Day 4 is supposed to be “a song that reminds you of someone you’d rather forget”. I’ve been dreading this one and avoiding posting because of that dread. Stupidity Hole, my number one fan and hassler extraordinaire, raised the point that I can use Day 31’s theme, since September is a 30-day month. Problem solved! So now let’s see if I can come up with a song satisfactory to meet this criterion.
Day 4 (31): A Song that Comforts Your Soul
Actually, I’m gonna cheat and offer up a soothing selection. We can all use more of that sensation. Here are a few songs I find comforting. Soothing. Peace-bringing.
Let’s lead off with Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic”. This one brings such peace to my soul.
Next up, Amos Lee. Recently saw this fella in concert, for the second time. I swore I’d never do that again after the first disastrous concert several years ago. He was hammered out of his mind and spent nearly half the show covering Ginuwine’s “Pony”. He redeemed himself, in a big way, this time. I find this song to be one of his most comforting. Enjoy Amos Lee’s “No More Darkness, No More Light”.
I can’t explain why I find Bonobo’s “Ten Tigers” comforting, but I do. And part of the beauty of music. Of art. Is that we don’t have to explain it. Not really. It’s personal. Individual. What do you think?
I’ll end with Groove Armada’s “Edge Hill”. I feel myself going down a different rabbit hole than I anticipated, and now I just wanna chill. As evidenced by these last two selections. Relax and enjoy.
These Panic Attacks are increasing in regularity. I thought…I thought they were Anxiety Attacks. And I think that’s all they used to be. But something is wrong, because I know the difference well. And I’m having full-on panic attacks now. Is it a med? I’ve reduced how many I’m on. It is circumstantial? That’s no doubt a contributing factor. Is it something age-triggered? Perhaps. I rule nothing out at this point. Nothing except the fucking anti-psychotics the bitch keeps trying to push.
They’re getting worse. Picture me lying dead still in bed until it explodes. And then I experience everything I described before plus a lot of hair pulling, gnashing of teeth, rage screaming. Lately these “episodes” have landed me in the closet. It’s like a safe, cozy spot of dark. It’s a small closet, and the walls are close. I drag my pretty paisley lap blanket in, along with a pillow and my phone (just in case).
I curl up into the corner, zip my hoodie all the way up, pull the hood down as low as it will go, cover myself in the soft, indulgent blanket. Then I close my eyes, lean my head into the corner, and pet the blanket.
I’ve been asked by more than one person why I do this.
What’s wrong with you?
Why didn’t you reach out to me?
Why didn’t you think to ask for help before you vomited the contents of your broken soul into the wastebasket?
What did I do to deserve you feeling suicidal?
Am I not enough for you?
Why are you doing this to me?
Are you doing this for attention?
Why don’t you just fucking stop it?
Just be happy, for fucks sake.
You were fine five fucking minutes ago!
You must just not trust me. That’s what this is about. Admit it. So how can I trust you?
Let’s just get this said for the record: This isn’t about you, you raging fucking narcissist.
If you could get your head out of your ass for five fucking seconds, you’d understand that something this severe isn’t simply snapped out of. And it’s been part of my life for years. So fuck off trying to make this about you. Not everything is about you. Do you get that? No. Because you’re blinded by the dark interior of your ASSHOLE.
If you think I wouldn’t snap out of it if I could, you’re a fucking idiot to boot. No, you’re right. You know what? You’re right. I LOVE feeling a panic attack coming on, trying to brace myself and ride it out AT WORK, only to have to make a calm but anxious dash to the bathroom so I can shake and sweat and silently rage until I vomit. Yes. Yes. I love it so much. I want to fuck it six ways to Sunday.
If you think I use this as some twisted form of manipulation, then you know absolutely nothing about me at all. And seriously, manipulating you into piling on the guilt? Oh yes, yes, please sir. I’ll have another HEAPING FUCKING HELPING OF GUILT, YOU PRICKWHISTLE.
If you think I’m doing this for attention, you should know…attention is the last thing I want right in the middle of a panic attack. I’d love to have someone around. To just be present. Maybe even sit in the closet with me. Quietly. Maybe be there to hold my hand when I finally calm down enough to make eye contact. Maybe someone to tell me to stop apologizing for all the tears and snot.
Yeah, that would be nice.
That would be bliss.
Your guilt trips? You know what they do? They make them worse. So take them and shove them back up your crusty pisshole.
Second point I’d like to make is that I’m trying. I’m fighting. I am intellectually well aware that my psychological responses are off.
I’m well and truly aware that it is an understatement to say it’s abnormal to get home from work, check the mail, find a notice that I’m receiving my last issue of “Backpacker,” so you’d better renew your subscription now so you don’t miss out!, get inside, put my things down, and have a complete and utter meltdown.
Do I even need Backpacker anymore?
They’re gonna put rods and pins in my feet. Can I hike like that?
I can’t afford the 20 fucking dollars a year for a stupid fucking magazine.
You have bills to pay that are more important than articles on shit you can’t even do without breaking your bones, fatass.
Look at all this waste you accumulate.
Final notice for Backpacker! Final notice for The Sun! Final notice for Mother Jones!
Final fucking notice for you, motherfucker! FINAL FUCKING NOTICE FOR ME!
Why do I bother?
I wouldn’t even need to live vicariously through Backpacker, if I could at least start getting some fucking interviews in PNW. But noooooo. I have a piece of shit, cracked out recruiter who can barely remember my name and not enough endorsements on my LinkedIn.
LinkedIn. Facebook. Ladders. Glassdoor. Indeed.
OVERFUCKINGWHELMED DOT COM
And I still write shit cover letters.
JUST. FUCKING. DIE. ALREADY.
Where. Where. WHERE’S MY BLANKET!
It happens. Sometimes I can later identify a trigger; sometimes there’s no logical one to be found. Does that help, huh? Does that help you see? No, it doesn’t, because you still think I’m exaggerating. And if only I got a fucking hobby, I could quit all the meds cold turkey and be right as rain. Lemme just take one of the Oracle’s cookies while I’m at it. Bend some fucking spoons.
I don’t even give a shit if it does help you. I give a shit if it helps someone see. If it helps someone identify and better communicate with his or her suffering partner, family member or friend. I hope it helps shed light for those like me on just how intense this shit is. Look at it. Right there in black and white. And see how much it hurts not only ourselves, but our loved ones if we’re lucky enough to have any. Don’t push them away, not the ones who are genuine. There are way too many pricks out there to fill in the gaps. Cling to the keepers.
I am always open with my emotional and psychological struggles. If I begin a relationship, I make it plain that I am highly emotional, an empath and struggle with psychological abnormalities. I find people incredibly dismissive of it until they see it “in action,” so to speak. And then they flip and inevitably make it about themselves. Can we please, please stop this vicious cycle?
There’s more I wanted to say.
But I’m sleepy now.
And I have to pee.
For those of you suffering with me – fist bump. “Hang in there” and all that trite shit. Seriously. You aren’t alone. Even when you feel more alone than anyone else in the whole godforsaken world.
For those of you struggling to understand us – fist bump. Please don’t give up on those you love. And if you don’t really love them? Let them down easily. Gently. We break easily.
P.S. As a full disclaimer: This rant wasn’t directed at any one person. If you see yourself in it, I suggest taking a good hard look at yourself and working on some of your own struggles.
Several lovely bloggers (seriously, like seventy-two of ya!) asked me to do the quote challenge again. But, because I’m a nogoodterribleverybad person, I only remember the first one who asked me: And that was Ndumiso Mncwabe over at Music Smells Like Noise. He has an original and creative blog going over there – I do hope you’ll check him out; he’s one of my favorites. And okay y’all, it was nowhere near seventy-two. More like seventy-one. Yeah. And I should have kept a list so I could give everybody a shout-out. My bad.
It’s been a while since I was asked, but I wanted to put a little more time between now and the first one I did. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that I’m a sucker for a good quote. And I’m doing it today because I’m in a supershitty mood so I need to do this to occupy myself.
(Disclosure thingy: I actually wrote this yesterday and scheduled it to post this morning. Since you’re all aware of my wild ups and downs, I’m probably in a better mood by now. But as of writing? FUCKTHEWORLDMAN. Not the worldman. The world, man. Because I don’t know who the Worldman is, but I’m not really keen on doing him.)
Y’all know, rebel that I am (snort), I’m gonna fuck the rules all up. If I recall correctly from last time, I’m supposed to do three quotes over the course of three days. But I think the new one going around has a twist: one or three quotes each day for three days, nominating three people each day.
And you homies oughta know by now that shit ain’t happenin’.
In fact, what I’m gonna do right now is give you a shitload of quotes all at once, and I’ll try to keep them all sufficiently moody to suit my mood. (How many times am I gonna say mood in this post? How many licks will it take to count them? Start licking and lemme know.) (Also ew. Stop licking your monitor.)
And then, I’m gonna nominate all of you. To gimme some quotes in comments. Or post some on your own pages. Whatever floats your goat. (I know it’s supposed to be boat. Don’t you think I know that? Goats are better than boats. Trust me.) (Oooo better still, a goat in a boat. Why didn’t I think of that?!)
But first, here’s some mood music to set the tone.
Ahhhhhh, that’s better. Nothing like some good ole ambient acid jazz trip hop (seriously will we ever agree on genres?). Now, where was I? Ah yes, to the quotes! I’m gonna share some that I keep in my own personal stash of quotey goodness.
Existential Mumbo Jumbo (that I love. So stop calling it mumbo jumbo. Jerk.)
On the walls of the cave, only the shadows are the truth. ~Plato
The time will come when diligent research over long periods will bring to light things which now lie hidden. A single lifetime, even though entirely devoted to the sky, would not be enough for the investigation of so vast a subject … And so this knowledge will be unfolded only through long successive ages. There will come a time when our descendants will be amazed that we did not know things that are so plain to them … Many discoveries are reserved for ages still to come, when memory of us will have been effaced. Our universe is a sorry little affair unless it has in it something for every age to investigate … Nature does not reveal her mysteries once and for all. ~Seneca
Whew. I love this stuff.
Isn’t that the truth? Can you really say you’ve experienced true passion without struggle? I know I can’t. Next up:
He was free, free in every way, free to behave like a fool or a machine, free to accept, free to refuse, free to equivocate; to marry, to give up the game, to drag this death weight about with him for years to come. He could do what he liked, no one had the right to advise him, there would be for him no Good or Evil unless he thought them into being. ~Jean-Paul Sartre
Oh yeah, I’m not even done.
Man cannot endure his own littleness unless he can translate it into meaningfulness on the largest possible level. ~Ernest Becker
This next one is one of my all-time favorite quotes. Ever. Period.
The wound is the place where the light enters you. ~Rumi
And that’s a damn good thing, because:
We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other, but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities; we are eaten up by nothing. ~Charles Bukowski
I should probably lighten the mood, huh? At least attempt to? Cuz damn.
Lightening the Mood, or At Least Attempting To
My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness. ~Dalai Lama XIV
That’s what I’m talkin’ about, yo. Next up:
The past beats inside me like a second heart. ~John Banville
Whoopsie. That wasn’t very light, was it? (But true.) Lemme try again:
No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. ~Eleanor Roosevelt
Ahhh, that’s much better and an important one for me to remind myself of. I think I’ve got the hang of this now. Here we go:
“Words are events, they do things, change things. They transform both speaker and hearer; they feed energy back and forth and amplify it. They feed understanding or emotion back and forth and amplify it. ~Ursula K. Le Guin
I’m on a roll!
To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist; that is all. ~Oscar Wilde
Ooooops. My bad. Good quote, though. And true. Here, I’ll leave you with one final choice quote from my vaults: