i'm wary of self-therapy because it tends more often to mislead. perpetually searching for a change in direction, or a discontinuity - an abrupt and cathartic adjustment to your train of thought can itself be another
layer of obfuscation to your troubles, especially if they're as chameleon-like as mine.
i say this because i'm constantly reiterating to myself a number of '
i shoulds...' and '
now i wills...' in order to paddle myself down some sort of moat, some course which is somehow better than the others, as they seem to play out to me on philosophical,
pseudo-philosophical, and otherwise total bullshit levels.
i mean, well, at least it's honest bullshit.
perhaps there's some merit to this, because when the thinking and reasoning is said and done, there are certainly, definitely, most definitely and certainly, concrete foundations to my neuroses (in the parlance of our times) which reveal themselves to me by inciting little cries of anguish, which some might call whining. (not that 'some' call it anything, because i'm speaking of internal debate - so, this is to say, "i sometimes call it whining," which it is, but whether or not it's trivial whining is, well... the jury's still out on that one.)
perhaps there's some merit to this because i want to be, what is it, i want to be the
president of the united states of america, and how can you do that when you've got emotional scars? actually, no, i'm not scarred, i'm just built from a basic human firmament which is imperfect and all-in-all, i want to build this
reasoned foundation -- but oh what a bad metaphor. i want to
anchor myself... oh fuck it.
the point of all this is that i'm a horrible writer, incapable of appropriately presenting and proving a point. there's a disproportioned number of saddening things in my life than there are to counter them, and i do the best i can to deal with them, whilst hoping for an enjoyable, less depressing, and
overall rocknroll future. how does one manage this?
well, some people seem to be able to do it very well, which is to say they hide it from everybody else. hiding what you're thinking from other people - that's what my colleagues at school (and the alumni who teach us, who will also be our bosses) like to call
character. i call it
psychotic, but to each his own, i guess.
let me say, though, there's something to silent desperation, but it probably has more to do with masochism and practicality than what i'm talking about. (...here there's an idea of... internalizing things... that i can't get into because i'll throw myself into logical recursion that'll make my brain disintegrate. i'm talking 4th-dimension anti-matter brain-worm attack. i'm talking upside down naked jumping jacks.)
how does one manage a troubling present, when the future in unsure, and recalling the past is sort of like pulling teeth? the answer is not, i say, to find a new hobby, cut your hair, get
OMGWASTED, or commit suicide. the answer is not, most definitely, to build character, or anything else like that. i think maybe the answer is to stop asking the fucking question.
nuts. wouldn't that just be fantastic?