Enemy of the Shape

"Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" by Michael Jackson (Can't believe they killed my Michael)

...too high to get over / too low to get under / you're stuck in the middle...

I am learning to not give a shit. Excuse my French. I do not typically use profanity in my blogs (or even in my journals). It isn't really a conscious thing either but I noticed it a few months ago. I can be a little profane, especially in my moments. However, when I read my journals (that I have kept since I was in the 5th grade), blogs, journals on my laptop, or anything written, I don't use profanity. Weird huh?

Anyway, my life is becoming my enemy. I am chronically unhappy but simultaneously incomparably elated. It might not be elation but I have this undying hope that I, my life, the people in my life, the circumstances of my life will change for the better. I am not sure why. I have moments of despair in which I wish I could be hit by a bus. Sometimes those moments are so bad that I might throw myself in front of a bus.

But they are followed by optimism. In myself, I will still feel the same sadness, coated by a warm, milky, visceral covering of "you'll be fine". I don't know where it comes from and it hasn't always been the case. I used to have to go to the hospital when that optimistic covering wasn't there.

The constant sadness and this new optimistic overcoat produce this feeling of indifference. Things go wrong, I cry or lament, then I stop and go about my daily business. I realize that none of these things can kill me. The issue was that these things made me want to kill myself.

I told you about the conversation I had with my Mama right? On the phone? I thought I was going to go crazy. I was shaking, hyperventilating, drooling...looked like I should have been in a padded room. Thought about throwing myself in front of that bus (and far more disgusting and morbid exits of life). And then this thing clicked. I felt as though something turned off and I started to not give a shit.

I explained to my friend Patrice that she could easily be the death of me. For reasons I am not totally aware of, my mother possesses tremendous power over me. Her opinion, her state of mind, her feelings are inexplicably important to me and so it has been all of my life. I have spent my life being confrontational but it never bothers me because I always feel I am protecting myself or what I believe. But with my mother, I always feel wrong, out of place, and guilty for having and expressing my opinion.

But she doesn't know. She doesn't know how I love her, how I admire her, how I want to learn from her.

I can't explain what happened, but I just don't give a shit. And it isn't just that I am not worried about Marie or Sheikh's opinion. I don't care if they are in my life. I don't care if we resolve anything.

I am almost inclined to say I don't care if I have any interpersonal relationships. I do know that I want a few. There are definitely some people I will always want in my life of course. But there are many people who need to get the hell out, are taking up space, and sucking up much needed air.

The things is people are just annoying. We are just selfish, lazy, unkind creatures. There is no such thing as unconditional love. There is no such thing as real respect. There is love of convenience, gossip, and malice. And then you die. No? Hopefully, if I just stay away from everyone, eat alone, shop, watch television, and text the few people I can tolerate, I won't die by my own hand.

At 22, I have seen enough to not even be alive, however, I am here, stuck. So while I am here, I just want to be not sad. I hesitate to say happy because it's elusive and most often temporary. I just don't want to be sad anymore. I am not always a good person. I don't always do the right thing. I don't always tell the truth. But I am no different or worse than other people and I don't think I deserved to be treated the way I was by many people I made central in my life.

So, I don't give a shit. It doesn't bother me. At least not enough to kill myself. I don't have to have them in my life. Don't you wish anxiety and depression were time limited illnesses? When is this over?

Deuces.