On The Wrong Side Of The Coffin -or- "It's Hard To Keep The Faith"

I awake some days in the most atrocious of moods, often after long nights of being trapped within my own mind for hours, perhaps days on end. I open my eyes, and my first thought is "Goddamnit, I'm awake." Before I'm even out of bed, I feel such pangs of loathing and depression that I feel trapped, like there is no escape.

It's hard to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Which tunnel? Every fucking one.

Motivation quickly becomes irritation . . . I talk myself out of doing what needs to be done, my own thought process feeling as though not mine. It's like being trapped in a cul-de-sac of increasingly negative thought. Do I want to feel this way? No. Do I need to feel this way? No. Is any of what my wretched mind telling me even the least bit true? No.

But yet it happens.

This detest, this anger, at past demons and future ghosts, never seems to subside, not fully. It's a constant battle of conflicting wills, as I feel everything out. Now, what is everything? Well, everything. It's hard not to let the muddy murk of the past infiltrate through and into the now, a constant, incessant battle at times.

And it's a battle in which there is no winner, just a stalemate of H-bomb proportions -- a Tsar Bomba of the mind and soul. Angry days, spent mostly alone, and dreadful nights spent the same. It feels that no matter how hard I push, how hard I try, I can't shake these invisible hands that want to pull me into the mud, drown me in filth, these invisible hands that rise and rage from the furthest pitch black dissonances of cognitive thought.

Why do I continue to do this to myself? Is it the chronic poverty? Is it my dislike of the world we live in, and most of the people in it? Impatience? Lack of faith in myself?

Perhaps it's all of the above. It all alternately pushes me forward and holds me back. Inertia and gravity toiling against each other in the most warped kind of overdrive. I alternately feel so much love, and so much hate. It feels like there is no release valve, that it all just sort of builds up until I become a useless and viciously self-depricating sloth.

It's hard to keep the faith, to fumble through such dark and dreadful places, knowing that they are ideas that I myself have created and fed.

It feels like no matter how hard I try, nothing ever really seems to work out.

Of course, realistically, this is not the truth. Plenty works out, but I am so blinded by my own acidic bullshit sometimes I fail to see it, and worse yet fail to see the bigger picture. Really, a lot of it does come down to patience, and the lack thereof.

Someone quite dear to me told me this morning that essentially this is all foolishness, these awful thoughts and quasi self-saboteurism. As have others close to me over the past couple of weeks, as they have watched me slide into this uncomfortable cocoon of self-loathing and teetering on really just not giving a fuck, about almost everything. What will that gain, in any fashion? Naught. Nothing. More anger, more loathing, more all around unpleasantness which, quite frankly, I am fed up with.

Perhaps this is a personal Declaration of War. The faith must be kept for the sake of my own sanity. On many levels, and in many different ways.

Transition is a bitch, and often feels as though there is never any kind of plateau, just severe ups and downs. Statistically impossible.

Hope can be a hard thing to grasp at times, but loss of hope is essentially an existential death sentence. Keeping the faith is sometimes all a person has. It is something I have, and cannot let myself lose.

As a very wise man named Lemmy once sang: "Save yourself and kill the world."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9c-z2im9sPE

Thank you for reading.