When Life SUCKS…
…it SUCKS.
But when life is great…
…it’s just okay.
I’m not EXACTLY sure what my problem is, but I’m sure I have one. It’s actually quite obvious that I’m on the verge of a breakdown of disturbing proportions.
I’ve spent the better (read:worse) part of the past couple months talking myself down from life’s ledge, while simultaneously trying to figure out what the hell my purpose here is (that is if I have one at all).
I know, I know. It’s typical, cliché quarterlife crisis bullshit we (as twenty-somethings) manufacture in order to acquire pity and prescription drugs, but just because it’s cliché doesn’t mean it’s fake and not a detrimental part of my current reality.
Why do I keep going?! That I even have to ask that question is a huge problem. I’m still on the ledge and a reason to back away is escaping me. I absolutely HATE feeling like every choice I’ve made for the past 4 years has been wrong. It’s not easy feeling like a utter failure and a total flake. I want to quit the game; I want a do-over; a(nother) chance to do some things (almost everything) differently. But as the collective “they” say, I have to believe that everything happens for a reason. And although I used to think of regret as a four-letter word, that four-letter word is something I’ve been feeling a lot of lately.
ASIDE: I know what my family would say. They would say that I should turn from my evil ways, repent, and let Jesus take the wheel (all while moving back to Mobile, of course), but they would also pretend that their lives with their celebrity chauffeur are just as God intended them to be (read:perfect) and that they are as happy as they could be. It makes me sick to know they think this way. It makes me even sicker to know that their mindset will never change. But I digress.
And to top it all off, I think the city is playing along, humoring me, and indulging me in my pathetic nature because it’s entertaining to her and the people around me whose lives actually seem worth living.
Let’s be honest. On paper, I suck. On the rocks is where I prefer myself. Running with scissors is when I’m at my best. And at the end of the long and dangerous day, I think it all comes down to this. I’ve yet to find my calling and I am okay with that. Of course “am” here means “have to be”!
I’m sick and tired of:
-being in the dark about what I want (to be when I grow up).
-Madison Avenue.
-having sex just to have it.
-the stye on my right eyelid (that I’ve had for over a month now).
Facts:
-I don’t know how to exist outside of New York City.
-I don’t know how to exist inside a healthy, romantic relationship.
-NYC is the only place I make any sense at all, which isn’t much.
-Being single is the only status that agrees with my heart, head and stomach.
-When the sparks disappear and the fairy dust settles, the city, my DVR and my body pillow are the only ones I want around.
Having said that…
I’ve always believed that desperate times call for desperate measures, but I’ve rarely put that mantra to good use. A wise douchebag once said, “The mechanic never fixes his own car.” That douchbag is so right. I’m too busy fixing everyone else’s goddamn Volkswagon to look under the hood of my own Pinto and see that the engine is about two turnovers away from blowing the fuck up in my mother fucking face.
Like Madonna, I wrote a poem to make myself feel better about my Pinto. Sorry Madge, but it doesn’t rhyme.
Feeling like a hostage in a world of the both strange and familiar.
Spiraling out of control with no end in sight.
With no light up ahead.
So dark that I can’t tell whether or not I’m in a tunnel.
Much less if the darkness will ever subside.
Wanting to end it all, but not knowing where to start.
I’m currently weighing my options.
Although I’m not sure what those are.
In a world of gray, I’m longing for black or white.
Conclusion – I’m experiencing growing aches and pains and they might not go away for a while. Coming into my own will simply have to wait.
posted by DWM at 10/30/2007 07:26:00 PM
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