I can be honest, writing has been hard these last few months, to the point where I had to leave the page unattended to feel free of the burden that comes with this regular exercise. I can blame all of this on the pandemic and the crappy year that 2020 has been but that would only reflect a small portion of the tumult my life has felt. I needed to take a step back, reevaluate my personal processes.
It’s been fruitful, being inconsistent with my writing. It has allowed me to realize that though I like to write a certain way there are always ways I can improve. That things can be made more understandable while still retaining my own flourishes. A need to cut down on the words but improve on the prose. That is what I here to do now, to write in a more compact way because I was allowing my brandishes to obfuscate my true aims.
This time has given me also the ability to contemplate how far I have come and how far I still need to go. I have realized and had to reassess my foundations and my beliefs because I am invariable drawn back my past as I fight for my future. For now I am writing to pledge once again to start this dance between statements and sentiments.
It’s actions which define our days but our habit’s which define our life. But what happens when our habits fall apart, and our actions become strained. What would we do to try and regain control?
I’ve been having trouble sleeping and trouble waking up. I lay in bed late at night, after all my tasks are done and my body feels strained, wondering if it will be few minutes or few hours before I finally see the sandman. I sleep for as long as I need to or can before I start the day again, knowing I am missing some parts of my preparation and others of my coping.
It’s because I want accomplish things that I feel my body turn against me. I have resorted to super charging which makes my muscles feel strained the next morning from how tense it becomes. I feel sore the next morning, not from exercise but from the toll on my body all this energy comes. Like a double edge sword, stealing power from tomorrow to use today, indefintiely until my body feels like it’s slowly falling apart from just moving.
The good thing is that all this energy my body in place so I can be a puppeteer to a marionette. Moving myself in a way that makes the show go on, that gets my work done, and makes me feel as if I am finally getting things done. They don’t tell you about the strain on the strings though. Creaking loudly throughout the day as they continually push against the burden of a resistant self.
I question whether life at the moment is a series of trade offs and balancing acts, and for a man who wants everything this becomes problematic. To I push my body through the ringer to get my body to follow my mind wants or do I let me body continue to delay workings of the mind and soul.
I come up on this dichotomy and my decision usually is to throw myself through the pain and anguish if it means that I can get what I want. What is one more step full of pain if it means I can get the life that I want. I just feel the strain right now, the pain in my muscles and bones, but it’s the price I am willing to pay for the moment, but who know what I giving up in the long run.
It worries me though, that I may be giving up too much. That these things shouldn’t need all this extra help and I should just be able to persist without all this extra help. What is happening and has happened to me and what might that missing ingredient be in all this. That would make me feel whole mind, body, and soul.
For now, there is no time to worry, I will just keep pushing through until one thing finally gives.
I am always afraid that as I put words to a page that content of those words become meta. Words talking about words, language talking language, and yet I can’t divorce myself from these words. This language for me is as muck and tar, stretching and pulling me inexhaustibly to get stuck and dirtied. I fall back into them because of this apparent mismatch between me and them. Like an abusive relationship where I am betrayed over and over again by these things that I give my heart to only to fall back into their arms again.
It’s in a lot of ways the an inevitability as I am so scared of my own voice for it to ever learn to fly. So afraid of my words evaporating into entropy, crumbling into dust in those who they happen to reach. This why words become so focused, like a fetishism that my words are never allowed loftier dreams and goals as I just want them to work in the first place.
If only their were a tangibility to these abstract figures. To manipulate more fully with my hands aside from the language we have all agreed on. To put my mind down on paper, to transcribe these inner thoughts and feelings in a way that does justice to them.
The destruction of this fantasy is what spurs these regular meta commentaries about my inability to articulate in my everyday life. I keep telling myself to be more deliberate with my words, less is more and more is less but I spew them as a safety net as saying something always feels better than doing nothing. A fallacy I repeatedly find myself falling into, but trudging forward just the same.
I’ve already said too much so I shall leave it for now, but I am wise enough to know this is not the end but just another step on long journey.
It’s not easy, none of it is. It feels as though the whole process at times is a Sisyphean climb up a a steep mountain with no end in sight. How did I end up here, and where does this path lead? I unsure of how the roads will bend or how the ground will break beneath my feet but each step I take I recover bits and pieces of what I’ve lost along the way. Each piece giving me some semblance of strength to move forward. I carry, though, on my back, the memory of months which likes barbs upon the skin tore into my soul and left me bleeding. Am I different now that I have endured more tumult and turmoil, most definitely. Am I better person because of it, that has yet to be seen. We shall see if these expiences have shaped me to be stronger or simply made more able to avoid the dangerous of the dagger in my side.
I climb and climb, my calves burn each time my foot touches the ground. It’s a burning that I am used to but a burning just the same. I continue this climb because I continue to find reasons to keep moving forward. Reasons to persist when my body and mind what to desist and fall away into the sides of the mountain. I can’t stop here, I won’t stop here. Something always drives me forward up the mountain through all the pain and suffering, the heart ache and strife. I did not ask for this pain but when presented with a wall I choose to climb it despite the pain because then maybe I can help others do the same.
Energy sapped but still moving, motivaiton gone but still pushing. I might be at the end of my rope but I am still pushed down but I won’t let go no matter what.
Life is a continual process of working and pushing and I may not be the best at moving forward but I am at least persistent enough to stay in the game. Sometimes that’s is what you need to get somewhere, the ability to stick with it long enough.
I’m starting to think that only good writings which anyone may find of value are the words that mark my end. How poignant it would be, to write something so perfectly but knowing I would not be able to find the words to complete such a masterpiece. A cold balance between the practical, the apologetic, and the incomprehensible musings of an unfinished man. It is a poisonous twisting of letters and phrases that attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable and cast an act of selfishness as an act of self mercy. There are days where it becomes manageable that I don’t even think about these dangerously dark thoughts. Still, it feels as is if I am in eternally stumbling across ground with no debris with only needing but a spec of dust to send me falling through the earth.
It’s the fluctuations between okay days and terrible ones that makes me know the spindling hasn’t stopped. It brings me high to then send me low, making my morning filled with despair, afternoons feel manageable, and cause my nights to be sleepless. I carve moments away from everything, but they don’t last long enough as either the external or the internal constructs interrupt any semblance of meaningful peace.
My mind keeps going, running on fumes that have all been snuffed out. I consider what will happen when I find myself at the end of that rope, pulling hard to make sure there is nothing left for me or anyone else. An empty person, devoid of any merits other than existence. What then will I think of myself, will my true value be revealed if I hold onto nothing anymore. Will that value be low enough the pay for these costs of my sins and follies.
Part of me wants to get away from it all. All this clutter of my mind, or reduce it all to ash before my eyes, an outcry of the pain I feel inside. Maybe it would be better to lose everything. Start from nothing because it is less complicated than the life I am currently living. I know in some sick way I asked for this, asked for this type of life, and the trajectory that I am on, but I could have never anticipated the outcome. How can I have been so wrong for so long, and how do I rectify things. It’s effortful, these changes, these emotions, the things I hope to find and enact. Why is it that I always feel like I have to pour out so much to get anything in return, and even then, I do get something back. It’s never enough.
I’m in pain, and part of me prays that a hero would come and save me, but I have known for a long time that those types of things don’t happen. No hero will come to save me from myself and my twisted thoughts, and all there will be is silence over an indifferent universe. So that leaves me, but perhaps I am just too tired to stand up right now, but how can I heal I haven’t been much good at resting. For now, I will consider whether I want to or not, the words that may speak to many or few about what is worth saying at the end.
How does one heal from circumstance? How does one find peace when chaos ravages the soul. When in those moments, we felt to should have been able to trust that trust is broken. Days have been hard and long, finding no sanctuary these thoughts that continue to pervade my mind like a virus. How do we heal from these ills that set the set fire to the soul and brings a spirit to the brink of darkness?
It feels both counter-intuitive but also apparent at the same time. To be removed from these tribulations, one has to let go of them. It reminds me of a quote attributed to Buddha:
Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.
Some of this pain and anguish that I feel is internally sourced. I am responsible some of the continued pain I feel after the initial moment of experience. A perception of reality that continues cloud my eyes may not be clear but fog or filter that obfuscates the truth.
To remove this clever guise from my eyes requires me to see with eyes on unclouded and release all that I am holding onto. To breathe out all this anger, frustration, fatigue, and pain and to let clean air finally reach my brain.
I need to forgive all these transgressions in my heart, for if I don’t, I will be haunted by them. If I don’t, I will carry these moments with me like a knife in my side, bleeding out slowly for everyone to see. To heal, I need to remove the blade and allow myself to move forward, not to forget but in an honest space to grow despite the challenges. To not allow for the flesh to fester but to scare and to heal. I will wear these things carved onto my body for the rest of my life, but the story I tell about these unnatural grooves upon my soul is for me to choose moving forward. Will these be the moments of pain that crippled me or the triumph I learned to persist?
Letting go through is easier said than done. I had not received the closure I wished for. Life is usually never that easy or clean. The human moment that longed for is but a distant daydream, one clung to for far too long. For now, I need to sit and pass the poison in my blood. To let go and heal. To forgive others of their trespasses, and most of all, forgive myself.
Below I added the poem of Invictius, it’s one of my favorites especially in hard times like these.
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.
Dark days and nights give way to for desire for the sun but a call for rain. A look to the sky speaks to the wanting, the waiting for the lightning to strike to feel the easiest reprieve for the karmic destiny that has befallen me. Wondering why not just take it all, why leave me then to weather the storm and give the hope for brighter days ahead. It’s under that rain and wind where I feel like the world and I are finally aligned.
It’s that recoil from the sweet, the pleasant. It hurts at times to be helped because in the my mind, it feels as if I am the poison that would corrupt and corrode all those around. The sweet that gives me shade as the barriers begin to crack and break, the adrenaline which I used as fuel begins to get used up, and all I feel how much the frustration and despair turn to pain and sadness. The way I had always learned to cope it to continue to push forward unrelentingly because I knew if I stopped, I might never get up again.
It’s in watching the sky as rain falls do the tracks tears begin to form. A welling up of emotion finally begins to overflow, and the water of the world becoming indistinguishable from this water pouring out from within. There is some solace in it as it assures me that I exist. The cold no longer bothers me as the clarity of the moment lets me breathe easier. The up and down stabilizes as these emotions I had been holding inside begin to settle.
I spend many moments there, sitting under the sky wondering what my purpose in this world, and if there would be a purpose to my suffering. Those nights when lying in bed become easier as the exhaustion from those emotions put me to sleep quickly. By the time the morning comes, the clouds have gone away, though I know not forever. I will appreciate the sun while I still have it as I try to find peace within myself and quell the storm brewing within. Long days and nights are still ahead, but the whether it’s one storm or many, there can be peace in the recoil from both the pain and the promise.
The sun shining high in the sky through the blinds on my window frame with heat emanating from the clouded glass, magnifying itself as it enters my room. A long night passes with this light representing one more night done and one more morning received. Normally a representation of the simplicity of the day, taken for granted through normal processes of living but these nights and sometimes brutal mornings fluctuate between insomnia and certain kind of darkness. I don’t understand why these feelings come but it’s not the lack of understanding that hurts me, it’s the the intensity they arise this time and unwillingness for them to dissipate
These motivations I held on to so well in the proceeding months have all but left me with this feeling of aimlessness crowding out everything else. Perhaps it’s a need for me to step back and process these events that have captured both my world and the world at large. It feel so frustrating though that none of my usual devices seem to work, that my body and mind will not operate the way I would like. These darker moments showing up and not letting any of my reasonable thoughts speak, just pouring out of me like a wound not yet healed.
These nights are particularly painful as they entice the me in ways that I hate. The feeling that scares me is the imagination of my wrists strewn apart and the blood flowing through them. A feeling that parades upon my skin is so real I can feel warmth and wetness of blood tickling down my arms. These thoughts which ordinarily would be so abhorrent are tinged with certain sense of sweetness and provocation that makes even these normally distressing acts seem a possibility.
It’s about surviving now, these long nights and troubled mornings. To give myself enough time to recover from these feelings of helplessness and haplessness. Mounting difficulties persist and even through my running and moving I can’t seem to outpace these thoughts. It’s scares me as it saps from me of my strength. These thoughts pervade in a time when I can’t get lost in the world. These struggles persist with my mind entertaining the thoughts of the usefulness of my departure. I seek help and hope for salvation. My heart is silent, it has been for some time. What did I do to turn away from it. Where did it go when I needed it most. I don’t want to quit and regret, but I don’t know any other way out.
Life can be hard and words can be difficult. There is a degree of a need to be honest with one’s self and other people. I struggle with that every day as step closer the edge not wanting to people to pity or look down on me. I’ve already had those eyes trace me for far too long having to wrestle with these perceptions of undeservedness on my own behalf. What I need is time, time to correct myself in this space. I don’t know when everything began to fall or what the last piece to come and throw me into this place but I keep fighting. I hope to be alright in the end but to honest, I don’t know anymore.
It’s the echo, that soft echo that we all hear which takes our thoughts, those ones we normally would not be heard over the cacophony of life, and begins to speak loud that our world has shrunk to the size of four walls and a ceiling. Initially, as soft as an almost inaudible whisper, so weak that only when the world is quiet that you begin to hear, but with time the voice starts to resonate and become the only thing you can hear. With so much going on in my own life, it has become a full-time job to deal with the onslaught of these whispers, these voices that would seek for me to burn with anger and outrage at my world, and destroy everything within it.
There is no illusion in my mind when I say that the past weeks of my life have been arduous. Beyond the calamity of the year, which seems in some way like a final recompense for building troubles we have simply put off, my struggles has made this year memorable in ways I would prefer they weren’t. There is no doubt about the eventuality of overcoming these difficulties, its’s the multiplicity of discordant events that have made the struggle forward so difficult.
Life change is an inevitability, and our reaction to that change determines the resulting outcome in our own life. It’s though a frustration that some of these discordant whispers come to speak in ways that would undermine this peaceful reaction. Phrases like “This is all your fault.”, “You deserve everything that has come to you.”, and “You will never be good enough.” weaken me as it is hard to refute the words that come from within. I can tell them to be quiet, but the more I attempt to avoid them, the more I find myself intertwined with these thoughts and feelings. Like a burning inside that feels like a constant powder keg explosion. This fuel of frustration is nothing new to me, but the circumstances do not allow for these feelings to dissipate easily the only way out now is through.
It’s in these moments that despair sets in, and a distorted sense of nihilism takes hold. A questioning of self, self-worth, and purpose takes hold. In the most extreme regards, it removes any desire to proceed further and replaces it with a desire to curl up in a ball and implode into nothingness. It strains me, this feeling, though thankfully not unfamiliar, allowing me to self actualize and take the necessary steps to recover before harm comes to me.
It was in this that I found the need to reflect on everything that was burning deep within my soul. A burning, mind you, that was not fuel but kindling that incinerates all that is good within my soul. I have found myself in a new land, and all it has done is stack wood waited for a flashpoint for all of this to go up in flames. It’s the internal I have to start with. Why do these emotions come over me, and what is their true purpose. Is this anger and hate simply pride or envy I feel. Is it because of my insecurities which these feelings arise? The flimsiness of stature allows me no sanctuary when the foundations of self are attacked.
This time is difficult in general without making enemies of self. It’s a need for calmness in lieu of apathy, understanding and compassion outside of circumstance. Being kind and knowing that these internal voices are fears harbored inside and not objective truths. The struggle will continue, but I am the one with the ability and the strength to change it. We will all get through this one way or another, we might as well do it the way I want rather than take the path of self-destruction.
“Keep an open mind and open heart, you are here to attack the problem” I told myself. There I found myself once again on the other side of the screen waiting for this cataclysm to be lifted. For me to take the pain and the punishment that needed to be dished out as was a natural part of the learning process. It was there though, staring at me with its red eye that I knew this was no longer ab,out listening and understanding, this was about commanding and accusing. I sat there, listening until there was nothing left to say, and talking when words needed to be spoken but no more. The sentencing for my supposed crimes came crashing down and washed over me. These words were fatalistic, having already given up the hope of a future, or the respect once held.
No sooner had it started did it finish, but this time, these words left me not in a place of sadness and despair, but utter fru, station. A fuse was lit as the arguments and comments made echoed through my mind. What was clear is that this wasn’t over, but I didn’t know where to go. After it all, I sat there on my front porch calling the people I knew I could trust, trying to figure out what my next steps were.
The long days and long nights continued with finals making it all the worse. My eyes continue to burn as I pieced together all I could to make my life work. Even when the weekend hit, if I wasn’t resting I was working trying to find shelter in this hailstorm. I found solace in the voices of my friends but the music of the night was one of discord and difficulty. Those late-nigh,t hours were there for contemplating my circumstances, and that early morning sun to question my existence.
By the time Monday hit, I was ready for what was to come and what I had to do. It was in those moments that the final piece of validation came through, that all of this pain and anguish was not the result of a normal sequence of events but from a downpour of extracurricular madness. I spent the next few days organizing myself, working, and steeling myself for what might come. Tests and papers kept me busy, and life kept moving. Soon enough the day had come for a second reckoning, a moment to face the music once more. I walked in there the best I could, as brave as I could because I found my reason to keep on fighting.
Life hardly ever gives us clear cut beginnings or ends, and though things continue beyond when we would like what is important is finding the reasons to keep moving forward. I can’t say that I’ve recovered fully from my experiences or that they are truly over but I can say that I will keep fighting. Lessons are not always easy but with an open mind they will never be wasted.
Here are to the long days and nights to come, and the fighting spirit we all hold inside.