I stand in a position that from some perspectives is highly enviable. I know this, and I appreciate those in which it seems so. From yet others, my position is untenable, tedious and the stuff of nightmares. In more still it is an emotional whirlpool of inconceivability.
My own perspective borrows from all angles and sits firmly in the midst of the traffic.
I’m lucky to be in a position that cannot carry on forever, is often difficult and pulls this way and that emotionally, physically and psychologically.
The classic fence-sit. Only with this fence I’d rather not be rested on top. I wish I could take a singular point of view on the position of my own life, and run with it forsaking all others but I cannot. I see all sides, all possibilities and all downfalls, feeling each one and being unsure of how to respond, in large part due to the pull of the other points of view.
It could pay to be a little less capable of open minded vision, and have a more direct path on which to walk out my days.
In many ways its a matter of wanting all of the options and none of them. Pieces from here, parts from there… a new option that doesn’t truly exist. Not in my actual world, anyway. Being able to foster new ideas on tap is great fun when they are meaningless ways to pass the time. But when you can come up with new and better ways for things that matter without being able to create that vision in reality, generally due to the limitations of things like money, or other people, it can be nightmarishly tumultuous.
I know the life I want to live. It’s none of the above, and it is one that I can see as clear as day. However it isn’t one I can magic into existence and without the means in which to create it – both in relationships and resources – I have to live on the fence, perpetually unsatisfied. Trying to identify the next best option.
This is essentially impossible once the actual best option can be visualised. And its a tortured existence to know exactly what is best and be unable to conjour its reality.
I can have anything, yet I cannot have the only thing I truly desire. I can have any life, anywhere – and yet not the one I know is the best life for me. When I take any of the next best, something suffers. In the end it is me who suffers regardless of the choices I make.
My oyster of a world very quickly becomes a case of finding the path across the rocks that shall cut my feet the least. Every realistic choice is at the expense of something or someone else, and always at the expense of a piece of me. My best option expends nothing and no one – and yet is unavailable.
It is during times of reflection such as this I feel dark and depressed. Fatalistically looking ahead to a lifetime of disillusion, dissatisfaction and insecurity. It is times like this I miss my state of content denial for the sense of security and stability it gave me, albeit false. I wonder if the need for truth was worth losing the illusion. Of course even in this state I know it was, that it was no life at all – and one I was regularly dissatisfied with anyway. It was not all rose-coloured happy times even in its nostalgic tint. Even in its implausible perfection it was boring and soulless. But what is this? What is this alternative I find now?
I belong nowhere, I have no role that fits me completely and no world that nourishes me to satisfaction. I have segmented realities, each making only a piece of the whole pie and only available in exclusion of each other – and yet the gaping holes constantly beg to be filled.
The stress of the permanent conundrum that is my oyster leads to knots in my shoulders. A year ago these knots would have been worked out at the utterance of their existence. Now I live with the knots barely able to lower my shoulders to a resting state, unable to overcome my distaste for unknown touch or find a way past the financial hole having them attended to would leave. And yet a year ago the ability to have the knots removed was a self-perpetuating cycle, the same situation that allowed their removal being the cause of them in the first place.
I am a lost wanderer, trying desperately to hold onto the positive pieces of my many pies. Looking for another different, new way to fit more slices into the one dish. But try as I might, the same incompatibility occurs and I find the exclusivity remains.
I have to pick and choose relationships, conversations, expressions, activities and pieces of myself. All based on which piece of pie is currently being served. And there is always part of me being starved into torment. This piece wins, and I change pies – something else suffers until it is all-consuming and overwhelming and then I switch again.
My appetite long since left me, and I am left wanting no part of any pie. This, this is where the fatalistic depressed state takes over. A desire for extended unconsciousness. Sleeping off all the pieces so as to make room to start again. Piece, by piece.
The world is my oyster but it’s full of pies instead. I am torn into a hundred pieces of myself and thrown miles apart unable to be whole. My world is an oyster but its being viewed through a kaleidoscope. Fragmented and deconstructed. I don’t feel like pie or oysters, I crave the chance to be all of myself, all of the time, in one place. This is my impossible dream as my reality stands today. ‘Home’ is four places and I am torn between them, unable to possibly just have one. There is no base, no springboard. In each place I am this, or I am that. But never and nowhere am I me – all of me, any of me.
I fear the loss of myself, the loss of chance and potential. I fear the loss of parts of myself in choosing others. I fear living the same cycle of torment for even a moment longer, and yet I cannot see a moment where it is lessened at all. In these times I wish I was a simpler person – and yet the idea of being that way makes me pity those who are.
I am lonely in all of my worlds. Every day is missing something, regardless of what that day entails. I cannot be my complete self in any of them and they are each incompatible with the others.
Without some kind of change my world may as well go black, curtains drawn, for this is not a torture I can withstand much longer. I am steadily losing my grip. My resilience has weakened markedly. The helping hands are every bit as confusing, and like Sarah…
I shall choose down.