My parents always told me if I didn't have something nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all. That is how I was raised - to be nice. But I don't feel nice today. I had a bad day, and the world can go somewhere else for something nice. Because it's my blog, and I don't give a flying fuck.
Yeah, everyone has bad days, so I'm not special. But I'm not having their bad days, I'm having mine, and I reserve my right to whine.
My bad days do not usually ensue from that which happens to me, but what happens in me. When my mind is full of shit, then I have a shitty day. Some days my mind drowns in a flood of negative thoughts about myself and my life: my job sucks, I suck, my life is destined to always suck, no one else's life sucks like mine sucks, etc. The thoughts flow like black bile, seeping like poison through my sick head, and I die inside. Then my brain rots with depression.
My whole life there's been something wrong with me. The doctors call it anxiety and depression, but what the hell do they know, they haven't fixed me yet. All the king's horses and all the king's men haven't put my Humpty Dumpty head back together again. I have always been apart, aloof, a lone wolf isolated by my rancid negativity that casts a wretched stench around me. I push everyone else away and wonder why I'm alone. I blast the angry tunes - Metallica, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam - and hate the world, myself most of all. I rage at the utter stupidity of it all, and laugh like a madman at the thought that things will ever get better.
The best part of it all is that, in the words of Shakespeare, it is all "sound and fury, signifying nothing." The root of negativity is nothing, a cancer of the mind, a consuming emptiness. It is truly much ado about nothing. That is what hurts the most, the absurdly meaninglessness of my existence.
So I choke on the "burnt out ends of smoky days," and wonder why the hell I wasted my life being nice. It has been said that "nice guys finish last." It's true. Being nice has gotten me nowhere, gotten me nothing. I lose while others win because I don't fight like I should. Instead, I piss and moan like I'm doing in this blog, and wait for a God who doesn't give a shit to fix everything for me.
I've swallowed my pride so long ago that I don't even remember how it tasted. All I taste is the rotten remains of my piss poor days....
Ah, you get the point. Some days I feel like the lost soul in the Muench painting: I could just scream. Some days are better than others, though, so hopefully tomorrow will be better.
1 comment:
Hey Quinn. I just wanted to drop a line & let you know you are allowed to be pissed and vent about it. We all have those days. When I read your post it reminded me of how I sound when I'm down. I suffer from some serious anxiety as well. I have an amazing ability to convince myself that not only has the worst happened, but the worst will continue to happen. And I freak out all day. The littlest thing can set my whole mood off. I hope you feel better and find what you're looking for. I you need someone to talk to, get ahold of me.
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