Head Wars
I am officially broken and bruised. My brain has perhaps ceased to function in any way that resembles any leap towards happiness or healthy calm. I want to go away but I can’t. I want to go to the Australian outback but I can’t.
I want to be back with my love the same way it once was, but I fear I cannot. My bones are aching so much. My head feels like it has been through a war.
I cannot handle how I feel anymore, so maybe it’s best that that part of me ends as well. The feeling is too much. The pain is so much. I am even sick of writing and thinking like this - this painful way of complaining to myself. It is the only thing I can do. It’s almost become all I am able to do well. Be sad. I am sure good at being sad.
Filed under Uncategorized | Comment (0)Missing the Void
I have heard that the non-fiction work Touching the Void, by Joe Simpson, is an excellent read. It is about two men just barely surviving disaster on a 21,000 ft peak in the Andes. I skimmed part of it on Google Books this morning, and I don’t know why. My Grandfather was a huge mountaineer, LOVED climbing snowy peaks and has probably a total of 500 or so books on the subject, including Touching the Void along with other Joe Simpson’s sequels.
I’m sure it popped into my head because of the bitter cold here in NYC today, but maybe also because I am always figuring out how it is that people get to do what they want to do. Why I am not able to do what I do often at all, and why that is the case. (Redundant sentance, sorry)
In any case, I am severly frustrated by a lot in my life. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to do what I really want to do. Intellectually, I understand the “steps”, but I physically and emotionally cannot carry them out.
These two men managed to climb a huge mountain because they wanted to, and even in the face of grave disaster survived and went on to do more. I don’t even necessarily want to climb a snowy mountain (maybe a small one in Vermont, but that’s probably the farthest I would go). I want just be able to do what I love which when all is said and done, is art. Art doesn’t usually give you frost bite but it does cause starvations. I am not saying I don’t do it at all. I just don’t do it enough. And this isn’t in comparison to anyone else. It is my personal fufillment quotient.
I remember vividly (one quality I posess and enjoy is really good long term memory) being around 15 as a sophmore in high school in Belgium. I was a bit wild and rebellious, but also very passionate in a positive way. I didn’t quite posess the nihilism that many teens have (I have the great fortune of having increased angst and nihilism as a grown adult, sigh…). But I definitely remember being so gung ho about being a actress for very admirable reasons. A part of me wanted fame - the vain part of me. But for the most part I whole heartedly desired to deliver quality messages and artistic spledour to the masses. I planned to dedicate my life to this. It was DEFINITELY what I was going to do. The good news, is that I haven’t stopped actually doing theatre. The bad news is I don’t do it enough to make me happy day to day, and I am sometimes at a loss as to whether the past theatre I have done touched even one person remotely.
It is true that everything we do affects somebody. It is also true that everything you do affects yourself. And if you hate what you do instead of theatre, but still do it well, it becomes a hell of a confusing predicament. (Ok, I don’t hate what I do for a day job, but it is pretty lame, and a waste of my brain)
All in all - a large part of me feels like I’m in a floating void, seeing potential splendour around me but being unable to touch it. If I can one day get closer to it, I may one day get closer to happiness. I just want to be able to climb without falling too hard and starving.
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