Heavy
A moment of lucidity. Rare but it happens. And when it does, it sucks. Your whole past, present and future laid out in excruciating detail. And all you see is nothing. A vast, flat landscape stretching to both horisons, backwards and forwards in time. These are the moments I'd rather quell with activities and / or drugs so mind numbing that elevation occurs in my mental terrain. Is living a catalyst for depression, or is depression a catalyst for living?
As I ponder this I know I will never get the answer, nor do I care. In fact, the more I care the less I do. I'm stood quite a comfortable distance from the brink today, safe in sobriety, sanity and sombreness. One out of three isn't bad and I take this as a sign that today will be much like any other. I let out a sigh and stare at my colleagues. A silent stomach churning conviction that one day they too will be simply names from my past is fermenting in my system. This can't be it, surely?
As these thoughts glide through my scarred brain tissue I realise I don't care either way. Change or no change. It's inconsequential. Five minutes left of another hollow lunchbreak. Beyond that, well we all know, don't we? Work. Piece of fucking pissing bollocks.
I am alive despite myself. Perhaps even to spite myself. But I am alive. And it doesn't really matter all that much. What do other people do? The prospect of finishing work, going home, making dinner, doing some washing, attending other idiotic tasks only to repeat it all again tomorrow is unbearable. How do other people do it? I know I'm in denial, but surely then so is the whole of mankind? "It's the little things"…
Little things - fuck things.
I could run away, begin again, start fresh. That would achieve nothing. Like a huge storage cupboard brimming to the very edges of discarded to but archived material, my past is ever present, bulging up and pressing the sanity out of the limited space available. I am on the run. If I run fast enough, will I overtake the future and rid myself of the shackles of time? All I know is, if I don't keep running I'll be crushed under the weight of my own existence.
As I ponder this I know I will never get the answer, nor do I care. In fact, the more I care the less I do. I'm stood quite a comfortable distance from the brink today, safe in sobriety, sanity and sombreness. One out of three isn't bad and I take this as a sign that today will be much like any other. I let out a sigh and stare at my colleagues. A silent stomach churning conviction that one day they too will be simply names from my past is fermenting in my system. This can't be it, surely?
As these thoughts glide through my scarred brain tissue I realise I don't care either way. Change or no change. It's inconsequential. Five minutes left of another hollow lunchbreak. Beyond that, well we all know, don't we? Work. Piece of fucking pissing bollocks.
I am alive despite myself. Perhaps even to spite myself. But I am alive. And it doesn't really matter all that much. What do other people do? The prospect of finishing work, going home, making dinner, doing some washing, attending other idiotic tasks only to repeat it all again tomorrow is unbearable. How do other people do it? I know I'm in denial, but surely then so is the whole of mankind? "It's the little things"…
Little things - fuck things.
I could run away, begin again, start fresh. That would achieve nothing. Like a huge storage cupboard brimming to the very edges of discarded to but archived material, my past is ever present, bulging up and pressing the sanity out of the limited space available. I am on the run. If I run fast enough, will I overtake the future and rid myself of the shackles of time? All I know is, if I don't keep running I'll be crushed under the weight of my own existence.
posted by tseuq at 1/31/2006 02:08:00 pm
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