Context: I wrote the following on the 8th of December when I thought I lost my blog. Today, I have been given the gift of it’s return.
Hello readership. We have come into an accident. I didn’t pay my bill. I don’t know how it happened. I cant think about it. The entirety of my work here was deleted.
It’s not that bad. I do have everything saved across a few devices. The bad news, it is unedited. Right here, was the only space I created for my edited work that was neatly on file and at my perusal. I think I lost the only thing that I was proud of even if it was in secret and no one really read it.
Like all great things in the universe I think the timing is apt. Secret confession- I have been to see my psychic twice in the last month. It is probably the most telling sign of the decline of my mental heath combined with the chain smoking. Both secret vices.
Why the melancholia my love? Because this defeats me. I am so fucking sick of getting the fuck back up. If one were to ask the secret to my resilience (because woe is me and I have experienced some dark shit- not as dark as some, darker than most) I would answer anger. When all the chips are down and I feel like I am going to break, I find a place inside of myself where there is fight, where there is anger against it all and I get up. What other choice do we have in this life than to fight defeat? … suicide. Really. I am not kidding. You can get up and you can fight or you can kill yourself. Fuck all that shit about ‘this too shall pass’. Obviously it will pass. Everything passes. But can you survive the passing? How do you get through the passing? Riddle me that.
I was recently made aware that I am mean or that there is a nastiness to me that is unacceptable. Unlovable. It was probably one of the most hurtful things that has been said to me. To have someone question the core of your being. Maybe I am sad that I am not more graceful in suffering. I don’t think I am this terrible person. I do think that I have been damaged by circumstances out of my control and although it is not an excuse, I guess, asking for compassion wasn’t enough. Forgiveness and compassion, more things that we are not entitled to from others.
I feel like I am constantly paying retribution to my past mistakes and that they are inescapable. What if the past is this thing you carry within yourself forever because it is part of you? That my love, is the sound of defeat. I was so afraid of who I would be without anger. If I weren’t angry would I still be resilient? Life is too hard to ever drop your guard, believe me you need to have good bounce back. I am still afraid to look at myself without anger. I am scared to have someone take it away. I don’t trust what’s underneath. And you proved I shouldn’t have trusted you.
Losing my blog – something I can rebuild, losing you- something irreparable, in all this loss, I have nothing left in me but defeat. I’m not going to kill myself but I can’t tell you when I will get the fuck back up again. I wonder if this is what you needed to see? Poor little heroine, you’re not even angry, you’re just broken. You win.
Today I ran into a friend of mine who always shows up to tell me the right thing. So I’m sitting in his living room and he’s smoking a joint. This puts us on the same level, his mellow philosophy comes to meet my manic frustration of whatever life question is haunting my psyche at the time. I asked him “can there be resilience without anger?”. He answers back one word with a slow drawl: Hope.
Interesting theory. Neither agree nor disagree at this point. Let us dissect the question- ‘how the fuck do I get back up?’. Well, my answer is and has always been, you find the place in you that’s got fight and you stand up. And you gotta be angry to fucking fight. Fight, flee, freeze. His answer, you need hope. From hope we build strength. I mean, fucking expand on that m8. Give me your stoned wisdom. Yes, I understand one must hope in order to survive, where is this nirvana? I still can’t quite see how hope fits in the puzzle but give me some time. I’m still broken hearted and exhausted and possibly a fucking drug addict. Story for later.
So I’m ranting aggressively about how when I’m pushed down I will always bounce back, I will always have to get up because fuck it, you can’t break me world. And he says: that’s not malicious anger at another person my little kitten, that’s not hate…that is PRIDE. Fuck. Is it?
I need to sleep.
Thank a deity, we are back.