Pressure

I am not sure why I have titled this note Pressure. Not really sure that it is pressure or just the reality of things. I have been overwhelmed by my own drama. I have allowed myself to be paralyzed by things I should have done, thoughts that maybe I should have allowed a bit more time, Impulses that should never have been acted on. 

Things I should Have Done. 

I should have worked on my Thesis in time to submit it so that I can finally get out of that particular quagmire. I know what it is that I want to write about, to explore, to question and to contribute to. My catatonia-like state emanates from use of jargon, academic -writing 'political-correctness' which, I cannot wrap my head around. The content in my head can flow from the brain onto a paper, but not as organized, intellectual or as contributory as I would want it to be. Every one around me and who knows my research question keep asking me where I am with the writing. The inquisition is beginning to irritate me more than my self-inflicted - writing paralysis. I have publicly made the promise that I will get it done. Fear of public humiliation may propel me to finish it and fulfill on my promise.

I should have paid more attention to time. I should have put some aside and handle my self-proclaimed depression. Instead, I took time off and just sat and stared into space. Complete inertia physical and mental. I should have shaken this off and joined a gym or some thing. Maybe shocked the system out of auto-pilot back into reality.

I should have called my friends more often. Aptly and authentically said, I should have asked for help.

I should have kept the fire of my personality burning. Maybe be a lot less selfish and reached out more to the people who needed my support and the essence of what I bring into their lives. At the same time though, I should have claimed my space for thought, grief and mourning. I should have stricken back and repossessed my space – reclaimed it and displaced occupation by “Yes, I really do care about what you are going through” attitude.

Thoughts I should have allowed more Thought.

Was I selfish? I thought that if I stay connected to me I would stay afloat, collected and “piecefull”. Instead, I have memory gaps – in apparent delusion, a shadow of my former self. It is as if who I had been for years had gone off to rest or roost and some thing incomprehensible taken over my body. Thinking I was protecting myself I have ended up making myself more vulnerable. A schism has appeared between my friends and I – it could be real it could be yet another unfinished thought. It could be a yearning for some thing long gone – like the remnants of a feeling, a touch, the kind of remnant sensation from touching a fresh rose petal. I want the sensation to settle. Stay with me. A space for clarity of thought should have been created.

I am finding that my drama (that ability to (un)consciously get swallowed in a hysterical vortex of thought and deed) is incessant. Tactics for and of intervention disastrously failing; except when interspersed with inebriation episodes, the consequence though is episodic amnesia – irrecountability of conversations, situations, and circumstances.

The separation and what it portends(ed) for me and us begged for further exploration. Conversations should have been finished. Strategies and plans should have been better laid. Maybe I did not even begin that thought to now claim it needed more thought. I simply did not think about it. Survival mode kicked in.

Clinging on to a social status quo stretches my mind. This in the way ‘saving-face’ physically drains the body. The persona and the imaginary pedestal on which it stands required deconstruction and a reconstruction. If I had paid more mind to this, then maybe depression interventions would have been more successful, I would have been truly victorious.

Impulses that should not have been acted on.

The urge to not participate in my own life is devastating. I am not suicidal, simply an object that is swayed by the changing current of time and space. It is like am a string puppet. Moving, shaking, bowing to impulses in ways that I do not recognize as my own.

I am fighting to keep my own sanity. I am working not to feel pressured by other people to do what they want and instead to work on doing  what I want. It is funny, we do not recognize how we make everything about us. How I have made every thing about me. Moments of genuine concern about where I am with my life have been rare. When they emerge, I find myself unable to handle them….nervously scouring for when it will turn and be about the person talking to me.

My sparkle is gone. I am in a twilight zone. I have said goodbye and I have not said hallo, yet. A nagging heavy feeling…..the kind you get when it finally dawns on you that you have overstayed your welcome at a place that you had not been invited to in the first place. 


I will crawl my way out of this one. 


I know I will.