oiseaux-de-proie
corps éthérés
The air is cold and carries a stillness untainted by warm breath.
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A year and a half since an actual post? I am sitting here staring at this blog again instead of writing an essay I need to. I think I will write here again instead of trying for the billionth time to start a new one.
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flowers in the mountains by Sam N
instagram.com/snofzig
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written a few weeks ago
He is in the cold forest again. It is night. The perpetually leafless trees are thick all around him and clouds are rolling across the sky above. The moon is bright, bright enough for the trees to cast shadows and for the remnants of snow on the forest floor to stand out stark white. He has been back here for days now but the dream is at the forefront of his mind still, its image not losing its vividness but its essence feeling increasingly more incomprehensible and formless, something his mind is no longer able to step into. Even so he cannot let go of it because he knows that place is real, it felt real to him then. He was certain he had stepped into it and was not sure why he was back here, the return, the waking up, had happened in a blur. He felt he simply had forgotten his way there. The wendigo was oddly silent, as if waiting for him to realize something. A sneaking part of himself suspected that the wendigo had pulled him back here and was taunting him, waiting for him to break, but he knew in reality that their parting in the dream had been one of mutual respect. The wendigo knew it was time for him to leave the forest, and also knew that he would return to visit, never entirely severing it from the last warmth of his life force.
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Back
I am here again. It is cumbersome to write by hand, more and more.
I have been tossing and turning trying to sleep but I feel something is bothering me. I feel it worming around deep down. Like the fabric of everything holding my reality together is going to be sucked away. I am overall doing better than I have been lately, but that nagging thing is persistent.
Abhorrence with the world? I can’t tell. I feel trapped. A lot has gone on since I wrote here, and sparsely have I written of things in my physical journal. The will fails me often when I sit down to use it because it just doesn’t feel like my thoughts flow. I don’t think I’ve written really anything consistent since the beginning of last semester.
What is bothering me- my head hurts and it feels like there is this nausea and sickness somewhere. Thinking of classes doesn’t give me the liberation it used to or ideas. I feel less wonder, I think. I know I’m in a slump. I’m adjusting my medication. But something about my aim going to college and trying to engage with the world has been seriously thrown. I wonder what the point of me aiming for academia is, of trying to get these degrees. Why I am trying to network. Why spend the long hours studying, and reading essays, and writing critical papers when I could be creating other things.
I need to bring back creation. I keep telling myself this. Without it I think I feel dead, and I’m getting more and more dead.
I haven’t felt much of a breath of fresh air lately until I started reading Frankenstein for one of my classes. It just resonates with me on some level and ties back to the core of some concept that seems to resonate inherently. And for once I am finding myself wrapped up in characters again, especially Victor. Shelley romanticizes so much I think, but I think I am drawn to it. There is something essential in it. And there is something about Victor’s character and childhood. And his relationship with Elizabeth.
I think I am in some ways tired of being shown gritty reality. A lot in college has been focus and awareness of how the world is systemically violent, how we are caught up in frameworks, and sometimes it makes society feel like this big machine that is trying to drown me as a cog. My immediate reaction is visceral disgust. I cannot tell though if I need to accept it and integrate in some way as I have been thinking or if it really will continue to feel like it is choking me. I am not sure what will or can make me feel at home here.
As I repeat, again and again, I must write. It is essential to me. And I must take time to unravel my own voice, by simply engaging with my thoughts through writing, like this. A lot goes astray when I do not do this. For some reason months and months and years go by and I keep reminding myself of this simple truth and still I have not established a writing habit for myself. Perhaps because it is I feel I must give other things attention first, but those things never run out and I think they never will. I have to be adamant no matter how choked out I feel by other things. I cannot spend my life in a constant effort to evade the strangle-hold around my throat while depriving myself of the air I need. Maybe I am the one doing the strangling- maybe I am strangling myself. I have thought so at times, more and more lately.
Freedom I think lies in self acceptance, but real true acceptance, of the ugly and the horrific and the dissonant and my weaknesses without brushing over and sugarcoating them. I will never be the ideal being I want to be. I can only be myself and I can only be here now. I am in this world whether I like it or not, and I really do not want to make it a game I grudgingly play due to having no other choice. I just want to live.
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Winter
Paralysis touches every nerve-ending,
I am reduced to fragile tendrils in the frost.
Wind howls in this place filled with living emptiness,
Lines of bare limbs splinter like shattered glass across
A gray, low-hanging sky.
Clouds— wide brush-strokes, blending together
Their painter’s hand grew too heavy with sleep.
His head filled with cold, black water,
Now it leaks like icicles from his eyes.
The aged skin of the earth,
Once soft and green with moss,
Rocks upon which clung life— lichens, amber and brown
Parchment paper, lace-like fingers
Once feathering out to meet the slanted sun
Golden swaths of grass, Once drowning before the end of all things
In swaths of bright red, leaves like blood gathering in a final effort to reclaim the vanishing sun
Lie now beneath a white shroud. Suffocating, silently.
In the distance a spruce forest stands, mounting back into dark hills
And then a white, white wall unending, until
its height is overtaken by the atmosphere.
Peaks blur into the endless above
I can smell the purity up there.
The abyss beneath is black, dead breath
It settles among the trees, a low-lying mist.
It beckons at the mountains’ feet.
Eternal night looks out, across the white—
I look back.
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Today I realized that I am moving my life in the direction that I have always wanted it to go
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It is Sunday again. Sunday seems to always be my slowest day, mentally and physically.
I went to see my psychiatrist on Monday, and in spite of the apprehension I have developed towards psychiatry I liked him immensely. He is probably the most intelligent person I have met- it’s just something I can tell in his eyes and the way he speaks and carries himself. Although we did discuss medication and mental illness as well as my background we spent a lot of time discussing Abrahamic religion and middle eastern culture of all things. I am not dissatisfied with the route we decided to take with my medication- I am going back on one medication for anxiety that I used to take, but on a far lower dose than I used to, and once my anxiety is under control we will start treating my ADHD.
The rest of week has mostly been filled with work. Four days out of five I have gone to the gym to swim laps. My physical fitness has been slowly improving over the month and I’m definitely noticing a difference in my aerobic endurance
Yesterday I mostly grocery shopped, cooked, and did some chores. It has been hard for me to think clearly and stay on task per usual, but I am hoping that is fixed soon. Today has been particularly difficult in that regard. Very difficult, but I took a cold shower and I am just trying to focus on writing this, then I am going to focus on trying to look at my to do list and schedule for the short term. It all seems like chaos in my mind.
The effects of the anxiety medication have been noticeable. I am overall more neutral and not overwhelmed by my emotions. I wake up with barely as much dread as I used to. I don’t constantly dissociate as severely. It’s surprising. I’m a little frustrated I waited so long to get back on this medication but I had understandable reasons as to why. Even so I think that the minimum dose is going to be enough. It is helping to stabilize me just enough that I can exist in a bit more of a clear state and move forward. I’m looking forward to seeing how ADHD medication will help me in addition to this.
I’ve lately felt a need to figure out what I’m doing over the next few months and put them in order- especially studying and writing wise. I feel like I need a plan or a direction because of how lost I feel, so I’m going to go try to focus on that now. I want to start building momentum on some side things so that they aren’t swept away by college.
I felt like I had some more profound thoughts and experiences from this week to share here but they aren’t coming to my mind right now. I will write them if they do at a later point.
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Hmmm....it has been a while since I wrote a proper update.
As can be seen from the photos, I went camping last week, to a place I used to go a lot as a child. It was cold and foggy most of the time, more physically miserable than relaxing, but I do not regret going. I felt sad and lonely much of the time.
It became sunny on my last day out. I met a park ranger in the park who I would occasionally talk to, called Ranger J. He showed me a map to a place called Rose River, where I went hiking. I had intended more hikes the following day but I got too cold, so I took shelter in the lodge before heading out the next day.
This past week has been filled with work. On Friday after work I went to see my old boss at the sandwich shop I used to work at, just to chat with him, and then I went to see my therapist. We talked some about relationships with people.
Yesterday I woke up early to hike. I have a newfound inspiration to improve my fitness and training so that I can try to mountaineer later down the road, as I always wanted to as a kid.
I got drunk and talked with Lost last night. I am just tired and in a haze today. Looking back retroactively on things I do not feel much, do not feel like writing on them much, I think I let them just slip away from me too long and they become stale- that or I am just tired. I really am just tired, and I feel suffocated at times, restricted by time, but it is okay. My mind makes all of these restricting illusions I fall into and that numb me. I am numb right now. I may just curl up with a book. At some point I will come back to journal with the vigor I used to...I write now, I feel, just so I have some point of reference to keep me from forgetting.
Drinking does not help. Every time I have been drinking I have regretted it. It just kills me mentally. I feel dead and my body hurts. I do not know why it hits me so much harder than it used to.
College is soon. Meeting Lost in person is soon. August is soon. Soon. I see my psychiatrist tomorrow.
When I have been able to focus enough, I have been reading the Silmarillion...and I have these vague inklings for a story idea, for a world idea, relating to Deathconsciousness and Gilgamesh...but it is such an inkling of an inkling I don’t know how to articulate it. I have been working on notes here and there.
I am finding to do anything I need to narrow my focus down. It is hard. To know what route to take. There are too many things I want to try and too many directions to go so I just end up paralyzed. I know, still, as I have said over and over again I need to focus on writing and it needs to be a priority for me not just in thought but in action
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picture group 1 from my most previous trip
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Photos from an abandoned church I forgot to post a while ago.
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