I found myself swept into a veritable typhoon of emotions this past week, so much so, I was worried I would not survive them. The past year and a half of my life has been the most tumultuous in a very long time. This week attempted to roll every emotion I possess into a giant ball of duct tape, attaching to me without any desire to leave. I felt that ball of tape unravel and wrap about me tightly, binding me… alas, I am here, still… barely… a survivor, once more… a term I despise, but one I am trapped within.
Trapped… that’s a funny word and one that resonates deeply within me. It, in fact, is the key within my struggles this week. I do not manage well when I feel trapped within a situation, relationship, etc. In fact, I tend to claw and fight tooth and nail to free myself from whatever is trapping me in a place I wish not to be. Envisage an animal locked within a cage, and it will be me that you see… blood-stained fur and anger in my eyes, fighting for release. This week, however, I realized I did not have the fight in me… I no longer cared enough to fight, which has never once happened to me… and that is exactly why it terrified me so.
It has been one year yesterday that I returned from England – a place I believed to be my new home. Alas, that was not in the cards, so they say… reluctantly, without much choice, I returned stateside to my hometown… a place I have never cared for. I will offer up one consolation prize to the suburban wasteland where I was raised – for as much as I dislike this place, especially to live within it, there is a certain comfort that comes from knowing where everything is and seeing the same faces night in and day out. With that tiny speck of a gem offered up, I feel I live within a bubble of mommy-types, those fending for their rights to be the lead Jones’, and most depressingly of all, there is nowhere to walk without seeing the same house repeated down a vast street of nothingness. – I dare anyone to tell me of something more depressing than a house farm of new construction nightmares without character, without creaky baseboards and without even a modicum of soul… go on, I dare you.
It is no surprise that depression enveloped me and my emotional weakness became overwhelming nearly to the point of ceasing all daily functionality. I somehow managed to preserve the day to day, but it was a fragile attempt that nearly faltered. But, work must be done and attempts at cordiality made, but most importantly, the theatrical mask of whom I’m supposed to be donned to keep up appearances and hide my melancholy as best I can… which, I have been told, I either do exceptionally well, or very poorly… it depends upon circumstance… this week, about 50/50.
It seems, or so I see through the tinted glass of a rum and coke, my displeasure in my living arrangements, coupled with the denial of my dissatisfaction with the terms of my work, smashed within my inherent and vast loneliness collided… no fireworks, just Grade A depression. We go way back , depression and I, and we enjoy a visit now and again if only to simply remind us how much we loathe each other. Alas, realization of such collisions of emotion do not assist in making things all better and happy with butterflies and pixie dust. But, it does at least provide perspective, and understanding and most importantly, a starting point toward moving forward, yet again.
NOTE: A timely arrival to my Twitter stream occurred today as I was pondering this very post. @davidgerhard is a talented artist who played with some of my photos to create this: Reality of @samanthai by David Gerhard Check out his work, you won’t regret it.