Tag Archive: psychoanalysis
If you looked up apathy in the dictionary, you’d see my picture.
In totally brutal honesty, I didn’t make it to 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo. All I have to show for the month are lots and lots of pages of brainstorming, doodles, and dialogue. I am simply not a very disciplined or productive person right now, at this stage in my life. And I have no one to blame, to feel sorry for, to feel responsible for, but myself. It’s myself that I’m letting down right now, and no one else.
Obviously I didn’t follow NoBloPoMo, either.
I fail at life.
I always fall short of my potential. That’s what people have been telling me all my life. That’s why my teachers hate me, and why they sometimes give me breaks I don’t deserve. This semester is no different from all the previous semesters…
…except, now I am finally going to counseling, and having a dialogue with myself. I’m not quite there yet, but I’ll get there. Hopefully next semester.
I can feel parts of me emerging, in action, in evolution, parts birthed into being. One of the parts floating to the surface is something that’s always been there but in weak form and very much in the background: my practical side.
This is the side of me that sticks to ancient personal principles, organizes things and gets things done. This part of me is still a baby compared to the parts of me that are highly emotional, intellectual, daydreaming, aloof, sensitive and carefree, but this practical part of me is finally growing up. I could feel this, growing and growing over the course of this last year, gaining momentum and strength…
And I… I think I need it. I think it’s pretty much a survival mechanism.
It will keep me strong, and safe. And maybe it will even keep the creeping fatalism and loneliness at bay, too. We’ll see.
There are moments were… where I feel that I don’t really exist. Not in the same way other people do, at least.
I’m just a figment of their imagination.
I’m just a vassal or channel for their emotions, thoughts, and energies.
I’m just a byproduct and their mundane, petty, daily lives.
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Wow. I think I am neglecting myself.
What I mean by that is, I started this here online journal so I could be as honest and as truthful and as lengthy and as rambling as I wanted. No one in real life knows of this blog. People can only judge me for the intimacy awarded to me by my almost complete anonymity. Here, I’m just another 20-something college student, soon to be living in a college town, with college friends, and college worries. Really, that could be millions of people. It could be your son, or your daughter, or your sister or brother, or your best friend, or YOU.
And yet, I haven’t been writing as often as current events would warrant. Things are indeed happening, things I could write a small book about, but I’m not writing.
Blame Maple Story. My character, BabaRei, is already at level 18.
Blame my desperate need to latch on to something that won’t shrink from my touch. Something less fickle than I am. Something that will cost me less than alcohol or clove cigarettes, or hooka or pot, or a number of other highly self-destructive things I know how to access and use.
I am in a mood of extreme escapism. Mostly because of the events happening in my life right now.
So perhaps I should stop running long enough to write about them.
Yeah. I think I’ll do just that.
I think my medication’s finally starting kick in, but not in the ways I would’ve expected. This morning I was in a good mood utterly in spite of myself. I was chipper, even. I was singing along to the radio and grinning and completely not worried at all. I arrived at work a few minutes early instead of a few minutes late, for once. And all this is due to a little anti-anxiety pill? Or was it the fact that I actually got some sleep yesterday? Who knows?
Then, a few hours after I arrived at work: the melancholy came back again, expressed via sulky fatigue. All day these feelings have been ebbing and flowing in quiet ways I think only I notice. What’s with these new mood swings? Were they always there and now I’m just happening to notice them because the element of constant anxiety’s been altered somewhat? What gives?
I’m not sure if the pill’s effects are good or not, but the pill is most certainly doing SOMETHING to my brain chemistry. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
It’s strange, though: when I am happy, I’m still always conscious of the feeling of depression, always lingering in the background. Similarly, when I’m depressed, there’s this stubborn feeling of… positive-ness… always lingering in the background as well, waiting patiently to make a grand return a few hours or days after the onset of melancholy. I’m very much aware that one could not exist without the other, almost always aware except for only the most extreme of moments, when I’m feeling intensely desolate or euphoric in mood and can focus on very little else.
They are each other’s shadows; they are two ends of the same box with a pendulum constantly swinging from one to the other and back again. That pendulum swings on its own accord, yes, but it can also be propelled into a greater arc of motion or have its rhythm disturbed easily by outside forces. All it takes is a breath, just a breath, to influence these moods. Such is my nature, I suppose. I guess it’s all part of being a nerdy, artsy, creative individual in this crazy world. I guess it just comes with the territory.
Yeah.
