An Intimate Glimpse of an Unbalanced Mind

You know what the great thing about this blog is? You know what should be drawing netizens from our voyeuristic society en masse? Where else can you get such a good look at such a major emotional car crash I call my life and not be caught in the middle of the
damn thing?

The problem with the way emotional desperation is portrayed in books and stories and on television and in film is that sadness is a means to an end. The darkness before the dawn. A tunnel speeding one towards resolution, instead of a trap to cage the soul. But you know what? The world doesn't come to a halt when I spend my whole day mired in despair, crying at night, wishing I had never been born and when my only accomplishment every day for a week is simply the avoidance of self-destruction. I still have to get up and go to work and figure out how to pay my bills and take care of my cats and maintain a home and act like a "normal" person, etc. etc. etc. ad infinitum. It never stops, it never gets any better, and I never make any real headway. Nobody comes to my rescue, nobody takes care of me...I can't even get anybody to just hang out with me for a few hours in my apartment so that I can be bouyed by their company and get a few things done. The best that I can hope for is that "someone will listen, at least for a short while." (Robert Smith of The Cure, "The Figurehead") I was born alone, I have lived almost my entire life alone, and I will die alone.

"Everything is meaningless, even grief."
—Albert Camus, Caligula

All I've ever wanted to do with my life is write. But I can never get it together because I spend all of my energy keeping my life from breaking apart and flying away in a million little pieces. Other than this blog, I haven't written anything in innumerable years. I haven't even written a poem in over five years...I used to write a poem a day. I keep scribbling down ideas, but they just pile up into a chaotic mess. One more thing to sort through. One more thing left undone.

(Comment on a Comment)²

I am very sorry my comment wasn't to your liking. I happened to stumble across your blog a month ago in a very round about way and, because I felt like I could relate to your struggle, thought I would share a quote that has helped me. I like it because it reminds me to take some comfort in the fact that all experiences "from the glorious to the mundane to the purely wretched" are reminders that I am human and capable of feeling, experiencing, and, ideally, growing. I don't pity or judge you, and I certainly don't feel that you should "shut your pie hole." I have never commented on a blog before and felt quite shy about doing it, so I feel even more sheepish after seeing that my comment spurred such a reaction. I apologize for giving you the impression that I was casting judgment on your situation or attitude. I can only assure you that it was an empathetic response to your words that convinced me to overcome my hesitations and comment. I would hope it would be some consolation that your ideas, expressed as they are and should be for you alone, can also have an impact on others.
—Anonymous comment to my "Comment on a Comment" post

First of all, I want to say that I'm sorry and that I feel like an asshole. I apologize if I came off hostile and rude, and I'm particularly sorry for the "shut your piehole" phrasing. I also want to tell you that you should never hesitate to make your point and say your piece, especially since you express yourself so well. You should do your own writing (though I suspect that you already do). Finally I want to thank you for not only reading my blog, but also for taking the time to actually post a comment. I really do appreciate it. I just happen to have a knack
for alienation.

Second, I'd like to explain why the bit that you quoted in your initial comment struck such a nerve with me. To begin with, I thought this comment was posted by a close acquaintance of mine. (He's the "wise friend" I mentioned in my "Comment on a Comment" entry.) While he's been one of the best friends I've had in my life, lately I've gotten the sense that he is rather "exasperated" with me and with my inability to stop spinning my wheels. He's a logical, organized and sensible type of person...and I'm, obviously, a complete mess. When I read the initial comment, I was angered because I thought he was off-handedly accusing me of something we've gone back and forth about. In a nutshell, I think he thinks that I think everyone else in the world is happy all of the time and that I have unrealistic expectations. My point of view is that I'm not expecting to be happy, I just want my life to be livable. Regardless, now I feel even more the jerk for having assumed that my friend had posted the comment.

Also, you have to realize that I'm really truly no-foolin' psychologically handicapped. Given my chronic disability and level of functioning and general lack of practical life skills or common sense, I believe it's nothing short of a miracle that I can manage to live a semi-independent life. But people have been blaming me for my handicap all of my life, calling me lazy, spoiled, foolish. All of that may be, yet it doesn't change the fact that my brain has a crossed wire or two. If you look at the comment you posted from my perspective, you might can see where I felt it was just one more person telling me to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get to work. So there you have it. All I can do is offer a sincere apology. Only you can decide to forgive me.

Another Teenage Angst Poem

"You don't have to suffer to be a poet. Adolescence is enough suffering for anyone."
—John Ciardi

I wrote this poem on my eighteenth birthday. I had made peace with God regarding my sexuality years ago, and so I simply presumed that He would provide. The years between sixteen and eighteen were notable because this faith that things would simply work out had begun to crumble. I had been waiting, waiting, waiting so long for the affection of another man, which never came. Also, I began to realize that my psychological problems were not adolescent turbulence, which I would simply outgrow, but something that was going to stay with me and color my entire life.


"Morning Song"

Another second of sadness
Another hour of boredom
Another day of impotence
Another year alone...

My waiting heart gathers dust
As my will slowly wastes away.
I shall again, if I must,
Brave the ugly light of another day.
I swallow my pill of bitterness
To face the world without a care:
My only companion is Loneliness,
My only comfort is Despair.