… ed il battimento va su…


January 12, 2014

It’s getting more difficult by the day to accept this as my newly updated, hardly welcome, and somehow – sucking worse than ever before “existence”.

I am surrounded by people who are decent, I guess…but I’m learning that a person can be decent while still being completely self-absorbed. I’m learning that it might turn out to be that there are two types of human beings that fall under the “Good Human Beings” category: those who are able to make it in this hideous place on their own in adulthood (usually due to the early coddling experienced in a wealthy and secure childhood), and then there are those like me: people who couldn’t make it out here alone if our lives depended it, which they do. I’m recognizing my own place here, and not liking it at all.

This brings me to the point of my entry: Defeat.

I am defeated; in just about every way possible, I have drifted to the bottom, and fallen asleep on the rocks there. What’s worse, is that I am recognizing how unimportant and irrelevant this fact is in my own opinion. I have finally become the frigid and unfeeling person that I have managed to escape for so long through introspection and staying “present”. I see now that I was very wrong in thinking that form of safety would last; I see how it has all unraveled while I wasn’t looking.

Complacency has never been a strong point for me; I have always had a prominent Rebel’s streak (i.e. the bumper sticker I sported on my shiny 1997 Ford Thunderbird all throughout high school that read BAD COP, NO DONUT) I have always struggled mightily with getting my head around the concept of “falling in line”; described at birth by my paternal great-grandfather as a “Hard-head”, I was always happy to march to a very extraordinary drummer…until the drummer finally beat it out of me. And it wasn’t just a one-time beating either; on the contrary, it was a beating that lasted half of a decade. I have learned with age and experience that I actually might not know everything, after all. I don’t know anything, as it turns out.

Sometimes, it’s hard for me to relate to my own memories as they stream through my fuzzy mind; for so many reasons that are impossible to relay through any human language that I speak…but I carry around so much shame and regret, unhealthy as I know it is; and despite my own awareness of its permanence in my heart. Choices I’ve made have directly struck like lightning at people I love, or have loved.

…and the beat goes on…

Sometimes I just wish the drummer – as extraordinary and excitingly rebellious as the beat may be – would just please shut the fuck up for once.

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