The Fucking Sadness And A Paradox
No tears. No tears from this gypsy.
I feel sad. Sort of woke up this way, and no idea why really.
Sometimes I think I have created such a habit for such a long time of suppressing my emotions; that I am going through this cycle of experiencing the remnants of past experiences still. They just pop up out of no where and kind of take over.
They take over in the sense that I can't just change to being happy for the day. They take over by way of having no explanation. Just a feeling.
At first I thought it was beer from last night. But I only had 3. But I did catch a pattern of being more beer hungry lately. Sometimes I think I can sense whats coming and the old coping mechanisms kick in for a few days.
Its like being hung over, but not hung over.
I wanted to cry earlier, a couple times. But of course... me no cry.
I come close sometimes. But its like I forgot how. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I have cried in my life.
I started working on my lyricist project and went strait for the sad country instrumental song I found on you tube.
The words "empty", "cry", "no tears" came up and I immediately started thinking about 2 people I hold extremely dear to my heart. Yeah, there is the sweet spot.
I just felt my eyes turn fluid. It's gone now.
The thing is, I never got to say good bye. I stayed angry for a very long time because it just wasn't fucking fair.
Why the fuck, the two people who know me best; the two people who for some goddamn reason could see into my soul, see who I am for who I am. Why the fuck are they taken from me?
I still to this day feel that know one really gets me. Shit, I don't even get myself.
But they did. My grandpa "Smitte". A wise crack always playing jokes on my grandma. She hates snakes by the way.
And Dee. I was her yard boy. I tended her flower gardens and mowed the yard. She made the best sandwiches I have ever tasted.
Im veering away from my feeling. Reminiscing about how I want to remember them. I don't even remember the goddamn funerals. Sure as hell don't remember what they looked like in the casket, or if I even did take a gander that way. And why would I want to?
I was angry because they were taken too soon. I was angry because they were gone when I needed them the most. Selfish. So fucking what.
I got over the anger. I balled my fucking eyes out one time in the car. Listening to some song that brought the emotions and memory to the surface. I finally just let myself cry. Said a prayer to forgive myself and let them go.
But I still get sad. I was told the other day that it doesn't get easier. You just learn to deal with it better. And that's starting to make more sense.
My disposition creates chaos. But its a beautiful chaos.
So here I am. A sad day. And I think the only difference is that I am actually doing something to work through it. Its not as crippling as it used to be. The numbness has subsided drastically. I notice that I actually feel emotions beyond the dark fucking blackness of nothing, or just sheer anger.
I take note and don't attach to them like I use to. I don't incessantly over think it to the point that the same fucking thought just gets stuck in a brainless feedback loop, feeding back nothing but confusion and another trip to the beer fridge.
I imagine there are other people that go through the same thing. I even caught myself lying about it today like the old habit I was accustomed to.
When asked how I was doing when I walked into Backstreet Art, I said "good!".
I even said it emphatically, and put a positive inflection at the end of "good" just to sell it a little better. But I was probably only trying to confuse myself. I'm sure people can tell. I don't know if I'm that good at hiding how I feel really.
And then it got too much, or just too many people. I needed to be alone. I confessed that I lied, and said that I was actually feeling sad. Then came here.
I feel better in the sense that I don't have to keep thinking about it. I've noticed that just simply speaking it out loud, telling someone; or in this case splooging it out through typing helps with the process side of it.
I'm still sad, but I feel more concrete in it. Its not empty feeling like it was a few minutes ago.
On my way home I turned a corner and saw the words "you belong here", then the time on my phone simultaneously was 1:11. And the immediate thought was that I belong in this sadness. Its not bad. Its not good. Its real. Its authentic in it's innateness.
And that is the crux of my disposition; I like to think. I strive to be authentic. But this fear of telling my story as it unfolds in real time does nothing but slowly cripple me. Being honest would help with that.
I wonder what would happen if all the humans began telling their truth as it sits on their heart in the present moment? And lets couple that with humans who listen with intent because they want to give a damn. I'll tell you what would happen.
A fucking emotional revolution bridging the gap between every divide spanning back multiple generations of societal and cultural renderings that bite at everyone's psyche.
And this how I see things. A grandiose dream of authenticity. A working progress for me for sure, but I do find lightness in expressing my shit as I personally feel and see it. It's funny how it works.
The emptiness in my gut is gone. I feel slightly invigorated in my chest now. Still sad, but ironically happy in my sadness.
I often struggle with being upfront about these sort of feelings. I usually tell myself that no one wants to hear about how I'm sad. Why would they want that on their plate? They have their own shit to deal with.
But this idea comes back to me, about talking your shit out. A friend said it one time. She was sooo good at just throwing her shit at me. Not that she was actually throwing shit.
She was just good at expressing how she felt about situations throughout her day. And usually, inevitably she would come to her own conclusion and basically work through what ever it was. Maybe I would say one little thing, maybe I wouldn't.
But at the end of her ranting, she would smile and say, "see, thats why you gotta talk your shit out with people".
I don't think it really has anything to do with getting anyone to understand you. At least in my case. Its is more about working through that feeling and speaking it out loud. trusting someone enough to tell them. Trusting myself enough to tell them. And in that simple act of sharing there is an exchange of sorts. Even if no words are said back, I think its having someone with the willingness for just a moment to sit in that emotion with me.
No they might not have any idea what I'm saying. But they are there. And they are present. And they are listening.
And maybe that's all it takes. I mean what do you do when you go see a psychiatrist? He just sits there and listens and you have to pay him for it. Fuck that. Find a stranger to do that with. They would probably have more insight anyway lol. Kidding.
I know psychiatrists come in handy for various reason. But you get what I'm saying.
So to sharing. Sharing your glory. Sharing your shit. Just fucking sharing. Cause sharing is caring.
And at least for me, its sounds like a paradox. To open up my shit and share my darkness; how could that translate to caring. But it does.
It shows that I care about myself enough to at the very least make an attempt. And you know what I think. I think, by default, that opening up about my shit, probably creates a greater sense of caring for others. And there in lies the paradox.
Quite possibly a shift in a paradigm.
So to shifting paradigms. To sharing more. To caring more.
I fucking love you.
'La Loving Logan'
I feel sad. Sort of woke up this way, and no idea why really.
Sometimes I think I have created such a habit for such a long time of suppressing my emotions; that I am going through this cycle of experiencing the remnants of past experiences still. They just pop up out of no where and kind of take over.
They take over in the sense that I can't just change to being happy for the day. They take over by way of having no explanation. Just a feeling.
At first I thought it was beer from last night. But I only had 3. But I did catch a pattern of being more beer hungry lately. Sometimes I think I can sense whats coming and the old coping mechanisms kick in for a few days.
Its like being hung over, but not hung over.
I wanted to cry earlier, a couple times. But of course... me no cry.
I come close sometimes. But its like I forgot how. I think I can count on one hand the number of times I have cried in my life.
I started working on my lyricist project and went strait for the sad country instrumental song I found on you tube.
The words "empty", "cry", "no tears" came up and I immediately started thinking about 2 people I hold extremely dear to my heart. Yeah, there is the sweet spot.
I just felt my eyes turn fluid. It's gone now.
The thing is, I never got to say good bye. I stayed angry for a very long time because it just wasn't fucking fair.
Why the fuck, the two people who know me best; the two people who for some goddamn reason could see into my soul, see who I am for who I am. Why the fuck are they taken from me?
I still to this day feel that know one really gets me. Shit, I don't even get myself.
But they did. My grandpa "Smitte". A wise crack always playing jokes on my grandma. She hates snakes by the way.
And Dee. I was her yard boy. I tended her flower gardens and mowed the yard. She made the best sandwiches I have ever tasted.
Im veering away from my feeling. Reminiscing about how I want to remember them. I don't even remember the goddamn funerals. Sure as hell don't remember what they looked like in the casket, or if I even did take a gander that way. And why would I want to?
I was angry because they were taken too soon. I was angry because they were gone when I needed them the most. Selfish. So fucking what.
I got over the anger. I balled my fucking eyes out one time in the car. Listening to some song that brought the emotions and memory to the surface. I finally just let myself cry. Said a prayer to forgive myself and let them go.
But I still get sad. I was told the other day that it doesn't get easier. You just learn to deal with it better. And that's starting to make more sense.
My disposition creates chaos. But its a beautiful chaos.
So here I am. A sad day. And I think the only difference is that I am actually doing something to work through it. Its not as crippling as it used to be. The numbness has subsided drastically. I notice that I actually feel emotions beyond the dark fucking blackness of nothing, or just sheer anger.
I take note and don't attach to them like I use to. I don't incessantly over think it to the point that the same fucking thought just gets stuck in a brainless feedback loop, feeding back nothing but confusion and another trip to the beer fridge.
I imagine there are other people that go through the same thing. I even caught myself lying about it today like the old habit I was accustomed to.
When asked how I was doing when I walked into Backstreet Art, I said "good!".
I even said it emphatically, and put a positive inflection at the end of "good" just to sell it a little better. But I was probably only trying to confuse myself. I'm sure people can tell. I don't know if I'm that good at hiding how I feel really.
And then it got too much, or just too many people. I needed to be alone. I confessed that I lied, and said that I was actually feeling sad. Then came here.
I feel better in the sense that I don't have to keep thinking about it. I've noticed that just simply speaking it out loud, telling someone; or in this case splooging it out through typing helps with the process side of it.
I'm still sad, but I feel more concrete in it. Its not empty feeling like it was a few minutes ago.
On my way home I turned a corner and saw the words "you belong here", then the time on my phone simultaneously was 1:11. And the immediate thought was that I belong in this sadness. Its not bad. Its not good. Its real. Its authentic in it's innateness.
And that is the crux of my disposition; I like to think. I strive to be authentic. But this fear of telling my story as it unfolds in real time does nothing but slowly cripple me. Being honest would help with that.
I wonder what would happen if all the humans began telling their truth as it sits on their heart in the present moment? And lets couple that with humans who listen with intent because they want to give a damn. I'll tell you what would happen.
A fucking emotional revolution bridging the gap between every divide spanning back multiple generations of societal and cultural renderings that bite at everyone's psyche.
And this how I see things. A grandiose dream of authenticity. A working progress for me for sure, but I do find lightness in expressing my shit as I personally feel and see it. It's funny how it works.
The emptiness in my gut is gone. I feel slightly invigorated in my chest now. Still sad, but ironically happy in my sadness.
I often struggle with being upfront about these sort of feelings. I usually tell myself that no one wants to hear about how I'm sad. Why would they want that on their plate? They have their own shit to deal with.
But this idea comes back to me, about talking your shit out. A friend said it one time. She was sooo good at just throwing her shit at me. Not that she was actually throwing shit.
She was just good at expressing how she felt about situations throughout her day. And usually, inevitably she would come to her own conclusion and basically work through what ever it was. Maybe I would say one little thing, maybe I wouldn't.
But at the end of her ranting, she would smile and say, "see, thats why you gotta talk your shit out with people".
I don't think it really has anything to do with getting anyone to understand you. At least in my case. Its is more about working through that feeling and speaking it out loud. trusting someone enough to tell them. Trusting myself enough to tell them. And in that simple act of sharing there is an exchange of sorts. Even if no words are said back, I think its having someone with the willingness for just a moment to sit in that emotion with me.
No they might not have any idea what I'm saying. But they are there. And they are present. And they are listening.
And maybe that's all it takes. I mean what do you do when you go see a psychiatrist? He just sits there and listens and you have to pay him for it. Fuck that. Find a stranger to do that with. They would probably have more insight anyway lol. Kidding.
I know psychiatrists come in handy for various reason. But you get what I'm saying.
So to sharing. Sharing your glory. Sharing your shit. Just fucking sharing. Cause sharing is caring.
And at least for me, its sounds like a paradox. To open up my shit and share my darkness; how could that translate to caring. But it does.
It shows that I care about myself enough to at the very least make an attempt. And you know what I think. I think, by default, that opening up about my shit, probably creates a greater sense of caring for others. And there in lies the paradox.
Quite possibly a shift in a paradigm.
So to shifting paradigms. To sharing more. To caring more.
I fucking love you.
'La Loving Logan'
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