I resent everything and everyone basically. I’m resenting this blog write now as I try to write.
I’ve written this before but when I get suicidal it’s not because things are bad, it’s because things aren’t going to change. And I realize lately that it’s not even situations that I resent and fear not changing that most upsets me, it’s my internal take my situation.
It’s a thing that only happens to me at work, probably because work is the only place I can’t do something to change my state if negative feelings start to ooze up, but I’ll be ranting internally about how I hate this and that, and this person and people like that, and my entire life and who I am, and everyone else’s life, and the fact that life exists and on and on until I’ll suddenly take stock of my own bitterness and feel like I should die.
A long time ago I wrote that if my story ended with Alastair moved to a little island off the coast of Japan to live in a hut and spent his days writing with a quill I’d be happy with that.
You’re never really alone though because someone is always going to ask you how the weekend was.
The off-to-the-woods narrative has something to do with the idea that if I was away from everything then I wouldn’t resent everything. But of course in a more realistic forecast I assume that where I go this broken black bitterness inside of me will also go. Also in a realistic forecast of my future I don’t go anywhere.
Nowadays I spend most of my energy sucking it up and not making things worse. It’s a videogame no one would play – there’s no win condition, no victory or prize or even story, you just stay here and all the hard work is just maintenance otherwise it gets harder. Like a level-down system.
We’ve all done, or at least heard about, the thing where you crush a can and then the camp counselor or whoever points out that it’s impossible to uncrush it. And we all ooh and ahh at the wisdom that one might do something in anger that takes one second to trash that can never be fixed. What they don’t tell you is there’s never a moment where you’re glad you didn’t crush the can. In the moment of anger you just sucked it up, the can got its way, and you realize you may as well never have interacted with the can at all you fucking nobody, now your life is full of empty cans.
Author/Athlete, Thinker/Doer
Alastair's Ego 