Moods don’t need to have a reason.
Emotions don’t always have to be based on reality.
i am free to simply generate whatever I need in order to feel better and maybe get some serious healing done without having to justify it.
There has to be a mood floor – a limit to how far down it can go before my automatic systems kick in to stabilize things.
This far and no further.
Because seriously. Fuck reality. It’s highly overrated. My reality has never contained even a tiny percentage of the emotional nutrients I need to survive.
I think by now I can be forgiven for looking elsewhere.
Fuck the truth, too. It’s never loved me back. My love of truth and search for answers has mostly just left me cold and isolated and unfit for survival as it drags me through the dirt without the slightest concern for how it will make me feel.
And that’s just plain stupid.
And I am so damned tired of being dragged through knothole after knothole by the big dumb dog that is my fanatical search for the truth. I want to be able to relax and enjoy myself without the constant paranoid demands of my brutal truth machine insisting that I constantly be trying to look in all directions at once while trying to figure out literally everything all the time.
Why can’t I just calm the fuck down and just be a person for a while? Why am I haunted by this deep restlessness that tells me that I must always be vigilant and that if I ever truly drop my guard, that’s when they will GET me.
I mean, health issues aside, I am perfectly safe. My life contains few dangers on even just the emotional level. By all external measurements, I am A-OK.
But try telling that to my anxiety. I’ve been afraid for so long that I don’t remember what it is like to be anything else. On the deep animal level, I can’t feel safe.
I just want to take that scared little animal inside me into my arms and stroke it and pet it and hold it and tell it that everything is fine now, the danger is gone and it can calm down and rest its poor little head on my shoulder and maybe get some sleep.
Poor lil guy. He’s been running for so long.
You can relax now, pet. You’re safe now. You’re home. And we love you.
….but what’s that on the distant horizon?
Is that the thinnest hint of maybe some kind of light?
Is that part of the stygian darkness of my midnight tundra maybe just a tiny bit lighter than it was before?
And is that the faintest traces of…. heat?
Perhaps this is the beginning of the coming of the thaw
Perhaps my frozen flesh can finally melt
It’s going to hurt like hell. I might not make it. It could be that I am far too damaged to survive the reanimation process.
But I’d rather die alive than live dead
And that’s all I got to say right now
More after the break
I’d rather bleed
Pain is better than numbness.
Because, at the risk of sounding like a total jarhead, pain makes you feel alive. It raises your consciousness, albeit in a less than preferable way.
Pain can also heal. Sometimes we hurt ourselves more by avoiding pain than the pain would have hurt us. One of the most revolutionary acts you can do is to stop running and just let the pain hit you.
Get it over with.
The fear’s worse than the pain. And screams beat whimpers every time.
Numbness is the opposite of life. It is nullity – the void. Death. It has its own cold comfort, but never trust it, because it will lead you straight to the grave.
Trust me… I know this truth intimately.
What got me thinking along these lines was my recent thoughts about wanting a profound pain to come and wring me out. Something big and horrible enough to smash my defenses like brittle ice and force me to deal with reality in real time, as a human being, not… whatever it is I am most of the time.
A wounded angel, maybe. One Heaven forgot all about and doesn’t miss.
I suppose to some it might seem strange to want a terrible external force to smash me open and release me from a prison of my own making.
Couldn’t I just….open the door and walk out instead? That seems much less extreme.
But the thing is, I have been numb for so long that I don’t even know where the cage ends and my dormant flesh begins. And I am far too weak to painfully pick the lock when all I have is my own frozen fingers to use as lockpicks.
Knowing what needs to be done and being able to do it yourself are not the same thing.
Still, I gather strength and power. Slowly, slowly I am learning to use all this megawatt mental energy to create the life-sustaining bloodflow my frozen heart needs. Slowly I am burning the bullshit out of my system and replacing it with good, wholesome blood.
So maybe I don’t need the boot of a giant to come crashing down to free me. Maybe it’s just a matter of working through the pain by giving it a voice to scream with. Maybe all I need is permission to be merely human. Maybe this feeling deep inside me that I am meant to do amazing things in the world does me more harm than good.
But I have always been a strange and unearthly creature, both here and not here, sidling sideways through the slipstream and haunting fragile minds.
So I must be special. All this power I have must be meant for something. Surely some day I will rise like a flare and shine for all the world to see.
All I have to do is keep my head down and keep digging.
I’ll excavate me soon enough.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.