What to say. What to say.
I haven't been able to write much of anything during all of 2019. I think I managed a total of 2 essays for that entire year.
When I stopped writing on here, I knew I was in a truly blank season.
This time last January, I read about John Chrysostom's "dark night of the soul." A period of existential dread and hopelessness that all mystics experience before enlightenment. It is a time of stripping away all the dross and anything else that's blocking and hindering. It is a time where whatever divine sunlight that may or may not exist hides from you. Leaving you in utter darkness.
At the time, I thought maybe that was what I was experiencing. I just had come off this year long nomadic experience where I was trying to find God (or the Universe or Whatever) and some purpose and meaning. And while there were moments of pure transcendence on the road, on the whole I came off that trip far worse mentally and spiritually than I was when I left.
Maybe this is the stripping away, I thought.
The first four months of 2019 were rough.
Mental hospital in January.
Homeless and moneyless through February and March.
Mental hospital again at the beginning of April
Then Tulsa.
A strange place to be.
Then the friends that I moved here with began to hate each other
And I was stuck in the middle.
Constant tension and stress from June to October.
All the while I was pumped so full of psych meds that I could barely tell up from down.
Still jobless.
Lost in a fog.
Got a job back in coffee
abusive boss
my body can no longer handle being on my feet all day
It was brutal.
I felt trapped.
Very alone.
No idea what to do.
So I quit the pills.
Rallied myself.
Told myself again that I would not be happy at any job that wasn't writing.
Convinced myself that all I needed was to jump without a net.
Left that job two days before New Year's.
And for the last 15 days have been in a nearly non-stop panic attack.
There's a ton of doubt and insecurity and uncertainty.
I was not ready to jump without a net.
I needed to rebuild my strength first.
Why did I think I could write full-time after a year of not being able to write at all?
And of course, I can actually do it. I can write full time. It's just a matter of doing it.
It's just a matter of escaping my diseased and self-condemning brain.
I don't really know how to do that.
Though I think discipline is a part of it.
Meditation also, maybe.
I don't know.
But damn it. Writing or not, I want to live.
I just want to live free from all these pervasive thoughts. Even just for a day.
Maybe this is still a part of the dark night of the soul.
Maybe dawn is breaking.
Maybe it was all bullshit and I am still here on my own.
Either way, it's time to find a way out.
I am not throwing away another year.
8:07 a.m. - 2020-01-13
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