of letting go of my precarious perch fills me with a deep animal terror that borders on total screeching madness. It feels like it would kill me, like without my perch I would shrivel up and die.

After all, it’s all I know of the world. It is my world. My entire universe. How could leaving that behind be anything but death?

And obviously, you can’t leave somewhere and stay there at the same time. It’s a logical impossibility. So it’s a conflict that must be resolved before I can move forward.

Once more, I am asked to just pick an option and stick with it. Either make peace with staying or make plans for leaving. But choose.

It ain’t that easy. Maybe it should be. But it ain’t.

I guess I have come to rest in a position where I take comfort from the idea of leaving and getting on with my life and that comfort is just enough to keep me going as long as I never ever act on it.

So I, like so many others, am stuck living on the idea of something wonderful that I am sure will happen in the future while taking absolutely no action toward that outcome.

And thus, the goal remains the exact same distance away. Like it’s nothing but a decal stuck to my windshield, or a distant horizon.

It’s a toxic dream. I would be better off without it. I should replace it with something concrete and achievable and just try to make some kind of life for myself.

But it’s all I got. And I would die without it.

One way or another.

Besides, in order to make changes you need energy I don’t have. And by energy, what I really mean is motive power. Will. The ability to push against the world instead of just turning away from it again.

And we’re back to the sad little voice that says “no.”. If I knew how to make that voice and the dozens like that happy, maybe I could find my courage and my energy and start building myself up away.

But I don’t know how. Or maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe it’s one of those things that my depressed mind hides behind my head so I can look around all I want and never see it, and tell myself that I must not know it.

Works out about the same either way.

I feel like there is a sea of icy cold tears inside me. A great and terrible sadness that makes me feel helpless and hopeless and lost.

So very, very lost. Lost forever. Lost where I can never be found.

And if someone ever did find me, I would be so damned scared I would run away and hide somewhere new and the whole thing would start over.

Because I want to end my loneliness and yet remain alone and safe on my island at the same time, too.

I am just full of paradoxes today.

I wish I could just calm the fuck down and open my heart to people and be a happy waggy little critter that everyone loves.

That’s what Fruvous is like, and that’s no accident. He’s the ideal me.

But not the real me. That’s somebody else.

I hope I can meet him one day.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.