Gregorian Rant

I can't take it anymore. My creative abilities have gone to Hell and (unlike most everything else) haven't come back. It's so frustrating sitting in front of my drawing notebook, pencil poised in fading anticipation, and not having anything come out onto the paper. Or sitting at my computer or with my notebook and having random lines float through my head that never make it to the paper (or screen, as the case may be). Ever have a dream that was just so cool you had to write it or draw it or both? Well, I don't dream. Or at least, I never remember the precious few I have. People talk about that "feeling" they have in the morning when they know they had a remarkable dream last night. I don't even get that. Though I suppose I could attribute that to my anti-depressants (supposedly the affect memory, but it's supposed to be a beneficial effect) What's worse is that I wouldn't need anti-depressants if I wasn't on them! And then there's that question: What of my mind? We can all see that my body is perfectly fine (well, all the parts you can see, at least), but what of my mind? My mind, I fear, has fallen into the abyss of uncertainty, fear, and now nears the depths of depression. Having been there (and having done some ...unpleasant... things) I know that is not where I want to be but force myself there anyway. No, I speak falsehoods; my parents and myself force me there. It almost seems to be my mother's duty to find reasons to dub me "Ye Olde Failure" and prove it to me.

Sometimes I just want to cry. But then there's that age-old taboo against men crying. I know that "rule" is shit, but nevertheless I have been imprinted: it is almost impossible for me to cry. I didn't cry at all when my cat (my best friend from Second grade to Junior year of high school) died. I didn't cry when my mother said that I couldn't go to the Christmas Dance with my first girlfriend during Sophomore year. I can't remember the last time I cried, but gods I want to. I WANT to cry. Someone, anyone, make me cry! But if that happens, I don't know if I'll ever stop. Dammit, I hate this! I can't express any emotions besides anger and/or frustration...hence all that "dark" poetry you might have read of mine. It takes little-to-no work to figure out that all those characters in my stories or my poetry are ME. Fallen Angel, Repentant Werewolf, Defiant Human. All me.

But why do I write about me when I'm so pitiful? I sit here and write without words, draw without pictures, sing without music. I play Risk and Magic against myself. I immerse countless hours in pointless video games. I might as well bang my head against the wall. I might actually dream if I did that. Or at least see little purple spots. And it never fails that when I've had a good day, something happens just before bed to fuck the whole thing up. It usually involves mom or dad or both getting mad at me and starting up a screaming match. Not fun. What's worse? Apparently logic is not allowed in these screaming matches either, which means what? Oh, right: I CAN'T WIN. So I get screwed in the ear every single time and can't do a damn thing about it.

I'm a pathetic loser pretender. I constantly make myself out to be what I'm not...and then when I can't deliver, I get screwed. What's worse than that is not being able to express myself. I want to make music, but don't have the talent or the expertise or the patience. I want to write poetry and prose, but can't do either due to a case of terminal writer's block. I want to be loved, to be cared for, to be held and told "It'll all be OK." Who gives a damn if I'm going into college or not?! I want to be comforted...but it's not really something you ask for.

"Save me from my personal Hell!" I should scream, but then I'd just get looked at funny before people crossed to the other side of the street. People might even think I was some religious nut, like those goons who stand on streetcorners with signs that say things like "Repent! The End is Near!" or "Come the Rapture, We'll Have This Place To Ourselves!" Frankly, religion is a crutch and should be treated as such: if your soul needs healing/saving, go to religion. It'll help you heal. But other than that, you're just gimping yourself, if you'll excuse the terminology.

Oh, there's more to me yet: you haven't even glimpsed the dark side. This is the frustrated, enraged, grayed line between light (happiness and joy) and dark (evil and deceit)...though truthfully my soul resides on the dark side.

We all have a dark side, you know. I dance with mine infrequently, only when I know I'll be able to recover from it's heavy-hitting blows. And I'm afraid that the only path to light (short of some very drastic circumstances) involves me traveling around the dark side of the moon, into the deepest darkest depths of my soul, and defeating what evil being resides there and is destroying me from the inside out.

Knowing me, and knowing fate, there will be nothing on the dark side but myself...proving that I AM my own worst enemy.