Emotionless Roller Coaster
I am not angry. I am not sad. I am not longing. I am not perplexed. I am not joyous. I am not happy. I am not lusting. I am not anything. This is not an emotional outburst. Quite the contrary, this is a non-emotional outburst. Right now I feel so empty that I imagine if I cut my wrists nothing but air would come out.
The other day a friend of mine asked me if I was depressed. I told him no, but there’s a good chance I was just kidding myself. There have always been times in my life where I’ve fallen into minor bouts of depression. They’re usually fairly random and I can rarely find anything concrete that brings them on. Of course anyone who knows me would take one look at what I’ve been through in the past couple of weeks and reason that any depressive state of mind would have to do with those events. I not sure they’d be right, however, not completely at least. Sure all the things that have gone on have certainly contributed to my current state of mind, how could they not, but they’re not the sole reasons for me feeling the way I feel. Much like always, I can’t figure out the complete cause of my malaise. So I sit here, typing, watching the world go by outside my window on a beautiful November afternoon wondering what on earth I’m doing here, and by here I don’t mean my office, I mean the more abstract here, as in the universe.
During the conversation with my friend work was brought up and I started telling him about how I don’t have concrete goals when it comes to my work life, rather I follow the paths I see fit to walk and see where they lead me. With my career writing about Hip-Hop, however, I feel like I’ve accomplished a lot, and people have seconded this, yet now that I’ve reached what some would consider to be a goal, rather than feeling some sense of pride or excitement I instead am mildly unimpressed. On to the next thing that I’ll invariably do well at and feel slightly unsatisfied with no matter how good I am at it, that’s what I’m thinking. It’s like the opposite of satisfaction. A foggy feeling of accomplishment mixed with a healthy dose of "who cares."
I am now working out five days a week. This is not simply to be healthy, I can keep my six pack abs while working out three days a week. The reason I’m now training for the full five is simply to avoid thinking about anything that might bring me further down. When I’m lifting weights, or working out at the dojo, I shut the world out (and turn my phone off). Unless you’re there with me you’re not getting in contact with me. To me these are perfect times to clear my mind and keep it that way for an hour or an hour and a half. The soreness and occasional scrapes and bruises serve as a reminder that I’m alive. Knowing that, however, brings about a much bigger question, what’s the point of being alive? Personally, I’m still trying to figure that one out.
The other day a friend of mine asked me if I was depressed. I told him no, but there’s a good chance I was just kidding myself. There have always been times in my life where I’ve fallen into minor bouts of depression. They’re usually fairly random and I can rarely find anything concrete that brings them on. Of course anyone who knows me would take one look at what I’ve been through in the past couple of weeks and reason that any depressive state of mind would have to do with those events. I not sure they’d be right, however, not completely at least. Sure all the things that have gone on have certainly contributed to my current state of mind, how could they not, but they’re not the sole reasons for me feeling the way I feel. Much like always, I can’t figure out the complete cause of my malaise. So I sit here, typing, watching the world go by outside my window on a beautiful November afternoon wondering what on earth I’m doing here, and by here I don’t mean my office, I mean the more abstract here, as in the universe.
During the conversation with my friend work was brought up and I started telling him about how I don’t have concrete goals when it comes to my work life, rather I follow the paths I see fit to walk and see where they lead me. With my career writing about Hip-Hop, however, I feel like I’ve accomplished a lot, and people have seconded this, yet now that I’ve reached what some would consider to be a goal, rather than feeling some sense of pride or excitement I instead am mildly unimpressed. On to the next thing that I’ll invariably do well at and feel slightly unsatisfied with no matter how good I am at it, that’s what I’m thinking. It’s like the opposite of satisfaction. A foggy feeling of accomplishment mixed with a healthy dose of "who cares."
I am now working out five days a week. This is not simply to be healthy, I can keep my six pack abs while working out three days a week. The reason I’m now training for the full five is simply to avoid thinking about anything that might bring me further down. When I’m lifting weights, or working out at the dojo, I shut the world out (and turn my phone off). Unless you’re there with me you’re not getting in contact with me. To me these are perfect times to clear my mind and keep it that way for an hour or an hour and a half. The soreness and occasional scrapes and bruises serve as a reminder that I’m alive. Knowing that, however, brings about a much bigger question, what’s the point of being alive? Personally, I’m still trying to figure that one out.
Comments