Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Sometimes writing helps unload what's on my brain.  Sometimes I'm too exhausted even for that.  I think today I'm somewhere in between.  Too pent up to sleep, too tired to make anything pretty.

People tell me their secrets.  I seek out peoples' dark sides in order to try to bring them some light.  Sometimes it gets overwhelming, the amount of pain and destruction people cause each other and themselves.  Today I got to ask a therapist how she handles everything that comes into her office without taking it home with her.  She says she does the best she can while at work, and then turns the rest over to God.  She's done the best she can, and the rest is no longer her responsibility. 

Today I had a lady declare suicidal inclinations and then walk into a bar.  I had to decide whether or not I would follow her in for the good cause of trying to bring her back out.  I decided against it.  Maybe the person didn't seem desperate enough to warrant me going against my principles.  Maybe I was angry that she rejected my offer to do anything besides get drunk.  I told her I'd be available until midnight, and then I must sleep. 

It's also hard when an adult admits to abuse they suffered as a kid.  You hurt so badly for that kid, but you can't help them.  The kid is grown and the opportunity is long since past.  All you can do is offer an ear, a hug, and whatever sympathy they'll take.  I can't fix people.  All I can do is point them at resources and hope they can put in the work themselves.  The things we do to children in the years we have them last a lifetime. 


I had a job interview yesterday.  I'm not sure if I want it or can even do it.  I had another job recommendation today for another job I'm not sure if I want or can do.  My self-esteem is shot to pieces, and my professional productivity has come to a screeching halt.  I feel like I can't DO anything.  That despite whatever gifts or abilities I may have, or even any good effort on my part, will never be good enough.

People keep telling me to write.  And it's not like I don't have ideas.  There's the first person narrative of a mindhacker/lucidi profiling people in a social environment that got me labeled as a sociopath (thanks, you jerk).  There's the story of a person's life as written in letters addressed to God.  There's the story of the Neon Dreamer and Uprising and heck, even Virtual Magick would be a fun case study. 

And I wonder... if anything is worth the effort.  Life.  "We keep striving, trying to survive in a world that doesn't give a flying fuck."  Why?  From a religious perspective, it's because there's work to do.  But as religion and I aren't getting along as well as we used to, that leaves existential depression.  So that's a thing. 

I'm tired and rambly.  I have to stay awake for 30 more minutes.  That's enough time for some ramen.

1 comment:

Heidi said...

Just write it! Write it all!