Today
Panicking.
Been to visit my mother so we could go to my niece's birthday together. Rest of the time I helped her with a comic book she's creating - continuity, colours, lay-out, logic, language. I love that kind of work, just assisting, patiently pointing out ways to improve pictures or story.
Tried to sit behind her computer, which after two minutes gave me the usual hot poker between the shoulder blades, still feeling it now: neck and shoulders like rusty metal.
Went to stay with my sister and her family a few days before going home. I cried, again, when I said goodbye. I don't want to leave them, because there I feel somewhat alive and part of things.
Just finished reading another book, made some garlic butter, looked at the overgrown garden and felt the panic rising. How do I normally spend the time? What do I do with the empty days? Time passes and all I ever do is practise uselessness.
I had written a few pieces, pen and paper, but I couldn't make myself type them in order to put them online. It was nothing that mattered anyway. There's been no improvement since Easter and it seems, feels, like nothing will ever come of this. Emptiness. It's horrifying.
I've been unemployed for most of my life and the one thing I've been consistently working on: clearing out crap from my mind, isn't going anywhere, isn't getting me a job, money, something, something to do, something useful to do in the days that are passing me by so fast. I walk, read, watch tv, wash clothes, get groceries, write and suddenly it's six months later and absolutely nothing has changed.
I'm scared.
I know there's people with worse lives, far worse lives, even my own life has been far worse than this, but I was young and I had hope. Things would get better, because I was working so hard and doing all I could so at least later on in life I wouldn't have all those fears and traumas keeping me from living.
This, the pieces of writing online, are the only thing that tells me there is some kind of progress, there is less rubble. It might not matter though, cos progress is so slow the majority of my life will be over when I can finally function in some sort of life, a job.
I've been pretty depressed the past months. Were they worth it, those three wonderful days? I was still alone, still a recluse, on my own, incapable of real contact. I don't know. If days like that get followed by months like this, I don't know. They aren't real anyway, it's some sort of temporary high followed by a long, long low.
"All you have to do is be who you really are." My sister let me read a piece online where this was - sort of - the conclusion, after several pages of vague, long-winded prose of someone posing as an authority. Be who you really are. Well. If that's all there is to it. Just be the waste of space that you are.
Sarcasm. Meanness. Remnants.
Well, this is how it is right now.
Everything I do is focused on getting somewhere, somewhere else, anywhere but here, somewhere better. All is done with in the back of my mind: improvement, Further. Which is the whole point, but at the same time wrecks the present. As if the present is something nasty and distasteful I have to get past. Present, past - shoving the present aside to get to the future... mmh. Something worth mulling over.
Been to visit my mother so we could go to my niece's birthday together. Rest of the time I helped her with a comic book she's creating - continuity, colours, lay-out, logic, language. I love that kind of work, just assisting, patiently pointing out ways to improve pictures or story.
Tried to sit behind her computer, which after two minutes gave me the usual hot poker between the shoulder blades, still feeling it now: neck and shoulders like rusty metal.
Went to stay with my sister and her family a few days before going home. I cried, again, when I said goodbye. I don't want to leave them, because there I feel somewhat alive and part of things.
Just finished reading another book, made some garlic butter, looked at the overgrown garden and felt the panic rising. How do I normally spend the time? What do I do with the empty days? Time passes and all I ever do is practise uselessness.
I had written a few pieces, pen and paper, but I couldn't make myself type them in order to put them online. It was nothing that mattered anyway. There's been no improvement since Easter and it seems, feels, like nothing will ever come of this. Emptiness. It's horrifying.
I've been unemployed for most of my life and the one thing I've been consistently working on: clearing out crap from my mind, isn't going anywhere, isn't getting me a job, money, something, something to do, something useful to do in the days that are passing me by so fast. I walk, read, watch tv, wash clothes, get groceries, write and suddenly it's six months later and absolutely nothing has changed.
I'm scared.
I know there's people with worse lives, far worse lives, even my own life has been far worse than this, but I was young and I had hope. Things would get better, because I was working so hard and doing all I could so at least later on in life I wouldn't have all those fears and traumas keeping me from living.
This, the pieces of writing online, are the only thing that tells me there is some kind of progress, there is less rubble. It might not matter though, cos progress is so slow the majority of my life will be over when I can finally function in some sort of life, a job.
I've been pretty depressed the past months. Were they worth it, those three wonderful days? I was still alone, still a recluse, on my own, incapable of real contact. I don't know. If days like that get followed by months like this, I don't know. They aren't real anyway, it's some sort of temporary high followed by a long, long low.
"All you have to do is be who you really are." My sister let me read a piece online where this was - sort of - the conclusion, after several pages of vague, long-winded prose of someone posing as an authority. Be who you really are. Well. If that's all there is to it. Just be the waste of space that you are.
Sarcasm. Meanness. Remnants.
Well, this is how it is right now.
Everything I do is focused on getting somewhere, somewhere else, anywhere but here, somewhere better. All is done with in the back of my mind: improvement, Further. Which is the whole point, but at the same time wrecks the present. As if the present is something nasty and distasteful I have to get past. Present, past - shoving the present aside to get to the future... mmh. Something worth mulling over.
posted by M. at 3:16 PM
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