Assessing the present is as much a function of comparing to past and future as it is correctly ascertaining the verity of one's self. And that can pose a significant number of problems when one's past and future are not realistically rendered in one's mind. It's a common enough practice to nostalgize the past into a myth of relative peace and simplicity, making the present seem much worse by comparison. It also seems common, at least in my personal experience, to make the future into something that has to be better than the now for all kinds of reasons. And when the present is bookended by these two fictions, it doesn't bode well for realism.
I suppose I should consider myself fortunate in that I'm a rather hopeful person. I've been suicidal, yes, and I'm not all that far removed from such macabre sentiments. But I'm continually struggling to understand, to improve, to fight towards a future better than today. I don't have hope that I'll find it, but I haven't given up on it either.
However, I also don't have a solid history of happiness to really be able to say what I'm looking for. With Laura, I was inoculated. I could feel joy through her, feel loved through her, live through her and use her as my conduit to "the real" feelings I couldn't experience myself. It was pleasant if not more; I always had something to look forward to, always had something to fall back upon, always had that safety in the back of my mind. And when she left, it was as if my shelter had been torn away, exposing me to the gales and bitter cold of a harsh reality. For she was just that: a shelter, a bubble, a construct to help me avoid my demons, not defeat them.
And, aside from the time I was with her, I've been fairly unhappy. So what am I working towards?
Today, for a few brief hours, I felt it. It was a mood swing, in some senses. Certainly, it's a week before Spring Break and, overall, it looks to be an easy enough week. But there were times where I felt a kind of... uplifting spirit, a verve (pardon the pun) that pushed me to get work done without being forced, to eat better by pure volition, to smile and be smiled at almost cheerfully (my mood, alone, translated into better reactions from other walkers on my weekly Greenway trek). It was positive! "Life is real, Life is earnest!" I was buoyant and energetic and friendly and and and
And I felt like it was how I want to feel all the time. It was almost amazing, as if thinking, "Is this how other people feel very often? They have no idea how great they have it!" Somehow I doubt it's that simple. But it was lovely, and I dreamed of brights futures, different names, different clothes, and long flowing hair.
Hope does that to me. Rest does that to me. I went to church today and the sermon was on "wounded healers." It centered around the story of a Navajo tormented over being a "half-breed" who was in a POW camp in Nazi Germany. Released weighing only 63 lbs, the elders of his tribe saw in him the potential to be a shaman. So they trained him, tried him, and inspired him to become a healer (and eventually a UU minister).
The point of the sermon, though, was an emphasis upon how pain builds compassion and empathy. I am not empathetic to the small joys and sorrows of life, for I live too much inside my head. But of pain, I know my way. Like a friend commented in an earlier entry, I have been here before and I am steadily working my way out. I've always wanted to be a healer. It's my preferred role in games, my preferred role in life (support), my preferred push. Unlike in a game, of course, I cannot simply push a button and a person gets better. I want to be a holy creature, though, one who knows of artifice and agony, desolation and despair, but who acknowledges while overcoming. I want to be that wounded healer.
And I think I might be able to. The surer I am of being and doing who I want to be and do, the better I feel. It makes me think I'm on a good path. It makes me think that joy is no errant mood swing but a foreshadowing of wonders to come. God, a girl can hope.
But then the pressures return, the scraping in my chest of pressures here and there, and I'm back in the purgatory, the caterpillar, the wasteland between. I have my hopes, though. The future's terrifying and exhilarating . But right now isn't too bad either.
I suppose I should consider myself fortunate in that I'm a rather hopeful person. I've been suicidal, yes, and I'm not all that far removed from such macabre sentiments. But I'm continually struggling to understand, to improve, to fight towards a future better than today. I don't have hope that I'll find it, but I haven't given up on it either.
However, I also don't have a solid history of happiness to really be able to say what I'm looking for. With Laura, I was inoculated. I could feel joy through her, feel loved through her, live through her and use her as my conduit to "the real" feelings I couldn't experience myself. It was pleasant if not more; I always had something to look forward to, always had something to fall back upon, always had that safety in the back of my mind. And when she left, it was as if my shelter had been torn away, exposing me to the gales and bitter cold of a harsh reality. For she was just that: a shelter, a bubble, a construct to help me avoid my demons, not defeat them.
And, aside from the time I was with her, I've been fairly unhappy. So what am I working towards?
Today, for a few brief hours, I felt it. It was a mood swing, in some senses. Certainly, it's a week before Spring Break and, overall, it looks to be an easy enough week. But there were times where I felt a kind of... uplifting spirit, a verve (pardon the pun) that pushed me to get work done without being forced, to eat better by pure volition, to smile and be smiled at almost cheerfully (my mood, alone, translated into better reactions from other walkers on my weekly Greenway trek). It was positive! "Life is real, Life is earnest!" I was buoyant and energetic and friendly and and and
And I felt like it was how I want to feel all the time. It was almost amazing, as if thinking, "Is this how other people feel very often? They have no idea how great they have it!" Somehow I doubt it's that simple. But it was lovely, and I dreamed of brights futures, different names, different clothes, and long flowing hair.
Hope does that to me. Rest does that to me. I went to church today and the sermon was on "wounded healers." It centered around the story of a Navajo tormented over being a "half-breed" who was in a POW camp in Nazi Germany. Released weighing only 63 lbs, the elders of his tribe saw in him the potential to be a shaman. So they trained him, tried him, and inspired him to become a healer (and eventually a UU minister).
The point of the sermon, though, was an emphasis upon how pain builds compassion and empathy. I am not empathetic to the small joys and sorrows of life, for I live too much inside my head. But of pain, I know my way. Like a friend commented in an earlier entry, I have been here before and I am steadily working my way out. I've always wanted to be a healer. It's my preferred role in games, my preferred role in life (support), my preferred push. Unlike in a game, of course, I cannot simply push a button and a person gets better. I want to be a holy creature, though, one who knows of artifice and agony, desolation and despair, but who acknowledges while overcoming. I want to be that wounded healer.
And I think I might be able to. The surer I am of being and doing who I want to be and do, the better I feel. It makes me think I'm on a good path. It makes me think that joy is no errant mood swing but a foreshadowing of wonders to come. God, a girl can hope.
But then the pressures return, the scraping in my chest of pressures here and there, and I'm back in the purgatory, the caterpillar, the wasteland between. I have my hopes, though. The future's terrifying and exhilarating . But right now isn't too bad either.
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