|Life as a locker room.
||[May. 1st, 2008|11:12 pm]
These are my tombs painted black and blue
It's easy to lie to yourself and actually come to believe it. Surprisingly easy. I've gotten so good at selling myself timeshares and Amway that these days I don't even realize when I do it. I play it off that some harrowing experience or another made me a stronger person, or a more interesting person, or even a "real" person, but deep down somewhere I know that's bullshit. They just shaped the way that I lied to myself so as best to keep believing it.|
If you bounce around enough you'll find yourself in the same situation. Moving from place to place and people to people did nothing but compartmentalize my life into little cubicles of memory. You may know where your old desk is, but something always prevents you from remembering just what your old job was really like. If you do this enough you just might lose track of all of it, occasionally killing your concept of reality and ego in the process.
I think that's what happened to me: I experienced (or regularly experience pieces of) ego-death. Through chemicals, sleep deprivation or just plain crazy I occasionally and accidentally disassociate enough to see everything as it really is, and you know what? It's really not a great prognosis. If all that was really was as it seems, then what's happening now and what's to come is arguably not worth active participation.
When I tell my stories people often ask if I miss the people, the places or the times, and my answer is always "yes", but the truth of it is that I think deep down I also miss myself. Myselves. My selves. I miss the exuberance, the uncertainty, the hurt and the ability to hurt and smile as easily as each of my many facades had at any of their given periods. I miss whatever I was. I think you probably do, too, but I'd never demand an acknowledgment there. It's not an easy thing to admit to.
Does this mean that my current life has no meaning? Not at all. The meaning hasn't set in yet, and I suppose there is a possibility that some day I will miss what I am and where I am at this exact moment. That doesn't make the feeling of being lost go away any faster, though.
I'm sorry, and I'm not. I doubt that's what anyone wants to hear, but it's the best I can do without crossing my fingers.