I often think to myself: “There may not be enough crazy glue in the world to fix what has been broken.”
I’ve never really understood what it means to “get out of my own head.” I can’t meditate - never been able to. How is it that I’ve lived this long, yet not once have I known the sweet bliss of clearing my mind?
Lately, I’ve been finding it difficult to get excited about much of anything. That seems a strange thing to write, as I have high level anxiety, but that also depends on one’s own ‘personal definition’ of excitement.
What I mean to say is that as of late, I am without passion. For anything. I often wonder how people stay so motivated. I used to have a great deal of energy, drive - a motivation to go out and make things happen. I had life by the throat, and I loved it. Could it be possible that it is something as simple as old age?
As though a person’s “Joiu De Vivre” can slowly abate over time? That would mean that one of life’s cruelest, age old cliches is actually true: As you grow old, you become boring.
Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of things that I want out of life. However, lately I just don’t have the motivation to pursue any of them. That’s pretty sad...isn’t it? I’d say that’s a clear sign of depression.
A lot of this is my own doing. I am the “master of my own demise” so to speak. I need to learn when NOT to say things. I really just need to stop myself from talking, from time to time. So often, far too often, I find myself regretting the things I’ve said. We’re talking, immediately after...or even as it happens.
It’s similar to an out of body experience. It’s like I can see and hear myself being cruel, but I can’t do anything to stop it. All I want to do is shake myself and say “Wake up, you idiot! You’re fucking everything up again!” I do know, however, that I at least have the ability to keep it in check. I’ve done it in the past, and I think I’m beginning to remember how.
When I have little to nothing to do, I kind of lose my mind. I need structure in my life, no matter how much I try to shrug it off. I need purpose. Even something as simple as a crappy, minimum wage job. I just need somewhere to be every day. I need to be needed.
Going out for walks, creating art, spending time with friends, reading and most of all writing.Those things bring me as close as I think I’ll ever get to “getting out of my own head.” To truly meditating.
It’s really the only way I think I’ll ever stop myself from feeling like a mouse stuck in a cage, and blurting things out that I truly don’t mean. The need for self-reflection has been incredibly strong lately, and I suppose it’s time to get motivated.
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