There aren’t any little things in life for me lately. Things are just all dramatic and what seems like life shattering. Although I’m keeping my head above water, it’s really starting to get to me. As I adventure through life as an anonymous alcoholic, I’m learning exactly WHY things seems more severe and I feel more passionate towards things that before didn’t really matter much. It’s because life is a big deal. Living is a big deal, and dying is no laughing matter.
Let me preface this with my definition of “death” – the ending result of loss of life. It can be death of a relationship, death of a living creature, or death to an idea. I’ve found that I’m experiencing all sorts of those all at once. I’m surrounded by death. It’s everywhere. I can look out at people that usually know me as happy-go-lucky and I have this somber look about me. I’ve even been asked if I’m “all in there”, rest assured I am. Death is just a bitch. I’ve never dealt with it before.
Lets pick this apart using a very excellent analogy I heard locally. A buddy of a buddy told a dude once “You know, normal people they just kind of step over mouse turds and go about their business. I however, over think and prepare and exert all this unnecessary effort in getting over something that most people would find easy, if not invisible. In the relationship aspect there is no “invisible”, you can’t pretend is isn’t/wasn’t/won’t be there. It’s always going to be a hot topic and something certainly worth pole vaulting over any size turd for. I, however, have been soiling on purpose just to see if I can vault over my own turds in addition to the random ones that get dropped into my life.
Instead of dealing with other peoples problems as they relate to my own, I was shitting in other peoples cages. That isn’t right, I feel badly about that. Now I’m on a search seek and clean mission, not just for myself but to try to heal the people that I made deal with my pole vaulting mentality. Something as little and simple as what to eat for dinner became as big an event as the Super Bowl. My ability to make something out of nothing was extreme…and I was extremely pissed when it all came into light for me. All of the energy I spent in my relationships (past and present) I’ve been looking for stuff to jump over instead of just focusing on everything else going on. I was constantly on poo patrol.
It stunk, but nobodies fault but my own.
Death of a creature is something that I guess I know, but then again I don’t know. There is this hole that gets ripped inside of you, which causes pain and confusion. Instead of focusing on the overall picture of being out of pain, I’ve found that I just focus on the “woe is me” aspect and wallow in my own self pity. I use this as a tool to arrange for a pole vault extravaganza and find sadness wherever I look. Oh, that song was his favorite, oh that cookie was her favorite, oh she was the best cat and loved to play in the leaves, oh that car was so amazing. I jump from turd to turd just anticipating a moment in which I can stew in my sad juices and think about my own death. Piling up my own turds. Sigh.
I didn’t realize how facinated with death I really am until speaking aloud in class the other day about how I would react to a certain situation. This in turn lead to me plainly answering “I wouldn’t deal with it, I’d find the tallest tree and the shortest rope and swing in the breeze.” This of course didn’t amuse anybody in the class, and I’m sure it alerted the instructor, but that’s exactly what I was feeling. Damn it, if I’m going to fuck up, I’m going to do it with style and punish myself afterwards.
I realized, however, I don’t have to fuck up. I don’t have to use all of that energy In order to properly save myself from this life long pole vault extravaganza, I’d have to commit myself to death of ideas.
The idea that I’m not good enough for anybody.
The idea that I’m not strong enough to become who I want to be.
The idea that I’m not smart enough to make good decisions.
The idea that I’m a troll from under a bridge.
The idea that I’m destined to be a screw up.
Last night I experienced death…death of pride. I really thought it would come in a different way, but it was subtle and really was a sucker punch. As I prepared myself for sleep I put my head against my pillow and listened. What I used to hear was the occasional car and perhaps owl hooting outside. Last night it was surround sound of three old men all sharing the same house snoring to their hearts content. They had their own special lives in their own private rooms and I was just like them. They’re all over 50, I’m thirty. I can’t go another 20 years plus of living this life. I won’t go another 20 plus years of being on an air mattress and listening to the three stooges in concert. In order to make this happen death has to occur.
Death of ideas, death of a few dreams, death of a few relationships. Most important though, with death comes new life. We’ll see what happens.