Life is a hard. A statement, perhaps a fact, and certainly the title of my favourite track on John Mellencamp’s Mr. Happy Go Lucky album. Infact as I sit here reflecting on that song another title pops into my head – Sheryl Crow’s ‘No one Said It Would Be Easy.’

Just feeling bogged down and squished. Actually ‘squished’ is not a word I would use normally, but it seems apt. Like the few specks of possibility on the landscape are disappearing and I’m being pressed down, slowly crushed by the weight of harsh realities. I never know who to talk to. I never know who I can talk to. I get depressed a lot and I am sure certain people avoid me because of this, because they don’t know what to say or how I’ll react. But I’m just disillusioned.

Somebody left a comment on this video. The timing seems quite fitting. I actually forget this video exists sometimes, that I made it. But I did. I am proud of it, actually. I like the editing. I think it explains something I needed to articulate.

The title of the video is actually an allusion to a Tori Amos song, ‘Silent All These Years.’

Years go by will I still be waiting for somebody else to understand?

I don’t have anything particularly interesting or profound to say right now. I just felt bad that I haven’t blogged in such a long time. I hope you’re all doing okay…

How to heal a broken heart. But before we get to that, how to preface this blog entry? I’m not devastated. I’m not particularly depressed. There’s just this imprint on the back of my psyche. A lot of time has passed and I am a lot better. So, with an eye toward the future, I wanted to do something symbolic to take these residual feelings and relegate them to the past forever. Here are some ideas from various sources on how that might be achieved.

Vices: Sex, alcohol, (junk) food.

Distraction. [See also: Vices.]

Religious/Metaphysical Practices: Prayer, voodoo, chants, meditation, affirmations.

Creative expression: Songwriting, writing in general, drawing, painting, video.

In the EPK for Boys For Pele, Tori Amos talks about Caught A Lite Sneeze:

Caught A Lite Sneeze specifically has nuns on it. More than nuns. Nuns invoking this myth of the female God energy. It’s really about a relationship and she’s kinda given herself away so she’s trying to get pieces back anyway she can. I mean, whoever works at that point. And if it’s Inanna or whoever. And if it works calling her in the church to evoke a little ass then you go for it.

This sentiment resonates with me because I feel like I gave pieces of myself away, pieces of my identity and certainly my confidence. I made a lot of judgments about my self-worth as a result of not having those feelings reciprocated.

Creative Consumption: Books, music, movies, poetry.

Jeff Buckley’s Grace receives notable mention here.

One of my favourites came courtesy of Twitter user @ambrosemrosie:

I like to read a book. I say to myself, ‘by the time I finish this book, it won’t hurt anymore’. And then it doesn’t!

Treating yourself kindly. Loving yourself. Looking after yourself. Reaffirming your own value.

Time. Distance. Perspective. Philosophy. Humour.

Making room for new things, new people and new feelings. Building towards a future worth having. Living life.

Know any others?

It always feels a bit presumptuous to include something here that isn’t part of the public record, but I can’t find the words to encapsulate my situation quite as well as this passage from a letter someone wrote me in 2004.

You’ve lost your sense of adventure, dude! I don’t know whether something as stereotypically “adventurous” as travelling would be an appropriate suggestion – although it well might be [...] – but either you’re not dreaming much anymore, or you’re just not telling anyone about it.

What is the point in dreaming? Everything seems to come crashing down sooner or later, anyway. I have a chip on my shoulder the area of which is, say, approximately 186.68 square kilometres. (If ever there was an obscure passive aggressive remark to be proud of, that must be it.) You know as I sit here writing now all I can hear in my head is Tori Amos’ Things Fuck Up Sometimes improv. But then she stopped half way through the song, had a moment of whimsy and picked up from where she left off. I on the other hand had a mid (quarter?) life crisis, left my job, and um… did whatever it was that I did for the last twelve months. Made some websites, recorded some videos, did a few podcasts, I guess. I wasn’t thrilled by the state of my life. I wasn’t crazy about my job, particularly. But there was one lone beacon in the distance that made everything kind of seem worthwhile. But it was a mirage, a beautiful mirage. Lee Stringer gave an interview to Andrew Denton about his writing and his cocaine addiction and he said that after his father and brother died he just lost the will to even pretend that life would somehow reward him if he played along. And that is what it was like for me too. I literally drove to work one morning and (in my car) screamed at the universe. I said, “I have never asked you for anything but this… You and I are through, we’re done. I’m not going to play anymore.” (It is one of the most irreconcilable parts of my makeup; a belief that God probably doesn’t exist, that predestination probably isn’t true while somehow being convinced there is something out there, somewhere, pulling the strings and a general feeling of being cursed.)

So, fine, I’ll own it. I opted out of my life. I mean what has the universe done for me lately, you know?!

Maybe I’m not supposed to be happy.

Intellectually I know setbacks are a part of life. There are books and podcasts and videos in my arsenal with people talking about their creative – and life – struggles. There is nothing particularly special or different about me. I just don’t know if I have what it takes to try. Even now I do sometimes dream, but each time there is a part of my psyche that goes, “Wouldn’t that be great, but I can’t do that. I’ll fall on my face. I’m not good enough, talented enough, creative enough…” Although I rarely actually articulate those thoughts. Instead I go and eat too much or sleep in the hopes that the impulse is gone by the time I wake up. I don’t have any worth. I don’t even pretend anymore. I have lost the will to even try to keep up that facade. I don’t want to live this way, but I don’t know how to change this. I actually really want to believe in some benevolent force in the world because it would make it easier to try. Because, fuck, that is all I really want at this point – some support. I want to feel like I matter. I want to feel as though the things I do matter. I want a sense that I’m not alone and that somebody has my back. What I do feel is that nobody cares, that I’m not important, and that there is a seemingly-revolving door of people in my life. People just aren’t there one day and I’ll probably never know why and it breaks my heart.