Posts tagged with "sadness"

Where Am I Now?

It’s been a par­tic­u­lar­ly try­ing week. I’ve been feel­ing so jad­ed. Broken. Helpless. Undefined.

Both the cause and the con­se­quence is that I’ve been sleep­ing ter­ri­bly late­ly. Next week I’m going to try to have a more self-con­trol and stay on a strict sched­ule. Bring some order into my life.

I tried to make an appoint­ment with my ther­a­pist, since I have $300 men­tal health cov­er­age with my work per cal­en­dar year (although this only amounts to two ses­sions). Unfortunately, I need a refer­ral from my fam­i­ly doc­tor to claim the cov­er­age, because refer­rals are only good for one year, and it’s been that long since I saw him.

I think of how judg­men­tal my dad was when I told him I was see­ing a psy­chol­o­gist. But then I real­ize that he’s prob­a­bly the only per­son I feel like I can real­ly talk to right now (my ther­a­pist, not my dad). I wish I could talk to my friends, but my thoughts are either too embar­rass­ing to admit to them, or too com­pli­cat­ed for them to under­stand.

I’ve been lis­ten­ing to some qui­et, som­bre stuff late­ly. Trying to acquire a taste for Leonard Cohen’s mid­dle years, when he trad­ed in his gui­tar for horns and vio­lins, even some Depeche Mode. Depeche Fucking Mode. It has­n’t been help­ing.

I just don’t know what to do with myself late­ly. But I’m pret­ty sure I real­ly need to cry right now.

Sleepwalk

Hi, and wel­come back to anoth­er episode of “Télévision Educative”. Tonight, I’ll show you how dreams are pre­pared. People think it’s a very sim­ple and easy process but it’s a bit more com­pli­cat­ed than that. As you can see, a very del­i­cate com­bi­na­tion of com­plex ingre­di­ents is the key. First, we put in some ran­dom thoughts. And then, we add a lit­tle bit of rem­i­nis­cences of the day…mixed with some mem­o­ries from the past.

I slept through the night. This means I’m either exhaust­ed or com­pla­cent. I’m not sure if I want com­pla­cent because it prob­a­bly means I’m resigned.

Resignation is so depress­ing. At the same time, it’s a cer­tain­ty that brings com­fort, the same way hope is both tor­tur­ous and inspir­ing.

“And work­ing is the best rem­e­dy, then? Keeps your brain busy.”

“How can you work? Love is too pow­er­ful. You can’t con­cen­trate.”

I’ve been work­ing the last two week­ends, try­ing to catch up on time I lost while I was away. I real­ly could­n’t afford to take so much leave from work with­out pay, and there are dead­lines for projects I’ve tak­en up on the side.

This week­end was espe­cial­ly pro­duc­tive. I got a lot done, but there’s so much more to go. It seems like there’s nev­er enough time, so I just keep my head down and work through it.

I haven’t had much a break since I’ve been back. So this is my break. The writ­ten word.

Feels like I’m sleep­walk­ing, lucid, unsure of what’s real or what I’m feel­ing. This morn­ing I asked myself, “Have I real­ly wok­en up yet?”

Pain Is Better Than Emptiness

I’ve come to real­ize that I cling to pain and yearn­ing because they give me inspi­ra­tion. They may not be the sole source, but cer­tain­ly a great deal. I always lis­ten to Leonard Cohen and Elliot Smith dur­ing such moods, as they have the abil­i­ty to inten­si­fy and deep­en the sad­ness.

I can tell it’s some­thing of a destruc­tive habit. It’s almost like I sub­con­scious­ly choose to dwell on things that have been resolved for the sake of some­thing to write about.

It makes me think of the last lines from King Missile’s song Ed:

“Yes, this is the answer. This is the end­ing. I shall keep on run­ning, because a body in motion tends to stay emo­tion­al, and it’s bet­ter to feel. Pain is bet­ter than empti­ness, empti­ness is bet­ter than noth­ing, and noth­ing is bet­ter than this.”

Is this how I feel alive, a way of bring­ing sig­nif­i­cance to my life? Or is this the way I tru­ly feel, and I’m sim­ply a slow heal­er, and too much of a thinker?

Or per­haps the bet­ter ques­tion is this: does hap­pi­ness inspire me just as much?

A Cold And Grey Summer Day

My room is a mess, a side-effect of my busy sched­ule. I should be clean­ing. Hell, I should be sleep­ing, but I’d rather write instead, see­ing as how I haven’t had a chance in four days. It would appear as if I’m going through some sort of expres­sion with­draw­al.

Vincent Gallo prac­ti­cal­ly wrote this entry for me.

I had When by Vincent Gallo play­ing here.

(If you’re going to lis­ten to this song, turn the lights down, or at least close your eyes. Remove your­self of any ambi­ent noise. Breathe slow­ly for 30 sec­onds before play­ing it. This song deserves it. You deserve it.)

Even though it went up to 28°C today, the morn­ing start­ed cold and calm. There was so much mois­ture in the air that one could taste the grey.

It made me strange­ly sto­ic when I left the house. Something about the whether that remind­ed me of how com­fort­ing it can be to feel sad. It’s as if the earth had decid­ed to com­pli­ment my mood with cloud cov­er. I can’t even explain the cause of my sad­ness, and can only guess that real­iza­tion and accep­tance are set­ting in. The only sav­ing grace is that I feel con­fi­dent enough to pick myself up and move on. Not that I want to do it alone right now. Wish I had the option.

As the day dragged on, things start­ed to wear me down. Exhaustion dried my eyes. I kept try­ing to pick myself up, kept try­ing to hide my sigh­ing sad­ness from those around me, to no avail.

Wish I had a smile in my wardrobe for days like this.