Anguish

It is hard not to hate myself for my lack of success with most things I try my hand at. I feel like a reverse King Midas at times; everything I touch turns to rust. If there is something beautiful and golden about life, you can be sure that I am going to ruin it somehow. Usually, it is through my desire to preserve it, or capture it, or even, sometimes, just witness it. And, of course, when I touch something beautiful or golden, innocently at first, then with the desire to possess, it crumbles before my eyes in that dirty rust pile. You would think that I could be used to that as often as it has happened to me, but each time it happens, I am so distressed and distraught about it, that I can barely function.

I feel monstrous, like there is an inherent flaw within me that causes this to happen despite my best intentions. And this monstrosity creates a pain that burns into a searing white hot blast of hatred for myself. I eat the fire of hate and it boils in my stomach, a toxic crucible of molten pain. And in that crucible, the devouring snake of nihilism, grief, anguish, and tortuous cruelty winds itself upward to my heart and swallows it slowly in the grotesque opera of self-destructive hatred. My brain tries to speak to my heart, to soothe it, to prevent the snake from completing it missions, but it can't be heard above the heart's screams.

And then, the snake, having eaten its fill whispers its forked narrative of hatred. I become the monster of hate for myself. My snake heart convinces the brain that I am the most hateful person on the planet, that god has decided to hate me, that it is my destiny in life to be isolated, alone, and ugly. My brain, struggling to pull logic out of a locked or hidden closet, says that there are things I can do to prevent this from happening. But the snake heart is more convincing; its words have more sting. "You will not be successful," in one venomed filled word. In another, "you will always be alone," and "women do not like you," in another. My brain cannot make reply because these words seem to be couched in the deepest truth.

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I am in utter anguish about my failures. I want so much to connect to a special person, but it is not for me. I have prayed, pleaded, bargained, and struggled until I cannot sleep anymore, but it is no use. I am monster. Hated, ugly, and alone.

The Accident

I'm still searching for still waters and trying to keep an even keel. The period directly after my graduate school career (and breakup with my then girlfriend) was the biggest upheaval in my life so far. I truly hope with a visceral feeling that there isn't anything in the future that comes even close to that. It was a trauma, pure and simple. It has been a handful of years since that event; I can vividly remember those handful of days at the end, and remember the extraneous details that most would have forgotten. The first several years was struggling to cope with the reality of what happened, the loss of everything (including very nearly myself), and new realities it had created. Recently, it seems that I am beginning to see how the dust has finally settled just a year or so ago. And Now, I am in another period of great change, but this time it is my own choosing.

I was riding along in the car "of life," and hit a tree. At first, I was unconscious, and then I was recovering from the immediate injuries of that for the longest time. The pain was excruciating and forced me into difficult positions and hideous thoughts while I recovered. I do feel like I can start working towards goals again. This period is akin to physical therapy. I do have my scars and, so while the injury no longer hurts like it once did, I am a little tender in those spots and am more likely to react when I wouldn't have otherwise. I need to learn how to control that reaction.

To that end, I think I am going to try to recenter myself. Instead of looking outward for solutions, instead of analyzing inward for new insights and answers, I am going to try and forget all of that and work on developing an inner calm. During the healing process, I may have tried a a few things that I thought would be the shortcut to recovery. I realize that there are no shortcuts, and so, maybe meditation, thoughtfulness, and calm is the new way to go. If I have the self-discipline and the courage to face the horrors that life sometimes contain, I really do think it can help me.