An Oubliette for my Ennui

REGRET

2008-08-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

REGRET:

We all would like to live our lives without regrets. We all pause and contemplate our decisions in order to avoid regret and its sickening baggage. But sometimes it isn’t so easily done. And we’re left looking back on miserable moments in our lives wondering why we did what we did or what why it all turned out the way it did. We try again and again to leave these moments in our past. To keep it from affecting our present. But some regrets cling tenaciously and violently. Tooth and nail they dig into the soft meat of our emotions and memories. Like frantic feral children holding tight to their parents. And as hard as we try to life; it trails not too far behind. Bound to us by an emotional tether of “what if, maybe, should have, could have, why”, and a myriad of other self debasing doubts. And every time we glance behind use we see regret red eyed, angry, weeping, and howling as it yanks on its tether. Trying its hardest to stall us, pull us backwards, knock us down, and gnaw at whatever it can until we scramble to our feet.

Regret is the great devourer. The virulent destroyer of our sense of self and sense of confidence. It lurks beneath everything we decide and everything we do. Sending sparks of misery and pain whenever we make decisions. And at the same time regret manages to be one of our greatest teachers.

Regret is the bastard child of pain and despair. The grandchild of experience. Long ago I heard the saying, “Experience isn’t the best teacher. It’s the harshest of teachers”. And since then I’ve learned that this is true.

Here is where I shift from “we and us”, to “me and I”.

I have tried so much to live my life without regret. But at the same time, as much as I would love to do so regret will try to live its life with me. There are many lessons that I have learned so painfully through experience. There are three regrets that I have. Three that continue to tear and claw away at me. I’ll not go into what they are. To me they are too personal and important to simply post and share with the entire internet/world. The truth is that these three cling to me and I cling to them. I have to admit that I am not done learning my lessons from them. I hold onto them because I need to completely understand what happened and what went wrong. Why I made the wrong choices. But at the same time they rip, claw, tear, and murder who I am.

Right now I don’t who I am and what I’m doing. I’m constantly questioning what I’m doing with my life. And I can’t tell you anything absolutely definite about me. All I can say is that I am and I have regrets the haunt and gnaw away at me. I am like you and I am not you.

Coasting

2008-07-17T14:33:00.001-07:00

Normally I'd post this elsewhere...

Coasting.

That’s how my life was described to me today. Foot off the gas, very little steering, and just simply coasting down the hills in life and barely making it up the next. Just casually cruising through using complacency as the momentum. When I was told this I really had to stop and think about my life. The person who had told me wasn’t the type to sugar coat things. He has always been brutally and blatantly honest with me. And I’ve always found that a plain and truthful observation of the self usually comes from someone else.

For hours today I worked distracted and unsettled. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Just coasting. It was obvious to everyone but me. It was very evident in my jobs. I just didn’t care. I had no interest in them beyond getting a paycheck. I had no desire or passion to actually DO the job. And thus I just did what was told. No more and no less. I just didn’t care about the work, only the money.

To a lot of people I seem content or complacent. I’m not. When I look deep down into the core of things I am actually very miserable and distraught. Suddenly I feel alone, lonely, and scared. And I guess that’s what happens when someone shines a spotlight on the fallacy of your current life.

Passion, fire, drive. I used to have those things. 12 years ago I was overflowing with passions. I was a force to be reckoned with. And now I can’t remember what those dreams of an 18 year old were. All I know is that I let something slide. I dropped the ball somewhere. Maybe I became horribly discouraged. I don’t know. But what I know is that in 12 years I’ve done fuck all. I sit around like I couldn’t be arsed to do anymore than that. I’m disgustingly apathetic towards my own existence and desires. Jack shit are my accomplishments so far.

On my death bed I want to be able to look back and said that I did what I wanted. I did something. I know that whatever I do won’t be so grand as to cure cancer or end world hunger. But I want to be able to say something other than, “Eh… I coasted. I barely got by. I did some stuff”. I’m afraid that when I pass I’ll leave nothing behind. At my funeral people will say, “He was a nice guy” and that’s it. I’m an artist. I want to show people what I love. I want to make a living doing what I love. But even what I love has started to suffer. My drive and passion have been stifled in everything.

This isn’t a rut. This is something much worse. I’m lost and losing myself even further. I don’t know what to do or where to go. I don’t know where to begin. And now I’m asking any of you who read this to throw a dog a bone. Any and all of you. Please respond with any and all suggestions. Say something.

2008-07-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while since I’ve been in this place.

With this all too familiar ache in me I stand staring into the abyss of myself, my core, my heart. Once again I have to face my emotions. Should I suppress them, kill them, or follow their commands?

It’s hard to think….

I’ve gone back in my memories over and over again. Rethinking and reliving my past, my failures, and the me I once was. Going back and observing the man I was as the man I am now I realize a lot of things. I despise who I was in the past. But that’s the folly of youth I guess. I have made a lot of mistakes and failed some people who are very important to me. But I guess that is life and its persistently painful lessons.

I need a moment to clear my head….

But life very rarely provides these moments. You either make due or make them yourself. I don’t who I am currently. I do know who I was and like I stated before, I despise him. But at the same time I cannot truly hate him. That confused broken boy is what helped make me into the man I am. I cannot say that I am the ideal person. But compared to my past I am a far cry better than what I subjected people in my life to. I would not be the person I am if not for the person I was.

Clarity of thought is crucial….

No matter how hard I think I cannot unravel this jumble of thoughts. This myriad of contemplations continuously plague me. I knew this would come sooner or later. I’ve been expecting it. For me a euphoric high is always followed by a devastating low. It’s hardly ever caused by a person other than myself. I am not who I want to be. I am not where I want to be in the end. But I was told something so wonderful. I was told something that shakes the foundation of any man. And even still I did what I usually do. I began to analyze myself. Contemplate everything that I am. And ultimately I end up tearing myself apart. This is now me trying to keep from destroying myself.

Contemplations of self….

They are rarely gentle. It does no good lying to yourself. I was once told that you can lie to everyone else but never ever lie to yourself. I honestly want to be more than what I was and what I am. I want to be something truly wonderful for myself and all those I care for. And it’s difficult. Especially when the only person to truly judge me is myself. I know that I cannot be perfect. But I can try. I can fight tooth and nail to ascend beyond what I am.

Yet I still cannot think….

Am I really that bad? Am I really as horrible as I think I am? Can I still ascend?

Slowly and painfully it kills

2008-05-07T13:58:00.000-07:00

I spent 7 years of my life working for a games distributor. I worked my way up from a picker in the warehouse to a shipper in the warehouse. From there I worked hard and managed to be promoted to International Sales Representative. From there I learned that being a sales representative wasn’t the best. It was one step removed from retail which meant I still dealt with retail in a way. Day after day I talked to retail store owners. Day after day I listened to them. There were a precious few who talked and treated me as an actual human being. But the rest regarded me as nothing more than a cashier. And perhaps that’s what I was. The other issues were that I couldn’t push product that I had no faith in. In the corporate world of being a distributor this was not good enough. Eventually I lost my heart for my job. I began to despise waking for work every morning. I am an artist and each day I would sit at a computer corresponding with customers through email and phone. Each day I would resent my job for taking up my time and getting in the way of my creative processes. Eventually it was deemed that I was not a good enough rep. When I was asked for my resignation I had to ask myself if being there was where I really wanted to be. No.

For the past few work days I’ve found myself in the confines of a gigantic crank case. Sweating profusely while wiping a mixture of oil, water, and cleaning fluid from the innards of a massive engine. And in the dark confines with nothing but a flashlight to show me where I needed to clean I started thinking. There I was, in a crank case. An artist with a thick coat of dirty motor oil covering his hands and arms. Sweating profusely I would crawl out from time to time to stretch or for breaks. All day I kept thinking while I worked. Kept asking myself what I was doing there. And at the end of the day I asked myself, “Is this where I want to be?”. For some reason I couldn’t answer. It wasn’t as if I were torn. It was more like I just didn’t care enough to answer.

I didn’t go straight home last night. Instead I drove around aimlessly while I thought. I thought about who I was as compared to who I am. And to be honest with myself and everyone, I really hate who I used to be. I barely care for who I am now. I was once told that if you don’t like something then you should change it. Well this trip of self betterment is what that is. But the trip is just so damn long. It actually never ends. And depression or life’s lessons will delay, detour, and waylay you almost every step of the way. During my wandering and self contemplation I pretty much stopped thinking. I just kept driving. After a while I realized that I was driving at close to 100 mph as if on autopilot while weaving through traffic along the highway. I was pretty lucky that I didn’t get into an accident or get pulled over. But for some reason I didn’t care nor was I scared. It didn’t take me long to realize that I had driven to College Park. Did I really want to be there? No.

I turned around and went home. I stopped off at a store to get a DVD. I needed something new to watch. Something interesting. Something to keep me distracted. I needed to drown myself in something other than what I had been thinking about the whole day. I walked in, my clothes splotchy with grime and grease. That’s how I am going to look everyday right after work. I’m sure I looked hideous or reminiscent to a homeless man. I didn’t care. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I caught a few stares as I wandered DVD aisles. The only thing I could return to them were vacant glances as I moved down the aisle. I didn’t find anything interesting. Or rather nothing caught my eye. I went home. Was that where I really wanted to be? It would do for the moment.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know if I ever knew what I was doing. I’m an artist working a manual labor job for a pipeline company. Am I working there because I like it? I don’t know. Am I working there because of the money? I don’t know. I really don’t know a fucking thing about me or my life anymore! All I know is that I’m an artist who’s hands touch more dirt than pencils. I’m alone and I’m lonely. I don’t know if I really want to be where I’m at. I don’t know how to change it if I wanted to. And sometimes I’m just too apathetic towards myself to even care about changing.

I don’t know if this is depression.

I don’t know if this is some form of apathy.

I just don’t know….

Maybe I’m just being complacent.

And complacency kills. Slowly and painfully it kills.

I wish

2008-04-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

I wish I hadn't moved.

And to this day it does eat at me.... the fact that I couldn't stay.

Memoratic Conundream

2008-03-03T13:53:00.001-08:00

It’s always disturbing how something miniscule can resurrect something thought to be long dead. Amazing how a song, a phrase, or a smell can dredge up memories best left forgotten. And with the most minute amount of stimulus you end up drowning in a flood of feelings and remembrances we never wanted to relive, and we end up writhing in internal misery.

I, like most others, do not actively remember these things. Nor do I try to force myself to forget them. I let it slip into the murky depths of time’s passing on its own accord. Unfortunately for some of these long swamped memories the impetuses for revival come in ample and unwanted supply.

How long do I have to relive these memories? These dredges of past that I’d rather forget flood through me with virulent force at unforeseen times. And I’m left dying inside. Torturous tethers to the past bound to me by jagged hooks through my heart and mind. All my failings and falters swirling violently through me with the urge of one moment’s urge of senses. Relationships, friendships, and moments all gone wrong because I was not smart enough or wise enough to set them right at the time being. Each time making me remember my wrongs in painfully horrible detail. Each time recalling how much I despise myself, how much I’d rather not exist, or how much I’d rather forget who I am. I understand that everyone else has the same troubles. But I am not everyone else and they are not me.

How long do I endure? How long do I relive vivid painful memories of my faltered history?