March 30th 2015 in Exploring the Ad Infinitum-Continuum Galaxy

What was your life supposed to look like?

I ask myself.

I’m standing on the balcony, smoking, the ever-present winterwind in my face.
I waste dwindling time on scenarios that are always better than current circumstances.

I need to knock.that.shit.off.

Because:

It steals the present moment. I can hardly remember significant portions of my life because I wasn’t actually there to experience it.
I want to live life as it’s happening.

And:

It keeps me stuck in the past, too.
I’m stuck in the past AND I’m not in the present moment.

I’m not actually sure I can knock.that.shit.off., though.

Because:

I feel extra-sooper-dooper mentally ill.
No improvement.
Ongoing.
Worse, actually.
Like, I’m at the pinnacle… of the abyss.

And:

Every morning, as soon as I’m barely-conscious, the horse is out of the fuckin’ barn.
It feels automatic.
Over the course of short moments, I’ve caught myself thinking INSANE things.
Rapid-fire.
Unreasonable, illogical and unlikely things.
And I’m all:

”hi… i just woke up after yet another shitty-broken-ass-sleep. i need coffee before we start with this shit.”

Does this sound like something I can just knock off?

The sound of my brain, eating itself, blocks out everything else.
It’s crazy.

_____

I posted a video on Facebook - of my mom, playing the piano. It’s lighthearted - she’s charming and funny and being a ham.
Jake and Drew are off-camera but you can hear them laughing and enjoying her performance.
It was a nice moment we all shared and I’m glad I have it.

My sisters keep re-posting it with:

”Really missing you today, Mom.” -type status updates.

My oldest sister (who saw her through, right ‘til the end) wrote:

”Missing my best friend. I love you, Mom.”

And I’m over here, like this:

?

Then, I remember that each of us three daughters/three completely different, separate individuals - had a different experience with her. There is a ten-year age gap between us.
A lot can happen in ten years.
FACT: I am NOT the same person/parent I was ten years ago.
SO: The person/parent my mother actually was - to my older siblings - was vastly different to the person/parent she was to me.
(That sentence is a nightmare.)
THEREFORE: Our reaction to our mother’s death is going to be different.
(Right?)

I dunno.

Their reaction seems more… common, though.
Like, they miss her and feel love toward her.
It’s a fairly standard reaction - many people experience these feelings after the death of their mother.

I don’t have that.

Instead, I feel like the odd person out.
Or, like an anomaly - a freak who is broken and can’t feel love.
Mostly, all I feel is totally alone.
Abandoned.
Orphaned.
Again.
_____

I wrote all that, ^^ up there, ^^ almost a month ago.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about quitting writing about anything, ever again. Writing now feels like a nagging chore. I don’t get any benefit or joy from it anymore.
Plus, it really bothers me that it’s been reduced to nothing more than catalogue-ing negativity and mental illness and one desperately-bad decision after another.
I can’t see it any other way.
Add “writing” to the ever-expanding list of Things That Life Has Stomped The Fuck Out Of Me.

_____

I’m embarrassing myself, here.
One thing that life HASN’T stomped-the-fuck-out-of-me?
A staggering amount of toxic shame.

Plus, the ever-present knowledge that none of this even fuckin’ MATTERS on the cosmic scale.
Peter’s father died last year.
My mom just died in January.
I find myself thinking about their lives - all their experiences and ultimately, how fucking pointless the whole thing is.

Like, what did they accomplish?
What did they contribute?
Honestly?
Not a fuck of a lot.
They will be forgotten completely in one generation.

I guess that’s what burns me the most.
All this struggle, all this terror and grief, all this… shit I didn’t ask for, don’t deserve, don’t want.

It’s all for nothing.

So… yeah.

Last updated July 13, 2015