the strange planet inside my head
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WordWebbing.com -- Spinning Words For Any Occasion
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where's my pitons?
i'm trying to feel better, honest i am.
i think part of the problem might be, as a depressive, that every tear that forms triggers off the humongous fear that one tear will beget another one, and another one, until i am drowning with nothing to hold on to. depression is an awful illness to live with, i vacillate between being terrified and just plain pissed off that i have to suffer with it. of the two, i like being pissed off a lot better, at least it gives you the illusion of strength for the time you're pissed.
little things become big things, distorted and ugly. you look at these things, like.... a check you cant cash, the chicken you bought that is bad, the water bill that needs to be paid... as if they were huge mountains that you dont have the equipment to scale. like you've lost your pitons (or whatever them pointy things are climbers use... what the hell do i know?) that's it! i lost my pitons!! well that sure explains a lot.
im not going to dwell, because down that path lies nothing but self-pity, fright, and just plain bullshit. am i not always saying "it is what it is" ? one step at a time, thats all.
with or without pitons. who needs the fucking things anyway.
****
i wrote a piece called "The Rose" and although the title really sucks, overall i think its an okay piece. i cant be objective about my own work until it has marinated for a couple of days, although i did post it and ask for crits. i sent it to my mom too, she will be merciless and that's cool. i'm having the devil's own time writing anymore, i humped "The Rose" out one bloody word at a time. everytime i sit to write i'm hoping for the zone, but i think part of the discipline of a writer may be writing when you dont think you can.
isnt that a metaphor for life, too? to go on even when you dont think you can? is that a metaphor or a dangling participle? shit, i have no clue.
anyway, mom agrees with me that this last week has just been a fuck-up of the highest order, that the bio-rhythms have been off-kilter and the universe is throwin a curve. hopefully all it is, is one week and the next one coming up wont have so many obstacles to evade. enough already... i can only jump so many hurdles at once.
on the good side... re-connecting with friends i missed so much when i was offline...writing ANYTHING even a shit short story.... feeling like i helped someone i love dearly... tina's A report card... being as strong as i can....feeling hope for the future, as dimly as it flickers sometimes, i still never give it up entirely. is it stupidity or eternal optimism? i may never know.
: )
i think part of the problem might be, as a depressive, that every tear that forms triggers off the humongous fear that one tear will beget another one, and another one, until i am drowning with nothing to hold on to. depression is an awful illness to live with, i vacillate between being terrified and just plain pissed off that i have to suffer with it. of the two, i like being pissed off a lot better, at least it gives you the illusion of strength for the time you're pissed.
little things become big things, distorted and ugly. you look at these things, like.... a check you cant cash, the chicken you bought that is bad, the water bill that needs to be paid... as if they were huge mountains that you dont have the equipment to scale. like you've lost your pitons (or whatever them pointy things are climbers use... what the hell do i know?) that's it! i lost my pitons!! well that sure explains a lot.
im not going to dwell, because down that path lies nothing but self-pity, fright, and just plain bullshit. am i not always saying "it is what it is" ? one step at a time, thats all.
with or without pitons. who needs the fucking things anyway.
****
i wrote a piece called "The Rose" and although the title really sucks, overall i think its an okay piece. i cant be objective about my own work until it has marinated for a couple of days, although i did post it and ask for crits. i sent it to my mom too, she will be merciless and that's cool. i'm having the devil's own time writing anymore, i humped "The Rose" out one bloody word at a time. everytime i sit to write i'm hoping for the zone, but i think part of the discipline of a writer may be writing when you dont think you can.
isnt that a metaphor for life, too? to go on even when you dont think you can? is that a metaphor or a dangling participle? shit, i have no clue.
anyway, mom agrees with me that this last week has just been a fuck-up of the highest order, that the bio-rhythms have been off-kilter and the universe is throwin a curve. hopefully all it is, is one week and the next one coming up wont have so many obstacles to evade. enough already... i can only jump so many hurdles at once.
on the good side... re-connecting with friends i missed so much when i was offline...writing ANYTHING even a shit short story.... feeling like i helped someone i love dearly... tina's A report card... being as strong as i can....feeling hope for the future, as dimly as it flickers sometimes, i still never give it up entirely. is it stupidity or eternal optimism? i may never know.
: )
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