what is this
existential nihilism that gossip gives me?
like the minute i’m not
part of the story
and instead invested in the lives of others
my own becomes ghosted
to the point of fading
out from the prime material plane
what use is my spirit
if the flame of my life
heats no one else’s hands?
[these are some silly metaphors
and even sillier phrasing for
a moment today when i experienced
true surprise at my own dealing]
time passing
too swiftly
to get me
pumped
about any one event or even one day
i need now to look forward to
a weekend
a whole month
a big big change in scenery
[but the tiniest/
eensy weensiest/
minutest little things
still bring my whole mood
down
down
down
so what’s that about?]
i think
my “problem”
is that i have big picture
thinking
with tiny detail
brain
and that just makes everything
overwhelming
all the time
~~~
like
i can see the whole planet
and each conflict
and how the systems lead to suffering
and how it
literally
doesn’t
need
to be
this way
but instead of just thinking about the systems
i then ‘zoom in’ and see
each country
each family
each child
each breath of the earth
suffering
suffering
suffering
and i am stuck
because i don’t want to look away
for fear i’ve cheapened
their individual
suffering
and story
but it’s hard to hold
hundreds
thousands
millions
billions
of people’s individual narratives
in a brain trained to only concentrate on one’s own
so i panic
and breathe hard
and fast
and when the feeling has finally passed
there’s the guilt
there’s the guilt
and i know it’s all going to happen
again and again and again
~~~
so how in this world do i utilize
my big picture imagination and individual compassion
without falling into
obsession?
without falling into the chain reaction of
‘i’ve decided to help one thing/cause/person —
‘but wait, this other person has it worse/’
‘but wait, this other cause is more just/’
‘but wait, this other thing runs so much deeper
and has its tendrils in so many of the other
horrors of this world…’
how do i stop my decision paralysis
when it comes to helping
human decency?
[i honestly don’t know
do you?]
are these truly my only two states?
so invigorated
because of immediate trauma
and helping my community
and working so well
in crisis
and
depressed and sullen and scared
and just hunkering down
for nap after sleep after nap
until i don’t know where the years went?
i want something
in
between
oh no
the anxiety
it’s coming
it’s here
it’s pulsing
fluttering
buzzing
it’s blossoming
like a spiky rose
a giant sunflower
blooming unbelievably
over my head
(though i should believe—
i know
i’m small)
the beauty of anxiety
is not to be confused
with how it feels inside—
fluttering heartbeats
expectations of failures
the writing
and re-writing
and re-re-wriiting
of this poem
countless times
(and none of them will ever be enough)
no
the beauty of anxiety
comes from the knowledge
the observance
the wisdom
that the cycle is never-ending
and what you thought was healing
was really just a bending
of psychological mishaps
into a faint shadow of mental health
that you thought was a calm against the storm—
but the running against the clock
of the battery conking out
(and the files saved in an un-safe way
and the computer trying hard on its last legs
and everything feeling like its falling apart
even thought you know you could [have] do[ne] something to stop)—
that’s anxiety
and that’s the beauty and the ugliness
the ‘you could have changed computers months ago’
‘you should have charged your laptop last night’
‘you really need to clear out space
in every device
you live
your life
inside’
but you didn’t
you don’t
you never do
because somehow
the experience of anxiety
relies heavily
on knowing what you could/should do
and never having done it
because somehow
you feel you
deserve
this
dread.
the upset-est belly
the cutest puppy
i’m hitting the existential crises
of why bother with poetry
(how was i so invigorated
just yesterday?)
~~~
the depression
hits
out of the blue
where yesterday
was a pretty good day
and i felt neutral
(if not actually happy maybe)
today, every little inconvenience
is a sign from the universe
telling me to give up/
every moment of waking
is one where i’m wishing i’m sleeping/
and the feeling i can label appearing on my face
can only be described as “dourness”
how am i so susceptible to little fits of depression
all while distancing/dissociating myself so well
from all my [other] emotions?
~~~
explore
the emotion
of depression
[i don’t want to—
it’s not a clean feeling—
it’s messy and
it gets everywhere,
sticky in places you didn’t even see it spill to,
but when you aren’t looking
aren’t expecting it
there it is again
and you can’t even reach that place
to fully get it
out]
where do these sads come from?
and where do they go when they leave my head?
because, without them, i swear they never existed at all
but with them…
with them, they are
all i’ve ever known
and all i’ll ever have
and the desolation brings with it such desire
to run
to hide
to thwart off
to give in
(even though the only thing that truly helps
is simply
waiting it out,
feeling it,
but waiting it out)
but worse
i think
than the fullness
of with
or without
are the days when i can feel the sads
simply
laying in wait
they’ve not left
but they aren’t overwhelmingly there
everything just feels too
grey to hope
too
stale to cope
too
desolate to even try
to have a good day.
at least when the sads are at their
full force
it’s something;
it’s a feeling,
an emotion,
a carving out
of this day different from the rest
the in-between times
feel like a never-ending
static
in my mind/heart/life
and numbness
to it all
if i’m
contemplative
too much
i get
existential
and that often leads to
a
crisis
but without
contemplation
i’m left with
mundanity
which therein leads to
boredom
which in turn becomes
agitation
which stems from
anxiety
and
depression
which, while indulging in those
can become
too much
contemplation
[or at least i think those are the appropriate words for all that emotional muck i feel]
another adventure
another setting out
this time for something
not quite as happy
but hopefully fulfilling
and connecting
and kind.
~~~
there are studies
that show
the earlier you deal with death
the better
(or so much worse)
you are at handling any death
as an adult.
i solidly fall into the second category,
my brain short circuiting whenever death is present
whenever someone is grieving
my go-to comfort is
to leave them alone.
but when you’re not a pre-teen
figuring out exactly what you need,
most folks would opt for connection
for a few words of comfort
not alone time.
so
after months of watching back episodes of
“Ask a Mortician”
and
reading her books
and
listening to her podcast
i’ve figured out a better way of dealing with death:
i ask the grieving person
what their favorite memory is of their loved one.
i specify they don’t have to share with me,
(but i’d be happy to hear if they choose),
but to simply think of their favorite memory.
i’ve only had two opportunities to use it so far,
but both felt connective,
kind,
and i felt useful
(all i really want to feel anyway)
so,
anyone grieving,
(or having gone through grief),
what’s your favorite memory of that person?
~~~
our dog
staring at her food
for minutes upon minutes
as if she’s having an existential crisis
(what a way for the universe to show us she belongs with us)
kipventures 