I'm out of sorts tonight. That's not quite the way to put it. I'm sad tonight, because I'm so terrified of the future. But I'm scared of the present, or at least I was when I thought I'd be stuck here forever. I still don't know if God's going to show up, but that's all I want to say in terms of Spiritual things. I drove home tonight crying, and I couldn't precisely say why. I'm sad, I'm sad about--I don't know. Everything sounds so melodramatic. But I got home and didn't turn on any lights, and I went out onto the back porch and looked at the stars out in the cold, and was overcome with this longing to be somewhere alone, like a cabin in the mountains, looking at the stars at night. I knew immediately that I wouldn't feel any less lonely, but the desire to escape remained. I seriously considered just taking off for a few days.
I'm sitting here writing with that awful tightness in my throat that comes when I'm fighting tears; oddly, my best writing seems to happen in those times. It occurs to me that so many writers have just had lives that never ceased to be dysfunctional and tragic. And I worry that I'm going to have the dysfunctional, tragic life without ever producing anything of value. That will be the tragedy. If I voiced this to somebody, that person might ask me why I don't just sit down and write. I couldn't say why. I don't know why. There are just times that all the things I want to do overwhelm me. I can't do anything I want to do. I know the word "can't" is untrue here. It's not a matter of ability. It's just that as I go through my daily life, the things I want to do fly at me in swarms (and if one more person tells me to make a to-do list, I'll be convinced that I'm not explaining the feeling adequately) and I end up going home and doing nothing. I end up wasting every bit of time I have because I'm too incomprehensibly weary to do anything.
It has occurred to me during my ruminations this week that peace is akin to stillness. I have no stillness in my life. I have a great deal of time, but no stillness. I tried to see if I could manage a single car ride somewhere without speaking aloud. Still hasn't happened yet, because I process everything aloud. I think this constant narrative of thought is part of why I never had to struggle to "find my voice" as a writer. My voice never gives me any peace. Don't take that statement for the melodramatic, negative dribble it seems to be. What I mean is that my voice gives me no stillness. The effort to still that voice is herculean, and leaves me more weary than when I began. I am bone-weary. I'm weary of talking to people, I'm weary of working, I'm weary of being alone, I'm weary of cleaning my house, I'm weary of writing, I'm weary of knitting, I'm weary of all the good things that I love to do. I just want to sit and be still, but even that wearies me.
I am afraid to post this. I'm not afraid of honesty, but I am afraid of perception. I'm afraid of being perceived as a total wreck, or someone who just makes excuses. I'm especially afraid of being perceived as that blogger who posts edgy, ultra-emotional material to try to look genuine. I'm also afraid of people I love being really worried about me, and it makes me want to say "Don't worry, I'm fine." Which would not be entirely truthful. I guess if I just left it at "Please don't worry," it might more closely express my thoughts. Aside from the truth of the things I've just expressed, my life is full of good things and good people who look after me well. That's one of the reasons my feelings right now puzzle me.
3 comments:
Hey :) I (and Jeff, too!) am always here for movie nights, dinner, ice cream and talks. I know how you feel, though. Feeling a little lost but for no good reason. Or maybe a good reason sometimes. I know you said you're fine, but let me know if you need anything!
I feel your pain. When I feel similar emotions and try to voice my feelings, I'm told to 'grow up' the majority of the time. And I will say this...you are a very brave soul to express your feelings in this manner. I'm praying for you friend.
Sometimes I just go to bed. Or read some junk literature. But please remember that you are not alone in feeling like that at times. It usually means something for me and sometimes I am pretty dense about figuring it out, but I know you are intelligent and perceptive and articulate so you will figure it out if it does. If not it will go away. Love you and praying for you and NOT worrying!
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