How To Be Empty

I felt pretty frustrated msot of the day, but now I don't feel anything much. My head is empty and I just feel like chilling. Everything feels pretty chill, in fact. Maybe I should start characterizing these entries into good days and bad. While I was taking cookie for a walk, I thought about all the psychology vids I had seen. how chasing after pleasure and dopamine hits might be disregulating my brain's homeostasis. How I need to have faith in my body's ability to heal itself, and bear with it through this tough time.

It's always tough to break a bad habit, especially ones I've been reinforcing for over a decade. Everything felt so heavy, serious, and hopeless yesterday. Even in the morning I was feeling so fed up with my work, and my inability to do it properly. I felt angry at my situation, and I was really working myself up. I suppose even now, this relaxed state might be nothing more than the food coma that comes after a good meal from McDonald's. 

But I do feel very calm, and everything feels right in the world. So what if I hate how I look in the mirror? So what if I'm convinced that no woman would ever want to be with me? Just laugh it off like a scene from Futurama, right? That's the thing about emotions, I suppose. It feels so serious when it's happening to you, and it becomes a joke when it's over. I've been trying to write here everyday to build this collection of great inspiration and honest experiences. I love the idea of recording my days, for future viewing pleasure.

Perhaps I will look back and think, what a great time I had, or how far I've come, or perhaps that nothing ever changed. It doesn't really matter much, but it'll be interesting to find out. It feels so boring, this entry. I kept wondering why I can't just be when I was on that walk. Why I need to hype myself up or beat myself down. I remember thinking oh so seriously. Thinking that I just want to know what winning feels like, for once in my life. I wanted to know what it feels like, to feel good about yourself. 

To feel loved, to be appreciated. That's all I could think at the time. then I thought, at least I can be at peace, can't I? I thought that this might be something so vague and far away, but at least I can be empty and flow with the wind. It was clear that this was the answer. But I didn't choose to be empty. I didn't try to clear my thoughts or meditate. The storms just came from the outside, furious waves knocked the furniture from their places and smashed things into the walls, sweeping everything away with it. And it left behind this empty husk, hollow, and it howled as the wind blew through it, as if it were trying to shiver from the cold.

But the empty house feels nothing. It does nothing and serves no purpose. It just stands there, waiting to get filled by the next person who takes it upon himself. To play their little make believe customs of ownership and role playing as civilised members of society, or some other incomprehensible gibberish of that sort. The house doesn't mind, it takes it all in. The house just is. As it always was. From a scrawny frame to an armored castle. From a fancy victorian residence with velvet drapes and embroidered wallpaper, to a crack den full of rats, junkies, roaches, and hobos.

The house doesn't even have a memory of it all, only when someone comes in to investigate the nooks and crannies, does it get the chance to experience its past vicariously through the visitors. The house stands alone and thinks nothing of it. It gets violated and pissed on, without even flintching. It gets all dressed up and waterproofed, silently like a stoic. Here I think about the instruments I should try to learn. Perhaps they will love me then, once I become useful to them in multiple ways.

Must I try to learn something from this house? Doesn't it just stand there, while sparks light it on fire, and it burns to the ground? Without protest, without lifting a finger. The wood does end up crying and stretching, as the structure is reduced to ash. At least we know it was capable of feeling pain. Now that I think about it, it used to ache and creak as well, just like an old person. I reckon its at peace now, and that it was all meant to be. The one thing I always wanted more than anything else was to know what everything felt like.

It's like asking the genie for unlimited wishes, or trying to divide by zero. I'm not sure how it works, if I'm supposed to have faith that it's all working out, or if I'm supposed to learn from the experiences. I just keep thinking that I don't know anything at all. Everything ends up reducing to nothingness. I thought that all truths were half truths, now I'm thinking what's the god damned point to think or do anything at all in the first place. Is this the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow called failure? If this the sweet aftertaste of bitter defeat? 

Even as I prepare myself for a decade of pure apathetic frivolity, I can't bring myself to leave behind my dreams. To write. To wish to create. The longing to be engaged with that wonderful process of creating something out of nothing. That euphoric wave of ecstacy that washes over me whenever I connect the dots. Is this a curse or a blessing? Is there anything that is pure in the world? All I can say now is that I do not know. I thought that emptying out my head on these pages would make me happier somehow.

I thought that this exercise will allow me to reach a different place than I had been. I thought about that too on that long walk around the block. It isn't happiness I seek, it's the experience of something new. I sicken with the same old cycles that wear me down. I just wish to let go of all the things that seem to weight down on me. I wish to let go of myself and drift away into lands unknown, far away in a place I've never seen. This may be just another cruel vision to haunt my waking life. Another curse disguised as a blessing.

When you can't help but look at something and see the other lurking behind, what else can you do but lie down in the dirt and quit trying. When everything feels like the same old crap, how can you take another step? I wondered if even Goggins is the same fat and lazy bastard underneath. Even after all those countless years of training, is he the same? Am I the same as I was? It seems like it, doesn't it? I don't know that either. Perhaps it's time to rub one out and sleep. That's what the Gods demand of me. To roll over and float away with the flow of the current. That's all I am capable of at this point. Nothing else remains.

He who has brought me thus far, will take me further. I thought that God only helps those who help themselves? And where is it that he has brought me after all? I don't feel like I've gone anywhere at all. After all those ups and downs, just to end up worse that I used to be. Not that I have a choice in the matter. Not that I have a say. At this moment the highest ideal I can conceive of is to lie in the ground like a dead piece of wood and rot away into nothingness. I don't want to go on like this anymore. Can't I take these things out of myself and leave them behind on this piece of paper? Can't I forfeit my existence and let the critters eat away at my presence? 

I wish I could take pleasure in this self indulgent brooding. But it seems like I wish to take nothing, and that I have nothing to give either. Next time remind me, to quit while I'm ahead.