"Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory...."
Here we go again. All the signs are there. The too much sleeping...all this writing...and the iPod... The iPod is out and on for the first time...well, since I left Marshall, actually. Theory: if I can fill my head with the music, then it drowns out the silence and it blocks out the constant internal stream of conversation.
Can I stop it? I don't know. Will it just...pass? I don't know. Why don't I do something about it? Why don't I do something to help myself? Or maybe I can't. Maybe I won't until all that's important to me has been destroyed, pushed away. I'm working on that now. Tearing out big hunks, little hunks of my life, like old drywall. Chuckle. Nice analogy considering. Almost like an out-of-body experience. Just...watching myself do it with an 'oh, well' attitude. Threw away that, pushed away him, hurt her, no, don't want to talk, no you didn't do anything wrong, I'm just...doing to myself what I deserve. Just let it be, okay? Let it be, let it be....
Am I just one of those people who needs to get on something and STAY there? God, I hate taking that stuff. It cuts out the lows, but there are times when it's right to cry, when I need those tears; but it also cuts out the highs and I NEED those, too, like I need air to breath. Who can create anything without that high, that passion, that love...??
I can see my whole history from here, dating back to junior high, like the ebb and flow of the tide. The worst time was years and years ago when I realized how being a parent changes relationships. I got lost somewhere. A half-assed teacher and a half-assed mom, not able to do both; and that my friends had a freedom that could not be afforded to a mom. It got bad and I put them all through hell with my self-destructive nonsense. John was working a second job so I never saw him...and he never saw me either. I don't think he even knew anything was wrong, just Chris being her usual moody self. So these...low tide episodes have always been associated with. ...loss of some kind, something, someone I really loved...as it is this time, too, I guess.
But lordy, it's so boring, so self-centered, so 'all-about-me'. Who can stand it? Who of my people who've seen it before want to watch a second or a third or a fourth? Nauseating. No wonder everyone is steering clear. I don't blame them. Jesus, I would, too. It gets old after awhile. All this, 'oh, I'm so sad/lonely/confused...' Gag. I, personally, have very little tolerance for that and I don't expect any one else, too, either.
But on the other hand, it is alluring...like the dark side, the dark arts... Good grief, do I actually LIKE going there? It is VERY alluring...all this introspection, this writing, like a drug all its own. And clearing stuff away like old baggage can be very focusing. Depression has long been the haunt of writers, poets, actors... Why is that? Why don't I just become an alcoholic like Oscar Wilde or Scott Fitzgerald or a drug fiend like Morrison (ick)? Alcoholism...drug addiction is something people understand, and, to an extent, tolerate. And they still love you, they encourage you to get help. Depression, the world's biggest pity party, is not tolerated. People get bored with it. They can't stand to be around you. I can't stand to be around myself either.
And this'll be my last post on this. I've been working on it for several days and I think I've just about covered it all. :-) In any case, it's now 11:52 a.m. and it's really time to get up, isn't it?