Sunday, January 29, 2006
Don't read this, it's just another instance of feeling sorry for myself
Now I remember why I am so passionately against playing the lottery. For once I decided to play... and the disappointment of not having one single number right, and the jealousy of the people who sat there with excitement as they saw all their numbers on the screen is more than I can take in my current financial situation. The unfairness of it all. Why would somebody cash in on 1.7 million € for doing nothing more than randomly guessing 6 numbers? Where's the honesty in that? These sort of thoughts drive me crazy - though of course it would be more than fair if I were the one to have guessed the 6 correct numbers. After all, didn't I accumulate enough good karma to righteously win this by thinking of all the good things I could do for others with all the money, before thinking about all the neat things I'd do for ourselves?
Bleh, I say.
That said, I am rather senselessly depressed otherwise - and again. Or still. The reason? Impossible to pinpoint. Really, for a change, there are no reasons. I managed to distract myself over the weekend by spending a day skiing with one of my very best friends, playing some fistball, spending some family time, and enjoying this unexplainable horniness, which is still washing over me like a tsunami without end.
Is this just a way of my body to distract my mind? Is this why I am so relentlessly obsessing over getting another man into our bedroom and throwing myself into this lasciviousness I am currently going through, just to get my mind busy so I won't have to deal with whatever it is that is bothering me so?
What is it, though?
Two nights ago my grandfather was here again. Without much explanation, suffice it so say that whenever I am at my emotional worst my grandfather, who has died 14 years ago, appears in my dream and offers guidance and support. The setting is always different, the protagonists are always different, but my grandfather is there always, in all the detail my conscious mind could never remember, smiling his unforgettable smile, offering me advice, calming my raging emotions, and in the end I am always the 10-year-old girl barely reaching up to his chest, wrapping my arms around his big belly as I did so many times when he was still alive, and him tousling my hair tenderly with his large hands. When my tears start to soak his tummy and I am shaken with immense sobs is when I usually wake up, disoriented and grieving, yet strangely calmed and reassured - at least for the awakening day.
I am convinced that he does not just appear as a ghost of my neural paths and subconscious wishes. I am convinced that he is still with me, will always be, and offers me his nearness and his advice in a way he could not do when I was still a child and not in need.
That night's lesson?
"Everything can happen if you want it only badly enough."
Does this hold any meaning for how I currently feel, so unexplainably? And if so, how does it tie in?
Internet, I am feeling so out of sorts that I have actually held the phone number of a psychiatrist in my district in one hand, the phone in my trembling other. I did not call, of course. But I am starting to understand that no amount of thinking that I am all right, no amount of blogging about it, no amount of distraction strategies, and no amount of senseless crying spells will ever make me feel better. And the thing that bothers me most is the fact that I don't even know what the problem is in the first place, why I am constantly hoping something would happen to me, I would get seriously sick, something tragic would happen to the world en gros, or on the worse days creatively thinking about ways to most effectively hurt myself.
Interesting, how this blog turned from an ambitious work on self-discovery and journey to this pathetic whining spree of severe depression and the inability to help myself.
Why are you people still reading this???
Bleh, I say.
That said, I am rather senselessly depressed otherwise - and again. Or still. The reason? Impossible to pinpoint. Really, for a change, there are no reasons. I managed to distract myself over the weekend by spending a day skiing with one of my very best friends, playing some fistball, spending some family time, and enjoying this unexplainable horniness, which is still washing over me like a tsunami without end.
Is this just a way of my body to distract my mind? Is this why I am so relentlessly obsessing over getting another man into our bedroom and throwing myself into this lasciviousness I am currently going through, just to get my mind busy so I won't have to deal with whatever it is that is bothering me so?
What is it, though?
Two nights ago my grandfather was here again. Without much explanation, suffice it so say that whenever I am at my emotional worst my grandfather, who has died 14 years ago, appears in my dream and offers guidance and support. The setting is always different, the protagonists are always different, but my grandfather is there always, in all the detail my conscious mind could never remember, smiling his unforgettable smile, offering me advice, calming my raging emotions, and in the end I am always the 10-year-old girl barely reaching up to his chest, wrapping my arms around his big belly as I did so many times when he was still alive, and him tousling my hair tenderly with his large hands. When my tears start to soak his tummy and I am shaken with immense sobs is when I usually wake up, disoriented and grieving, yet strangely calmed and reassured - at least for the awakening day.
I am convinced that he does not just appear as a ghost of my neural paths and subconscious wishes. I am convinced that he is still with me, will always be, and offers me his nearness and his advice in a way he could not do when I was still a child and not in need.
That night's lesson?
"Everything can happen if you want it only badly enough."
Does this hold any meaning for how I currently feel, so unexplainably? And if so, how does it tie in?
Internet, I am feeling so out of sorts that I have actually held the phone number of a psychiatrist in my district in one hand, the phone in my trembling other. I did not call, of course. But I am starting to understand that no amount of thinking that I am all right, no amount of blogging about it, no amount of distraction strategies, and no amount of senseless crying spells will ever make me feel better. And the thing that bothers me most is the fact that I don't even know what the problem is in the first place, why I am constantly hoping something would happen to me, I would get seriously sick, something tragic would happen to the world en gros, or on the worse days creatively thinking about ways to most effectively hurt myself.
Interesting, how this blog turned from an ambitious work on self-discovery and journey to this pathetic whining spree of severe depression and the inability to help myself.
Why are you people still reading this???
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*hugs*
Quite a bit late, but just what Ingrid says. I'm reading because I love you too.
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Quite a bit late, but just what Ingrid says. I'm reading because I love you too.
# posted by 
: 12:28 AM
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