Thursday, February 05, 2015

Lists, Etc.

I can only recall this one existence. I have not been able to determine whether or not some morsel of me has existed before this life, not that it really matters, but all that means is that I can't think largely enough for the things I'm trying to comprehend.

Like, what do I know about what happens after I abandon this life? Do I stop existing or do I keep on going? Let's assume for the sake of argument that I just dissolve. That's what I want right now, anyway, so I'm going to indulge that desire. 

There I go, fizzling out, dissolved.

Now that I'm gone, let's make a list of the things that I could do in the moment before I dissolved, and I can't after:

1. Eat Nutella
2. Hug people and things and dogs and myself
3. Drive
4. Sing
5. Learn

...and I really don't care about anything else.

I've shoved myself into a corner of a room that isn't mine but that I'm borrowing, completed by a giant wall decal of Mickey Mouse with hands held high, reminding me to have a wonderful day at work because I live just a couple hours from the Happiest Place on Earth, irony notwithstanding. I'm afraid that I take up too much space, or that 24 years of uninvited existence are catching up with me, or that I'm falling into the black dots.

I feel spent. Evidently, I'm good enough to work all day at jobs that I like, but I'm unworthy of receiving help for the things that I don't like. Unsure about what's happening. Questioning my impulsivity. Wondering each day if that sunset will be my last, tears escaping because maybe I won't ever see my family or friends ever again, because today is the day that I might go? 

But people want me to stay. I can't understand why. But because of that, I probably will.

With the same breath, though, I can't make any promises. And I can't promise that I'll keep the promises I've already made, foolishly. 

List of foolish promises I've made:
1. I'll get help
2. I'll get better
3. Everything will be fine

Here's the thing. I made those promises in order for them to serve as a cushion between reality and the delicate heads of the people I love, not because they're promises that will be met. The truth is, these promises are largely independent of my efforts. I've been told that I am not an island. And since that seems to be the truth, I can't do any of this by myself, nor can I do this my way. It all depends on the availability of help. If the resources do not exist, then they will not be provided; if the advocacy is not available, then it will not be given.

It won't. And once again, dears, the joke is on me and my ridiculous tendency to hope for better. Those bits of hope long dissolved, and those tiny victories turned lies, weigh heavy on me larger than the sum of their parts. It's unphysical, and as such, I cannot solve it.

That is why my existence is unexplainable and irreparable. And that is why there is absolutely nothing that any of you can do. 

So stop trying. I've won some, but it's more than likely that I'll lose this one. And if I do survive, I'm not sure what happens next.

But then again, heading for the hills might be the only thing that can save me, or ever will.