It’s been a rough two weeks, yet nobody knows because I’m very good at suffering in silence and courting internal maelstroms that tear up just about everything. I legitimately thought I was done with such scenarios for a long time, if ever, due to the transformative events earlier this year and the tail end of last. In some respects, I was right. I was done for such scenarios involving massive uncertainty in doing this adulting thing and gaining a foothold in world that is partial to mudslides. But that was only one piece of the puzzle I had come to discover, despite feeling as though it was nearly the whole. So after my emotional hangover, it all hit me like a ton of bricks. At my desk. Before 11am.
What, pray tell, caught me like a blind man walking into oncoming traffic? Well, it would be easy to label it as a breakdown of the emotional and mental sort, but it was different. It came on very strong like the drunkest of frat boys and I was shook.
Earlier that morning I had vainly sent a text to certain paranormal apparition, blithely thinking I would get a response. I knew the score, but I didn’t want to believe it. On top of that, I discovered some unpleasant family news regarding my father’s latest foray into idiocy in the form of an adopted child. Garnish with some frustration and disdain with dating scene and you get a delicious shit sandwich.
Mind you, each of these aspects started off coming in waves, one after the other. I was able to shrug them off as I continued to type away at work. Then they grouped up and the waves got more frequent. It was harder to concentrate, but I was able to manage. Then they all said “Fuck it” and came at once. I literally froze as they swirled about my gut and my head. In my paralysis, my eyes did well up and I snapped out of it, doing my damnest to dam those tears from coming through. I refused to fold at that desk.
I carry with me feelings of existential dread at all times. But I learned to keep them in check with massive amounts of positivity and youthful optimism. Although, the longer I harbor things, the more negativity gets to take over and the heavier that existential weight becomes.
At critical mass, I experience what I call “extreme existential anguish,” that usually can be dispelled through a creative outlet. If I don’t do it in time or enough to keep all this shit at bay, it manifests itself in different ways; severe depressive moments, emotional meltdown, or paralytic anxiety are the most common. I was visited by all three that day.
Now, I was cognizant of what I needed to do, but I didn’t do it. Why? Because I didn’t want to accept the fact that being ghosted immediately after a real connection actually hurt. Because for all the madness and bullshit that follows my father, I didn’t want to admit it still frustrates me. Because as much as I hate(d) the enterprise of dating, I didn’t want to admit I was more bothered by being the only single person at outings. Lastly, I didn’t want to admit that being “established” was much less of the puzzle than I believed.
At this point, it’s just too fucking hard to deny the need of my entire being. I needed release through something. There was no more room to compartmentalize the bullshit. It had to come out. It made me chuckle as the tears began their descent that my “oh shit button” for EEA (Emotional existential anguish) was a pen and notebook.
I push off from my desk and make my way to the historic building nearby because something was calling me there. I don’t know what. I sit at a lounge area and my pen nearly leaped on to the page after opening my notebook. I penned my pain until I dispelled that storm inside of me. Three poems and a short expose later, I felt relieved. Mildly distraught, but mostly okay.
Even as tears fell mid-poem, I wasn’t sad. It was all wet frustration and liquid bewilderment. Why shit didn’t pan out despite my best efforts and my ascension to this “professional” level? This romantic circus was supposed end by now. I knew damn well why it didn’t though. I was to learn something. Life knows the most effective lessons for me involve women, my father, and denial of closure.
These are the three things that, time and again, can break my resolve, if I let them. I thought I was immune to girl problems because of my dealings with choice characters the first 3 months of this year and the epiphany that followed. I thought I was immune to my father’s antics because I’m 2,000 miles away with no material ties to him and a commitment to keeping the same energy. I thought I could just hang back and let love find me with no effort on my part, while being aloof. Alas, I thought wrong.
Ignoring my own humanity and the flaws that come with this corporeal thing, will always lead to some heavy existential shit. Just because I slip up doesn’t mean all the progress I’ve made thus far is invalidated. It confirms that life consists of more skills, than states. So I have to keep working at it, correcting my form when I fuck up. And I fucked up these past two weeks, royally. Even still, my black ass is getting back on that stallion to ride with my flaws, fears, and follies along the trail I’ve been blazing, right into the sunset I want to see with “WIN” by Jay Rock on repeat.