June 29, 2011 § Leave a comment

My shrink says I have the pessimism of a man in middle age. Where are your misty eyes? She asks me. Why have you given up without trying? Of course I scoff at this. Misty eyes, bah. It is true that my glass is empty. And if it isn’t then why am I letting some perfectly decent cheap bourbon just sit there like that?

I am running down a hallway lined with open doors and as I run past them each one slams shut in turn. I am sure this hallway goes nowhere and yet I can’t shake the feeling that if I were to leap through one of the open doors I might find myself in an uninteresting room without an exit and so I just keep running and running. The doors become ever so slightly fewer as I run farther and farther down this seemingly endless corridor. I am not even completely sure I have control over whether or not I am able to leap through a door. This is a way I understand time and will. It is a worrisome and lonely race without end or purpose.

Getting what you want must be easier than figuring out what it is that you want.

Logically it is hard to see the possibility of free will. As Spinoza would have described it, either every action has a cause, making will an impossibility, or there are actions that are simply spontaneous; thus there are then only two possible scenarios: a world determined or a world of chaos, and wouldn’t you rather have the world determined? The worst part of this is that while I have confidence in my capacity to reason this on philosophical level, the phantom of choice still haunts me like a limb removed. And it is distressing. Like what the fuck is up with my proprioception. Or my serotonin levels. Or whatever.

You shouldn’t be this sad. You shouldn’t be this paralyzed. Here’s a different pill. What do mean I shouldn’t be this sad or this paralyzed? Are you alive? Have you seen the world? Have you seen all of the starving children and the beautiful women? Do you know that time isn’t really moving forward?

I wish so badly that there were some reason one could point to that showed why being is better than not being. I wish I could feel that sensation that people describe as a ‘looking forward to.’ I am aware I am depressing myself to death.

Fucking shut gate panic.


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