ON LEARNING — About Spiritual Suffocation.

Reflection from June 19th, 2011 @ Age 29

RE:  MEDICAL MALPRACTICE IN LIGHT OF CONSCIENCE-NUMBING DRUGS.

Tomorrow I turn 30.  Not sure what to think about it.  Except that I want to get this book done and I want to get it done this year. 

I don’t know how I’m going to do it; publish this book and all, but I feel like I have to do it.  I feel like I need to do it, and like it’s the path I am meant to follow.  It’s terrifying though; I don’t know what it could bring.  I can imagine the most horrible consequences, which seem entirely possible; and then I can imagine the most wonderful consequences, which seem, well, almost entirely impossible.  But maybe that’s just because, I don’t know.  Maybe it’s just because it’s far easier to imagine failure, maybe because I’ve been there before.  I suppose I have had some success, so you might think I would be able to imagine it.  But the kind of success I imagine for myself reaches far beyond what I’ve ever attained to present.  It represents something meaningful to me.  Nothing I’ve attained thus far, for myself anyway, as far as personal success goes, or outward personal success, has been all that meaningful.  Law school and the bar, it just doesn’t mean that much to me.  It means almost nothing.  It’s not what I want.  It just means nothing.

So, my birthday dinner with Adam was…kind of a flop?  It started out pretty horrible, we went to dinner, Adam was angry the entire time about petty things, unable to recognize what lies deeper, the actual root of it all.  We got into petty fights during dinner, I almost started full out crying at the restaurant several times, having to wipe tears from my eyes and all.  On the ride home I cried the entire way, and when we were almost home, Adam asked me if I thought we should never have gotten married.  I lost it.  I suppose because that was exactly on my mind. 

I just get wrapped up in passion, in the heat of the moment, and I feel so much, so much love, so much meaning, I thrive in it.  And then life gets back to normal and I get blue, and distracted, and unsatisfied.  I need to feel.  This medication is not allowing me to feel.  I cannot get excited about things, I cannot get depressed; I just cannot feel anything.  I am in the middle all the time, and it’s horrible.  I suppose this is why people go off of their medications.  I suppose this is why I will probably go off my medications.  So I write again!  Write anything worth reading.  And in doing so I will destroy myself, or so I wonder.

I just can’t live like this.  I hate it.  Stability is wonderful in its own way, it’s comfortable I suppose.  It helps me envision what will happen in the future.  Problem is, it’s boring as hell.  How can I live a life without passion?  No wonder I gave up writing for a year and a half!  Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, it would’ve been all junk.  Not because my life was junk, or because I didn’t have things going on that were worth writing about; that’s not the case at all.  It’s because I’ve lost my passion, I’ve lost my passion for writing, I’ve lost what I love most.  I’ve lost the beauty that my mind creates when I feel those highs and lows.  I don’t know what to do. 

If I continue this life, being a lawyer and being married on the track of having a baby and buying a house, this life, this life that the majority follows, I will never make anything of myself; nothing great at least, nothing worthwhile.  How can I reach my ultimate potential when I have to numb my mind from the places where that potential can be reached?  How can I go on living like this?  I feel like I’m beginning to suffocate.  I feel like I am living someone else’s life, someone else’s dream.  I feel like I am not being true to myself; I am losing my honesty and I am losing my beauty.  It’s horrible.

I just don’t believe that I am meant to follow this “normal” path.  I don’t believe I was born to walk the path that most others follow.  I truly believe that is why I was born different, always felt different, always followed a somewhat alternative path.  I mean, I’ve followed a path that is “acceptable”.  And I’m learning that I don’t want to be here anymore.  I want to be free; and I am not allowed to be free in the life I have created for myself thus far.

You can even see it in my writing, when I am not in a high or a low, or moving towards one, I am nothing.  I am boring.  When I live without passion, I am living a lie because I am not living as who I am, but how society wants me to be.  I just can’t do this anymore.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I want to change it from this path.  I want to be successful, I believe publishing my book is the means for accomplishing that.  I can’t go on living this lie. 

And so, when we got home, Adam finally got me to talk to him and he apologized because he said he has so much anger in him that he doesn’t know how to deal with, he just takes it out on me because I’m around.  And then I let him read my journal from December 24th, 2007.  He was astonished.  He asked me if I really felt this way, and said to me, “I don’t understand, you’re so smart and so beautiful, how could you have felt this way?”  And that’s exactly my point.  It doesn’t matter who you are or what you have, if you are mentally ill, it will overtake you regardless.  Sure, external circumstances have something to do with it, I might not have been such a great writer if I hadn’t had such awful circumstances throughout those pertinent years of creation.  But I don’t know.  I think it’s always there lurking, just waiting, just waiting for the opportunity. 

And then Adam told me some incredible things about himself and his life, things I will not repeat here out of respect.  But he opened up to me about his own emotions and the things he has been through, and that is exactly the reaction I am hoping for.  I want people to not be so afraid to talk about these things, these emotional pains.  We all go through them, but so few talk about them.  And it’s funny because the ones who do, the artists, are often praised for their work exemplifying emotion, but our society, for “normal” people, shuns such a thing.

God I feel uninspired.  I have to finish this book.  There is no other way out.  I have to be true to myself, I just cannot go on living this way.  I’m simply not meant for normalcy.  I’m not normal, and I don’t want to be. 

Thoughts?

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