Looking on the Dark Side of Life

Forget your Happy Pills for a weekend and you rediscover some interesting things about yourself.

I was able to get by fairly well with just my anxiety meds until Sunday when the dizzy spells set in. Still, so far so good, until I finished with an impromptu phone call to Becky on the drive back from Denmark. Then the shit hit the fan.

I had learned during the talk that Becky and her husband Trevor didn't go to church, which didn't bother me of itself. What began to gnaw at me was the fact that I hadn't really known this before. I had guessed, of course, but never had any concrete basis for it. Becky and I have called ourselves kindred spirits before, and yet this important detail had escaped me? Clearly, we were not nearly as close as I had believed.

This, then, brought into question all of my relationships and the worth of pursuing any relationships in life. Who knows me? Who CAN know me? Do I carry around this cellphone for decoration, 'cuz it sure as hell doesn't get many calls. I began to see my search for close friendships at Radius as cute, but futile. Love and friendship? Happy delusions in a world that loves to see us crumble from disappointment.

Well, fuck you, too, Life. Fuck you.

And so the dark spiral descended until I was consumed once again by anger and despair and hatred. I knew it was the lack of medicine, so I tried to bear it until I could pick up the refill today. Still, it was trying. I thought with glee about this post, and all the violent, spiteful things I would be able to say. The heartbreak I could once again bemoan and blame on a world set against us. The malicious thoughts I could voice that were becoming ever more welcome in my mind.

TMI-filter:
Thankfully, I decided against writing a short poem about slitting the throats of infants and using their blood as paint.

Perhaps the most frightening thing, though, was the difference between how I was feeling now without medication and how I felt before I ever got on them. There were some similarities, like the causeless homicidal thoughts that I had to fight down. This time, however, I didn't feel demons pressing on my mind, trying to reach into my soul. No, it was almost like they were already there, pushing the crimson buttons of evil intent that I like to think lay dormant in me.

Suffice it to say, what happiness in everyday things I had known a few short days ago had vanished. In a weird way, though, it was intoxicating. I felt intense and dangerous, which is an unusual state for me. It was exciting, in a way, to know that you held a decreasing amount of control over yourself. That your gut reactions and desires guided your actions. Still, for someone as painfully reserved as me, this amounted to little more than letting myself spin out my tires in the Wal-Mart parking lot when I floored my accelerator pulling out from a parking space.

*sigh*

I've got the meds again, so all should be well. I will miss the loosened inhibitions, though. Especially the feeling that I could finally say what I meant to people, which is always so difficult for me to do for fear of being disliked for it. Maybe a healthy disdain for people is good? Heh, I know that's wrong, but I'm still in a dark enough mood not to give a good Goddamn.

Also, my dreams the past few nights have been very vivid and interesting. I'll miss that.

In other news, I think I'm finally starting to get over Kaysha for good. Only took me a year, right? God, I am so weak and pathetic. Turns out that trying to keep up with someone who went from I Love You's to talking to you only out of necessity wasn't the smartest move. I still can't bear to hear people mention Asheville, either. Yes, its an attractive, fun city, and yes, I'm sure the leaves are beautiful. It'll still be a long while before I can consider going there without thinking of her and how much it hurts to do so.

Anyway, here's to getting my mind back in order. One day I will probably regret the things I've said here. Here's to brutal honesty, I guess.

I am still worried, though, about how natural it felt to be so angry and hateful. I have been fairly happy of late, though never content. I am always under the self-imposed pressure to go out and do something, to make my life worthwhile by action and accomplishment. Then, I settle in every night with the shame of knowing I failed miserably to give my days any meaning. I realize there is fault with this thinking, but it has always felt so... reassuring to be a subject of self-pity. Even with my medication, I tend to forsaken the pleasures of enjoying and exploring life for the belief that I might get more attention by bemoaning it, even when there is much to celebrate.

I think, perhaps, it would be good to end with a quote stolen from a friend's Facebook page:

"Life is not about finding yourself. It is about creating yourself."
-George Bernard Shaw

Time to shake it off and start a new draft.


Twilight out.