Every time I get on here lately I feel like my post turns into some hodge podge pseudo inspirational self-help lecture, the words leaving the bitter taste of bile soaking into my soft pallet. Which, wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t constantly tasting bile any way. Oh I never told you I have chronic heartburn? Yeah well now I expect you to bring flowers to my hospital room when I get a perforated ulcer NOT TOO MANY MOONS FROM NOW.
Every post starts with “feelings”, moves on to “sad”, then “really sad”, then somewhere in there I usually include “fuck everything” and “I hate men”.
The last two were jokes.
Everyone knows I don’t use the f word OR hate men.
But really, I’ve been sad lately. First I admitted it, which was tough, then I started to allow the idea that it’s okay to be sad permeate the part of my brain that continues the daily emotional assault of screaming WHY CAN’T I JUST BE OKAY?! And since then, I’ve been trying to blog about being sad and being okay with it until I realized that blogging about it is just an attempt to BE okay with it, when really I’m not.
I feel pointless. Like. . .why am alive and do I have enough narcotics to casually not wake up in the morning pointless.
And then someone said it.
Maybe you are pointless.
And then that pointlessness I’ve been wielding like a 2×4 and relentlessly beating myself up with transformed into something else. It became less of a weapon and more of a swift kick in the pants. Or a hand-up if that sounds more motivating. Because that’s what my feeling pointless is now- motivating me to find a point. Motivating me to find what makes me happy.
I’ve realized that I can’t expect happiness to just curl up in my lap like a cat I’ll never have because all my friends are “allergic” or filled with hatred and evil and WHY CAN’T PEOPLE JUST LIKE SOFT CUDDLY THINGS?! Yeah, I get that some cats are crazy but SO ARE SOME KIDS. You don’t hear me talking about how much I hate children just because some of them need to be kenneled.
I’m not getting all power-positive-thinking. That sounds stressful and overwhelming and in case I haven’t already mentioned my pending ulcer, I’m gonna go ahead and pass on being more stressed. What I am saying though, is that I’m a believer of dreams. Of dreaming. I am free to pursue happiness. To give all of myself in order to fulfill a purpose. If feeling useful makes me happy, I am free to be of use.
In the same way that YES, it’s okay to be sad, it’s also okay to be happy.
So that was it. My motivational speech. If you’re sad, BE SAD. (Probably best if there isn’t too much wine around). And if you want to be happy, FUCKING PURSUE YOUR DREAMS.
Yet I cannot tarry longer.
The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark.
For, to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be
bound in a mould.
Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
-The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran