Obsession, Madness, Me

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Obsession is a form of madness. Madness is insanity. Insanity can be, or include, or engender, deep creativity. Creativity is good. And, it’s really the only reason I don’t always mind being insane. But, obsession is bad. It’s exhausting. It’s the opposite of balance. Imbalance and extreme is a part of my nature. And, no amount of creativity (and, I have a large amount) can sufficiently make up for the damage that obsession causes.

This is one reason I continue to meditate. It doesn’t stop my obsessiveness, but it can slow it down somewhat. Otherwise, I am a total train wreck.

I have not been doing well lately. I had been doing better, but then… well, medication fiascos occurred. Madness asserted itself with force. And, my physical health took a hit. It’s all made me want to hide and be reclusive again. The way I feel… the heaviness in my head and chest, makes it very difficult for me to interact with people. It makes me want to avoid them. It’s very frustrating because, as I say, I had been feeling better. This, now, is like another one of life’s kicks in the teeth.

At this same time, I discovered a gps based adventure game called Ingress. I am now obsessed with said game. One good thing is that it gets me out of the house, out of bed. And, I’m good at the game. I like being successful at something. It’s just a shame that I’m not as good at life.

I’m tired. That’s the thing. The intense, inescapable weariness has returned in force. I’m back to praying every night that I don’t wake up in the morning. Of course, I do wake up…and, I go play Ingress. It’s something. Have I mentioned, I’m good at it? Still, it would be better yet if I just didn’t wake up. And, I suppose, would be even more better (betterest) if I could feel okayish again. I mean, I wasn’t totally fine. That’s far too much for me to ask for. But, I was okayish. And, I liked it.

This. This, how I feel right now? This, I don’t like.

Anywho, that’s the latest from me. I felt I better check in, write something. So, I have.

I Don’t Belong Here

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One of my favourite films is The Shawshank Redemption.  Near the beginning of the film, the “fresh fish” are brought to the prison. Fresh fish is prison slang for new inmates.

As the cold bars clang shut and the night falls with darkness and everything in the darkness, the hardened old-timers make bets as to which one of the new fish will cry out first. My heart aches, resonating and relating, as one of the latest arrivals to Shawshank finally cries out. “You don’t understand!”, he bawls, “I’m not supposed to be here!”

Not supposed to be here. This prison. This “life”. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m too weak to take it up the ass. I don’t fit into any of the gangs. And, the only way out for me will be in a body bag.

I feel alone. I reach out, but it is the intense me who gets too attached that reaches out. Rejection hurts, even when I know I’d reject myself.

I feel I am an anomaly. There’s no place for me here, because I was a mistake, a glitch.

I’m so tired.