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Things I Will Never Figure Out
"Red-Eyed and Blue" by Wilco
January 28, 2016 Thursday 11:27 PM
[I talk a lot about religion and I'm sorry for those of you who are religious because this whole thing is kind of based off the premise that there is no god]
A couple months ago, I kept accidentally looking at the clock at exactly 11:11 PM and, as is tradition for me, I made a wish each time. Always the same wish, too.
"Dear non-existent God. I cannot promise that if you grant the following wish, I will believe in you. In fact, I'd probably write it off as some coincidence because let's face it, that's a bit more likely. But hey. If you're real and your only reason for existing is to hold your power over me or to make sure I'm aware of who's in charge, then you're not the guy everyone wants to believe you are. You're not a guy at all. Anyway, let me just get a move on, eh?
It'd be nice if I could have a boyfriend by the end of January. That's my wish."
Tacked on with that would be the usual "Please let my sister find happiness within the next couple months, let her realize where she wants to go and I just want her to be okay," and the, "Oh yeah. Also, I'd like to figure that stuff out soon. And I want to have higher self-esteem." Because praying to a god I don't believe in is the easy way out, my excuse for not doing anything about any of these issues.
Yeah, well. I fell out of sync with the clock. Now, I usually glance at the time at 11:09 PM or 11:12. A missed chance or something except for that I never truly believed anything would come from praying. I lean more on the side of me that won't give the thought of God the time of day.
(The problem with that is I'm missing something; I haven't experienced spirituality in the way others have. Not the point)
A few years back, I was walking in the cemetery, thinking (or not even: probably only last spring and I was wandering through the cemetery with a now dead April talking out loud to Elise as though that would make up for the fact that she was dead too) and I'm starting to think spirituality is something that people are born with.
I mean, my theory is based on evolution, inspired by the fact that I could not fucking keep myself from believing in more, despite the fact that it was completely irrational.
Yeah, I found myself thinking ghosts were floating around me or some dude was peeking at me from the clouds or that there was some kind of life after death different from the obvious you-turn-into-dirt-and-sprout-flowers-out-of-what-used-to-be-your-mouth type thing.
This struck me as odd because I've never, ever, ever been religious and yet I've always felt a sort of desire for something more.
So yeah. My theory is this: spirituality is a thing in people because it was advantageous to us. AKA people who worshipped invisible deities tended to live longer than those who didn't. I probably wrote about this some other time.
I haven't figured out the whole middle part though.
Because what exactly about religion would keep a person alive longer than nothing at all?
Is it about will? Can pure will perpetuate life?
But, I mean. Religion isn't the only thing a person has to live for, not in all cases at least. There's family and hobbies and yourself, there's the sky and birds and a bunch of cheesy shit I won't bother listing.
My half-assed explanation is that religious people have more hope. That everyone else is just jaded.
But that seems... Well, it can't be true. I want to use myself as an example, but I don't really think I can call myself happy which sucks because I want to but I can't.
I'd say, generally, I enjoy living. I enjoy reading and drinking tea and writing and thinking and being around other human beings. But still, I'm not... I don't feel good. But would religion change that?
I don't think so.
Why is religion so ingrained, then? Why does it seem so inevitable?
Is it just because humanity has a habit of searching for patterns? And so when we find one we automatically assume it means anything at all?
How can I fucking answer any of these questions, though? My pinky is fucking cold as usual and I just want to sleep for once in my life which is ridiculous because I've slept a thousand times before, why does it feel like I never have???
Obviously, I'm moving into new territory so... Line break-y thing.
I'm moving into a bad way, I think. It's hard to tell. Big picture and all that, can't see it when you're in it.
Sometimes it just goes away. That'll probably (hopefully) happen with this too. I can list quite a few thoughts that will never leave without some serious pushing, though. I can't push those out alone, though.
How do I deal with this? This thing that is happening NOW? It fills me with a sort of panic, but then I can't really call it that exactly because I'm not about to curl up in a corner (I don't do that anymore, haven't in a long time). It's more that everything is so overwhelming that I just CAN'T panic anymore. It's too much.
You know that feeling, when you're trying really hard not to think about something so you don't mess up? I know it very well.
I knew it when I first started playing piano. I'd practice a piece enough to have the muscle memory, but then I'd realize halfway through flawless (to my ears, at least) playing that I hadn't messed up yet and if I thought about having not messed up or if I worried about messing up in the future, it would definitely happen. So I'd try not to. And that trying not to think about a certain thing is, predictably, how I came to fuck up.
Anyway, point is that I am using that as a crappy metaphor for how I live my life.
I feel like I'm balancing.
I feel like I've gotta keep going, going, going.
And I can't stop to think about it for one second or else I'll mess up, I'll mess up really bad and you can't even stop when THAT happens, you just have to go faster, play catch up.
I feel very, very fucking trapped.
And I can't STOP thinking about what I should be ignoring, can't push it down.
It's making me stumble, it's making me fall behind.
I'm getting tired again.
So what do I do? Drop something, right?
Only I already did that. I dropped Olympics of the Visual Arts – had no time for it and that fact kills me because I've been waiting for years for a prompt that I loved as much as I loved this one (it had to do with the Jabberwocky poem by Lewis Carrol).
But I had to do it. I had no fucking time and I just can't think about it anymore otherwise I'll freak out.
You have to understand that I am not telling you things. There are... things that I am not writing about, sometimes because it's not important and other times because I don't want to be the person I am. The person who has the kinds of thoughts that I have. And that's what I mean when I say I'm not honest the way I want to be.
If you think I sound selfish now, trust me, it's a lot worse inside my head.
I can't say these things outright, I just can't. I can give you a slanted view, sometimes, but not the real thing because it's just so, so, so awful. Not blood-on-the-floor, dead-body-in-the-corner kind of horrible.
In a way, I think that kind of situation has a sort of cleanliness that the insides of human minds lack. I mean, it's.... true. It's true. It's pure anger and despair, the way I'm imagining it, with a slashed up body and streaks of red everywhere.
Meanwhile, there is a part of me that is just... terrible, really fucking terrible. Not the worst thing in the world or anything and – ugh, it makes no sense, nothing makes any sense ever which is something I've taken to saying a lot, isn't it? – the fact that it ISN'T even the biggest problem ever just makes it that much worse???
Oh what the fuck, I'm only talk around the thoughts I have, not ever writing the damn things down. I let them out one by one, sometimes, and I know they shine through. I know they're visible in the way I stand and the things I say and the expressions I make. They are, unfortunately, wrapped around the core of my being and I wonder who I would be without them.
Maybe I'd be a bit more susceptible to love. A little less susceptible to the weekend blues.
I want to scream, I'm so confused! I'm so confused! This is a familiar feeling: I've got a skewed perception of everything around me, it's all wrong, it's all so fucking wrong and I want to punch everyone in the face but mostly I want to hurt me and it!
(makes no sense, I was gonna say. I hate that, I hate that entire phrase).
When was the last time that I was like that? See??!?!?! I can never tell! I can never tell! Am I always like this?
Should I ask someone to help? I can't do that... I can't do that... It wouldn't be fair. Not to anyone, I think, because don't I need to learn how to function like a normal human being?
I should stop listening to sad songs but I can't connect to anything else.
I think I will go upstairs... grab my copy of Lord of the Flies. I think I will read the first chapter for the third time, I think I'll underline some sentences and draw pictures in the corners of dog-eared pages. Maybe the darkness that is humanity will cheer me up, as it always does, because no one can be 'saved.' There was nothing to save in the first place.
Cheer me up.
Somehow, this entry feels unfinished.
I am not exhausted yet, maybe that's why. Maybe I should cry or something, which I probably will once I hit Save Entry. Or maybe not. I have work to do, some extra credit stuff to help boost my horrible gym grade which will no doubt drag my grade point average down quite a few ranks and that shouldn't hurt me but it does.
So yeah. I guess I'll save the crying for when I'm done with my homework, although I get the feeling that by the time I finish that I won't have the urge anymore and instead I'll just be left with the heavy, hardening lump that gets left behind when I don't release it in a healthy way. I remember I used to think I could just cut it out, squeeze it out from under my skin.
Ah, my lungs feel a little funny and I am cold. Goodnight.
It's been five minutes and I'm seriously not feeling any of what I felt while writing this anymore. I know it's there, it's weighing me down, y'know? But I just can't seem to reach it.