When
I'm all filled up with anxiety, I gasp with short, staccato exhalations,
like some kind of dysfunctional panic attack. This is the way I
express despair, by puking up oxygen. Why is that the overriding
motivator in my life? Despair? It's very uncomfortable and I don't
like it. I assume that there are some people whose lives average out on
the right hand side of zero. Right? That's true, right?
The me I sense inside of myself is a misshapen caricature of something
that used to be, or might have been, or could have been good at some
point in somebody's memory. What is this ongoing thing that's happening
with my being awake time? It feels like I'm surrounded by a polluted
cloud of defective potentials, continually collapsing like an
elaborately set up domino fall which leads straight to hell. Is this
all my fault, that I don't know how to be strong, or just ain't strong
enough to figure out how? I don't like it and I don't want it, but it
sure feels like I'm stuck with it, so is that my fault?
I know
that these are terrible things to think. But I have this compulsion to
express myself, and when I start up that machine, this is the stuff that
comes out. This ugly thing that I've just written is the common
denominator by which the moments of my life are divisible.
As an alternative, I could either lie or just write nothing at all.
On the bright side, I'm pretty sure it doesn't have to be this way...
but that's kind of like saying, "I'm pretty sure there's a million
dollars in gold buried somewhere."
