#he thinks i do drugs cause I'm anxious and depressed but it's like no dude | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fifidunks · 7 years

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hi fifi. i'm so incredibly lonely. and 3 days ago I got my heart broken so bad. what should I do to ease this pain? i see no perspectives in my life and ive been feeling this way for the last 5 years or so. thank you

you’ve funny timing angel. under the force of Saturn, relegated to my bedroom for lack of FUNds, I just started writing personal stuff again. waking up with words on my fingertips… their goal seems to be to cast a s-p-e-l-l that’ll set me & all my girls free. so we can stop taking things so personally. this morning:

All my life, or since puberty at least, it’s been easy for me to see that others were alive and hard for me to feel it except in extremes. I’ve sought to exist with regards to others by feeling seen, by getting hurt, and by loving like it’s a service. This lead to crisis.Most of the women in my life seem to be afflicted with something similar. We’ve anxiety disorders. Suffer depressions. Bipolar swings. And furies. We’ve anger and overcompensatory vanity and intellection. High-achievers, my girls are public successes, even famed. But I’ve seen them in their living rooms, gauntly yellow, telling me if they didn’t perform as they do, they’d kill themselves, and that anyway, they’re convinced they’re dying or will soon, which is probably true, if they think it. Becoming real friends with real women changed my life. It was maybe the first step to becoming real which I hope to soon. I want to take their pain away. I will eat it like I do my feelings, slathered in nut butter. And I will shit it in the form of writing. Everything I write is shit; why do I think this?

That was something like a riff on this diary entry, from dec 23/16 (sorry sleepy you’re getting copy/pastes):

from ~puberty until recently (i’m 29), i experienced Life like gravity that is under low to high tenor anxiety with bouts of low to deep depression, blue moons of depersonalization, and breathtaking reprieves of manic joy, lust, hunger, anger, inspiration, illusion, freedom, n fun, usually facilitated by drugs, especially that most potent one - love. i thought this was “normal” not that i wanted to be normal - in fact, my wanting to be + have more more ______ is largely responsible it seems for the anxiety depression mania etc. only now do i get - oh wait - u can live day in n out in blissful simple stable renewable energy generous blessed okay so so so okay with being OK just dust laughing awestruck responsible plus bigger orgasms. never too late to remember how to be. love, fifips this was here all along ofcpps respect we may lose it again truthfully it’s very likelyppps bliss has a lot to do w/ accepting lack it seems, while anxiety/depression/addiction - addiction - is filling that void which can’t be

So after that day, as if to check my hubris, Life brought me Drama & I “lost” It again. he he.

Then last night my something like a boyfriend who I avoid when I’m not Real cause how could he love something that’s not Real? called me “not to judge but…” (I’ve been unreal more than less since Dec 24.) he ended up reading me this letter by Rilke, which his dad had shared with him, and which he prefaced with “it’s common—maybe you’ve heard it.” I hadn’t. I’ll share it with you now, as for some reason I’m assuming you’re a woman, and those lines made me cry, and even if woman’s not how you identify, it’s all good, and this is really what I want to get to, that loneliness is so good dude, first step to solitude (read it out loud):

…you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it. This very wish, if you use it calmly and prudently and like a tool, will help you spread out your solitude over a great distance. Most people have (with the help of conventions) turned their solutions toward what is easy and toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries to be itself at all costs and against all opposition. We know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it. It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners in everything, are not yet capable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time ahead and far on into life, is—; solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who loves. Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent—?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves (“to hearken and to hammer day and night”), may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough. But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment… : And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future? And so each of them loses himself for the sake of the other person, and loses the other, and many others who still wanted to come. And loses the vast distances and possibilities, gives up the approaching and fleeing of gentle, prescient Things in exchange for an unfruitful confusion, out of which nothing more can come; nothing but a bit of disgust, disappointment, and poverty, and the escape into one of the many conventions that have been put up in great numbers like public shelters on this most dangerous road. No area of human experience is so extensively provided with conventions as this one is: there are live-preservers of the most varied invention, boats and water wings; society has been able to create refuges of very sort, for since it preferred to take love-life as an amusement, it also had to give it an easy form, cheap, safe, and sure, as public amusements are. It is true that many young people who love falsely, i.e., simply surrendering themselves and giving up their solitude (the average person will of course always go on doing that — ), feel oppressed by their failure and want to make the situation they have landed in livable and fruitful in their own, personal way —. For their nature tells them that the questions of love, even more than everything else that is important, cannot be resolved publicly and according to this or that agreement; that they are questions, intimate questions from one human being to another, which in any case require a new, special, wholly personal answer —. But how can they, who have already flung themselves together and can no longer tell whose outlines are whose, who thus no longer possess anything of their own, how can they find a way out of themselves, out of the depths of their already buried solitude? They act out of mutual helplessness, and then if, with the best of intentions, they try to escape the conventions that is approaching them (marriage, for example), they fall into the clutches of some less obvious but just as deadly conventional solution. For then everything around them is — convention. Wherever people act out of a prematurely fused, muddy communion, every action is conventional: every relation that such confusion leads to has its own convention, however unusual (i.e., in the ordinary sense immoral) it may be; even separating would be a conventional step, an impersonal, accidental decision without strength and without fruit. Whoever looks seriously will find that neither for death, which is difficult, nor for difficult love has any clarification, any solution, any hint of a path been perceived; and for both these tasks, which we carry wrapped up and hand on without opening, there is not general, agreed-upon rule that can be discovered. But in the same measure in which we begin to test life as individuals, these great Things will come to meet us, the individuals, with greater intimacy. The claims that the difficult work of love makes upon our development are greater than life, and we, as beginners, are not equal to them. But if we nevertheless endure and take this love upon us as burden and apprenticeship, instead of losing ourselves in the whole easy and frivolous game behind which people have hidden from the solemnity of their being, — then a small advance and a lightening will perhaps be perceptible to those who come long after us. That would be much. We are only just now beginning to consider the relation of one individual to a second individual objectively and without prejudice, and our attempts to live such relationships have no model before them. And yet in the changes that time has brought about there are already many things that can help our timid novitiate. [This was where I started to bawl.] The girl and the woman, in their new, individual unfolding, will only in passing be imitators of male behavior and misbehavior and repeaters of male professions. After the uncertainty of such transitions, it will become obvious that women were going through the abundance and variation of those (often ridiculous) disguises just so that they could purify their own essential nature and wash out the deforming influences of the other sex. Women, in whom life lingers and dwells more immediately, more fruitfully, and more confidently, must surely have become riper and more human in their depths than light, easygoing man, who is not pulled down beneath the surface of life by the weight of any bodily fruit and who, arrogant and hasty, undervalues what he thinks he loves. This humanity of woman, carried in her womb through all her suffering and humiliation, will come to light when she has stripped off the conventions of mere femaleness in the transformations of her outward status, and those men who do not yet feel it approaching will be astonished by it. Someday (and even now, especially in the countries of northern Europe, trustworthy signs are already speaking and shining), someday there will be girls and women whose name will no longer mean the mere opposite of the male, but something in itself, something that makes one think not of any complement and limit, but only life and reality: the female human being. This advance (at first very much against the will of the outdistanced men) will transform the love experience, which is now filled with error, will change it from the ground up, and reshape it into a relationship that is meant to be between one human being and another, no longer one that flows from man to woman. And this more human love (which will fulfill itself with infinite consideration and gentleness, and kindness and clarity in binding and releasing) will resemble what we are now preparing painfully and with great struggle: the love that consists in this: the two solitudes protect and border and greet each other. And one more thing: Don’t think that the great love which was once granted to you, when you were a boy, has been lost; how can you know whether vast and generous wishes didn’t ripen in you at that time, and purposes by which you are still living today? I believe that that love remains strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life. — All good wished to you, dear Mr. Kappus! Yours, Rainer Maria Rilke

MoreYou can always email. [email protected]. I’d prefer it. I fear publicity aka the Internet lately. Words Are Not Safe Here.

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