It's funny you should mention Facebook ... a rather painful and drawn out break up for myself since the weekend. Two years together and I've chosen the silence and isolation again and Facebook is being used as something as a propagnda tool against me. As much as I hate it... social media... and as much as I hate mobile phones, I can't seem to live without. Is that addiction or a really primitive and childish need for attention? I'll probably never be able to pluck up the courage to face the truth on that one.
It's funny I should have posted back here a couple of weeks ago... since then I've spent 2 weeks destroying a 2 year relationship, ignorant to everything kicking off around me and making plans to go to Alaska for a couple of weeks next year as a sighter to get away from this place in the hope I find something that might keep me entertained for a few years on savings until I have to come back and face the fact life isn't what I was hoping it would be. The line "I'm heading tonight for Alaska, and I want you to come in the Spring..." from a song 'Sun Green' by Neil Young is etched in my head and I can't shake it. There's no validation for it... Alaska seems like the only place I could go where the civilisation speaks my language, the wilderness is near enough to be safely hidden in and there's no spiders to ruin my fun. What would I do when I got there? Who knows. Sit in a hotel room and cry about how much I miss home no doubt.
I'm aware that this isn't exactly sane talk... especially as a loner from the British countryside who hasn't travelled before. Infact I can't even drive. But I'm more aware of obsessive compulsive thoughts and tasks, disturbed sleep and violent mood swings and lapses in incredibly short term memory. I've been relatively calm, all-be-it depressed, in the last couple of years so this is something of a concern in all honesty. Especially that I have an awareness of it. 'Breaking point' would be the phrase. Perhaps. I've been to madness before and I don't think I truley 'broke', I just found solice in silence and isolation. Comedy and music was the cure. I don't laugh at stuff I find funny any more ... Black Books? The funniest sit com ever written and the sensation a joke brings, the internal spile is more one of embarassment and annoyance. I have been pumped full of some crap since the end of last month, a standard anti-depressant, so maybe this is all part of the journey but I was honestly better where I was. At least I was consistent. That's what I've lost, consistency.
Also, I feel pent up. Which isn't unusual, but to the point where I feel in the right situation with a bit of 'rash' logic, which is again unlike me, I would say and do things that I wouldn't dare usually. There's a lot of physically repulsive, self important and know it all people at work I day dream about shouting in the faces and stamping on the heads off, and well... as I say, consistency isn't an option at the moment.
I mentioned 'breaking point' - I feel closer to a sense of giving up than I've ever felt. I've always had a little light of hope that because my life is relatively comfortable and I always felt if work got too much, or relationships, or socialising, I can come back here and have the comfort and security to just hide. I can afford not to work for a little while - I'm very stingy with money, so nearly 3 years of working has left a little pot doing nothing. Also scarily, that money can take me whereever I want... yet I'm still here. All these things have made that little light of hope fade to memories of being young, assuming things would work themselves out for me and not having to chase them. Never the less, the relatity has very much hit home that to get anything out of life, you have to hunt it. I don't know what I want, I never have, and I now truley believe I never will. Whatever I have is not enough, I'll always be looking for something more at times like this, and something less when those times of searching for more get too much.
I type this on the day one of only two remaining close friends, all of 23 (same as me), has just had treatment for cancer and has been told he still has to go through a few weeks of chemo, so whilst I type out this whingey rant, there's also a tremendous sense of self pity and loathing that these self caused issues are the cause for complaint when someone so close is suffering something so much worse and out of their control.
Maybe that's why I'm writing this all out in rage here rather than talking to people... sorry to use you in that respect, but the 'pity' the 'real world' (for lack of a better phrase) doesn't interest me. I used to be happy to talk about it, especially with anxiety... addressing it with people made me comfortable to behave how I needed to behave. I don't think I can justify any of this. It's just pure venom, internal and external hate, restlessness and despair.
Oh, and apparently the doctors surgery who could at best offer me a 'telephone appointment' 2 weeks ahead of time and then didn't bother actually calling me... for me to phone and get a response of 'he's not here, you'll have to call back tomorrow and make another appointment'. Now I've brought that back up maybe my anger's a touch valid.
This all started as a quick comment about Facebook but hey-ho, here I am complaining at great length. I'm at the mercy of demons again, I'm aware of this and as each phase passes I'm becoming aware of my behaviour and what I'm doing. It seems to be in episodes, very short and direct, very purposefully destructive and hopeful and hopeless in very short spells of time.
Neil Young's album Tonight's the Tonight album, when released on vinyl, had linear notes of a letter in Dutch. The reason? Because it meant everything he felt, but he couldn't read it, and everything was Dutch to him at the time. That comes to mind, for reasons I can't fully fit together.
Oh well. I'm sure I'll read this back with complete embarassment soon enough.
I sometimes feel it's a shame I don't have it in me to end it all... I always thought I would write a tremendous, artistic and meaningfully meaningless suicide note. Never mind.