I see no point in giving this piece a title as I’m not even trying to follow a script. No forethought, no plan. Just a brain dump.
Mental illness is the name and purging is the game. I doubt this will be overly effective but it’s worth a go. Writing madly without even looking at the screen while I type, worrying about spelling errors later.
Am I happy? Yes. Am I sad? Yes. What about the people in my life? What’s the net equation between positive and negative emotions? How difficult do I make life for those I care about, and which ones really do?
I know my family loves the me that they remember, but not the me that I am. I am the great disappointment, abandoning the values of generations upon generations because I couldn’t maintain a happy lie.
The things in my head that I can tell only a very few, and truths to speak to individuals that can never be said, as though it would relieve me of a burden, it would only pass it on to others. Sometimes it feels like a half-life, despite living more true to myself now than I ever had.
Have I taken parts of lives as a result? Am I causing a draining of vitality of people I care about? Again, what’s the sum of good or bad? do I give as much as I take? Or am I a vampire dooming anyone close to me to mediocrity of relationships, and a loss of vitality?
I know this is my brain having its way with me. But real thoughts warp together with the lies of The Joker in my head. It becomes hard to differentiate sometimes. Like today where I watch a movie that had a scene that matches my worst nightmare and worst moment that changes a day from normal in to spiraling vortex of haunting memories, and self-doubt. My internal screams are both at real issues and imagined ones.
I know that I’m not the only one suffering, I can call to mind in seconds a dozen people with suffering and pains, mental illnesses, and life-threatening or disabling conditions. A moment longer and I can think of people dealing with everything ranging from poverty to a life nowhere near what they expected they would have.
If I had answers to any of the problems that people faced I’d fix it. I think most people would, yet we have to rage impotently at our inability, or shut down long enough not to go mad with the senselessness of it all.
Sometimes I wish I could return to the happy delusion of believing that everything had a purpose and that one day I’d end up in paradise, but knowledge has a way of destroying fantasies. And I’m the better for it, despite facing harsh realities instead of comforting fiction.
I don’t have a conclusion that fits this piece. No epiphany, no neat wrap up. Just an end of the writing for now.
Keep fighting. Smartassicus out.