i wrote a poem tonight, but i'm embarassed to share it. it sounds good in my head but probably comes across as cheesy and i can't tell. so i'm going to subject it to some peer review before i get the nerve to post it up. sorry.
tonight, i tried to be social. i couldn't drink much since i've had an upset stomach all day, and everybody was in a really hyper mood and i was just completely exhausted. i found myself unusually quiet and reserved, unable to conjure up my typical randomness. there was an overwhelming feeling of being an outsider, and nobody was really too interested in talking to me. all the time it felt like i had nothing to contribute.
so i sat by myself and occasionally smiled.
this depression has made me face some difficult questions to answer about myself. for example, my close friends continously comment that i'm not myself. they're referring to my mastery of the absurd, my bouts of comically exaggerated megalomania, and the spirit of having fun at any expense. to imagine either mania or depression is my status quo, i'll take the moderate assumption i'm composed of both these things. but to what extent? of late, when i dip into the randomness, it feels forced and contrived, like a thin facade over the truth. and i can tell people notice that. that has really put me on the spot, because that implies that all the things i've done in the spirit of fun, this self my friends love, could have possibly all been a facade. maybe i was just having so much fun with that self that for a while there, i forgot things were really bad and maybe even, i started to believe some of it. i mean, if i were so confident, why does it all come crashing down like a house made out of toothpicks?
the rational me tells me it can't all be this completely bleak, because in the end, it's just stupid talk and i can remember a number of situations that indicate i have at some point in the past experienced joy outside of a relationship with someone. however, it's become exceedingly difficult for me to achieve joy in anything. this gathering tonight was a good example.
and that's the other difficult question to answer: can i find joy outside of a relationship? i've been trying a lot of things, and my writing seems like the ideal candidate to find joy in. but i can't. all other things seem petty and trite to find joy in. driving fast? watching a stupid movie? smoking pot? c'mon, there's basic common sense here. these things don't bring me joy. i'd be more worried about myself if i thought otherwise.
but to dive into the writing, to seek joy in it? i'm trying, but it doesn't do it for me. it's without emotion, almost like an automatic thing for me to do. if only i knew how to take the emotion of holding someone's hand i deeply care about, and use that emotion to write twenty pages, then i could find joy in that. or the emotion i get when i'm around someone i love - i can't write like that. this is why i'm a failure as an artist.
see, when i listen to patsy cline's "three cigarettes in an ashtray" it carries such a weight and authority. that song is a presence, a power, an emotion. you feel the emotion in the words, and in her voice. i can't do that. if i could honestly inject my writing with love, then i'm sure the results would be amazing. and then, i could find the joy in writing as i do when i'm with someone i love.
tonight, i tried to be social. i couldn't drink much since i've had an upset stomach all day, and everybody was in a really hyper mood and i was just completely exhausted. i found myself unusually quiet and reserved, unable to conjure up my typical randomness. there was an overwhelming feeling of being an outsider, and nobody was really too interested in talking to me. all the time it felt like i had nothing to contribute.
so i sat by myself and occasionally smiled.
this depression has made me face some difficult questions to answer about myself. for example, my close friends continously comment that i'm not myself. they're referring to my mastery of the absurd, my bouts of comically exaggerated megalomania, and the spirit of having fun at any expense. to imagine either mania or depression is my status quo, i'll take the moderate assumption i'm composed of both these things. but to what extent? of late, when i dip into the randomness, it feels forced and contrived, like a thin facade over the truth. and i can tell people notice that. that has really put me on the spot, because that implies that all the things i've done in the spirit of fun, this self my friends love, could have possibly all been a facade. maybe i was just having so much fun with that self that for a while there, i forgot things were really bad and maybe even, i started to believe some of it. i mean, if i were so confident, why does it all come crashing down like a house made out of toothpicks?
the rational me tells me it can't all be this completely bleak, because in the end, it's just stupid talk and i can remember a number of situations that indicate i have at some point in the past experienced joy outside of a relationship with someone. however, it's become exceedingly difficult for me to achieve joy in anything. this gathering tonight was a good example.
and that's the other difficult question to answer: can i find joy outside of a relationship? i've been trying a lot of things, and my writing seems like the ideal candidate to find joy in. but i can't. all other things seem petty and trite to find joy in. driving fast? watching a stupid movie? smoking pot? c'mon, there's basic common sense here. these things don't bring me joy. i'd be more worried about myself if i thought otherwise.
but to dive into the writing, to seek joy in it? i'm trying, but it doesn't do it for me. it's without emotion, almost like an automatic thing for me to do. if only i knew how to take the emotion of holding someone's hand i deeply care about, and use that emotion to write twenty pages, then i could find joy in that. or the emotion i get when i'm around someone i love - i can't write like that. this is why i'm a failure as an artist.
see, when i listen to patsy cline's "three cigarettes in an ashtray" it carries such a weight and authority. that song is a presence, a power, an emotion. you feel the emotion in the words, and in her voice. i can't do that. if i could honestly inject my writing with love, then i'm sure the results would be amazing. and then, i could find the joy in writing as i do when i'm with someone i love.