I remember, back in middle school, when I didn’t do my homework, my mom would fix it with a note.
To whom it may concern,
Samantha was unable to complete her last two assignments due to a family emergency. Please allow her an extra day as she has yet to find time to review her school work.
Best regards,
Ellen ***
Well, I’ve got a better excuse this time for not blogging. I just started a new sleeping meds and it makes me feel like ***. It’s supposed to the first couple of days which sucks balls. But I’ve been so fucking week, my throat’s all dry, my heads been killing me… I really couldn’t do a whole lot. So I saved my blogs for today because today the side effects are starting to wear as my body adjusts to its new chemicals. Yay!! So below is my “Why is life so Blah?” blog. Please enjoy. I’ll probably write like two or three today.
I’m not living in concrete fallacies anymore. Now that I’m older (almost eighteen) I realize how profoundly alone I am. I have to work and make my own choices. My parents might be responsible for my lack of preparation, but it doesn’t matter now. It’s on me- this is my life. If I give it my all, commit 100%, my chances of success are much better. Granted, I still need to balance work with personal needs to make sure I’m mentally stable. I think it will be ok. I know I’m a competent individual; It’s just a little scary especially with these new anxieties. But Its only natural that anxiety becomes more accessible as you get older. More to do = more to freak out about. Luckily my anxiety isn’t social anymore because I’m aware that life is bigger than human interaction. I have existential anxiety now, where inferiority complexes really belong. No human is all-knowing, no human is worth worshipping, but the mysterious fucking planet is. People can be understood but existence cannot. So I’m left looking up at the starry night sky, fully aware of how existentially insignificant I am. But I have faith that there is more to life than natural being. I think there is an intellectual and spiritual purpose for our continuation, even if it is self-perpetuated. We all need to delude ourselves to some degree; humans can’t comprehend everything and still remain sane. I know that the world isn’t about me, but my world is. And I could be wrong about g-d, but no one has any proof. I feel a spiritual connection to life. I feel grateful for my creation. I feel like life is incredible and who can I thank for all this. Nature can’t explain why I am so conscious of me; nature can’t explain the depth of my soul. Everything is just too beautiful, too amazing to not have a mastermind behind it. G-d must be a boy. Dinosaurs? I mean really. What girl would think it was a good idea to have giant stupid lizards roam the planet.
Really, I can’t decide if I’m overly perceptive, if I see reality in many of its truths or if I’m just a fucking nut-case. I mean, I think I make perfect sense, but I’m sure schizophrenics think they make perfect sense too. The general consensus among my peers is that I’m a little bit extra out of my mind. But I think I need to be in order to find success in a creative field. I think I can assume I have the capacity to be more honest about life; I can afford to let the truth drive me a little crazy because I can always write about or draw it.
Besides, what is mental health anyway? I’ve heard that it’s characterized by the stability of one’s illusions; that normal is when you gain self-esteem and believe whole heartedly in following the societal system. Normal is when you are more or less content to believe the word of higher authority to stay inside your own little box and not let your mind wonder to the actuality of the situation. To just be, trust, and follow… Well, I’m not normal. I can’t perceive life as a system laid out for me. I’m not content to follow cultural routine. I see life more like a shopping spree. It’s this store, this container, filled with all sorts of products and it’s a mad scramble to grab them off the shelf. One must fight for what they desire in life. Yes, there is a general order of things. But life is. It just exists, it’s this boring continuum of absolutely nothing. I mean, it is strictly what you make it. And I’m wondering at this point in my life. What differentiates a hobby from a resume builder? Is this blog a whiney waste of time or a move toward a writing career? Genius editorial or crazy rant? Honest or shameless? Am I moving in the right direction at the very least?
Someone give me feedback. Am I breaking down social barriers, am I exposing hidden truths. Or am I just revealing what a head case I actually am? My work, is it work? Or is it creative obsession? I have to think about these things, it’s not just school anymore. It’s not just eight hours out of my day and then homeward bound where I can watch TV and eat Mac and cheese. I need to be productive. I should talk to someone. I should talk to Amy.
Amy? Peter? How does one make it in their respective creative field? Is it a combination of exposure, networking, persistence, luck, individuality, a degree, talent, intelligence? Really, you promise? Because I’m scared; I don’t really have a day job to fall back on. I plan to move back to New York for grad school. Work as a yoga teacher and pursue an art and writing career until opportunity comes a’ knocking. Till then I’m going to study, learn, dissect the meaning of everything, understand, breathe, sleep, smile at strangers blankly concealing the ever spinning wheels of perceptions within.
Seriously, sometimes I feel like running up to people and saying “Hello perfect stranger, underneath all the lies of our development we are actually the same.” What the *** are social barriers? They are intangible, where do they come from? I just want to like shake people and say “this isn’t real, this little world, everything is so massive and abstract.” There is no formula, no guarantees; the world is your grand mysterious fucking oyster.” Ahhhhh…. It’s so crazy. I’m either totally encompassed by this moment or I’m constantly reminded of how insignificant it is. If I try to delude myself, I go too far and dive into my narrow logic whole-heartedly. If I break down my illusions the flood gates of truth come pouring in and I get anxious. And I know the answer. There is plan, follow it but be mindful that nothing is inevitable. That this = Degree but from there… You just have to keep trying.
I don’t have to work my ass off to get a degree, I don’t have to give 100%, but I want to. I like to bear my soul in my work and I would like some justification that hard work validates some higher purpose. I guess I’m just more anxious now because I’m working on my own. No concrete assignments. I’m just studying and analyzing life for my own mental health, for writing and art material, I’m studying this and that out of curiosity. It’s awesome I love it. But I just hope it’s a productive move toward my future, toward exposure, and not just the clinical obsession of a basket case. Either way, it’s got to be healthier then what I used to do to pass the time. ..