I’m just running like hell from one regret to the next. You know, because what is life if we can’t make a record of our own suffering. Regret is the poison my mind drinks often. I say I have no regrets but that’s what I have led myself to believe, it’s my disillusionment. I cherish the idea of no regrets but the truth is I am running as fast as I can from one regret to another, but never moreso than in my mind. My mind is rancid with regret and I am the judge jury and executioner. Have I become addicted to suffering?
Why is the suffering easier to go back to time and time again? I have millions of memories of joy and happiness yet I cling to my suffering like it’s the only thing that holds me up if standing on one leg.
Have I endured? Yes. Have I survived? Yes. Could I write a hundred stories that would bring anyone to tears? Yes. But why is that more relatable to the people I want to touch than my exuberance or joy? Why is it more critical to the sustainability of my relationships to revel in depression and misery than sharing moments of emotional ecstasies? Why are the two so dramatically on opposite ends of the spectrum? Shouldn’t I be hyper focused on rendering my sheer elation and the pursuit of happiness? But then what is the pursuit of happiness? Can I even navigate my way back to the origin of what this means to me?
The surges of adrenaline and cortisol from emotional disdain and discomfort hit harder and resonate longer so my mind will actively seek out more. Dropping snippets of painful memories like I’m dropping hits of acid to continue down an introspective journey into the unknown. It keeps me afloat in an isolation chamber I created. I have become a recluse in my own mind, so much so that socializing with literally almost anyone outside of that isolation chamber creates waves of anxiety that keep me high and hungry for more. Self sabotage is a cliché in a world where I despise clichés. A hard eye roll and a palm to the face. But this is what I do, this is what so many of us do.
These emotions keep me “alive” to the point where I feel I am thriving. The plausibility that I have survived all of this suffering, when the reality is I created it. And yet, I still crave touch and affection more than anything, even if I stand in my own way of receiving it.
It’s no paradox, and it damn sure isn’t paradise. It’s no man’s land and I reign supreme here. I sprinkle it with humor and sarcasm to give the false illusion that I am alive and kicking. My go-to coping mechanisms when I can write it off as me being alive. As if all these moments of self awareness and introspection are going to lead me from the troubled waters of my poisoned mind. Is this the state of my mental health? Is this where I go to get off? How sad, how atrocious and apathetic have I become to my own mental health that I can look myself in the eyes in a mirror and know that I prefer the “hit” I get from shedding tears for my suffering; knowing I get off on running from regret to regret and never apologizing to myself or doing anything to help me. A vicious perfect circle of storms I can stay comfortably dry in. It’s as if I am naive enough to believe I am not hurting the people I love.
But how do I stop pressing play on the nostalgia of all these miserable excerpts that I have become so fond of; these little scrapbooks of memories I nourish over and over so I can relive them and delude myself into thinking I am alive?
I have made myself inconsolable living on my own needless pain. Now I must break myself of this filthy habit this disgusting addiction; I must relabel it, fix it, transform this contrarian world I feed on and love myself. I can’t unsee it, I cannot erase the knowledge. I must embrace and build upon it. If I am to ever start loving myself I must shed these damaging emotional addictions and feed new ones into my brain, find new ways that are healthy to feed the adrenaline and cortisol fix.
I must leave this place and travel like a gypsy to create a new world of collective knowledge and remembrance I can lovingly embrace. You know, and actually live without regret.
No comments:
Post a Comment