#"When you're gone
you can't come back
When you're out of the blue
and into the black"#
Neil Young Hey hey, My my
For once, this has nothing to do with San. Things with her for the moment seem fine, at least for the short time that I saw her earlier today.
All the same; I'm not sure that I can -- or will -- carry on.
It's sort of funny, in a way. I've been down, I've been depressed. I have stood on motorway bridges in the freezing rain and looked at the traffic. I've been kept in hospital to stop me from cutting myself. But that's a whole different set of feelings to this -- this calm. Sad, but calm. A feeling of wanting to step out into the road. Just look the wrong way for a moment, and step out.
It would sound so very trivial for me to try and explain how I got from yesterday to today. They say "don't sweat the small stuff -- and it's all small stuff" but what they don't realise is that the small stuff can kill you.
There is really no use in bothering with reason. With logic. None has any real effect.
Like I say, it feels strange to feel this way -- none of the body-snatched estrangement, no burning desire to cut, pierce or mutilate.
All the same, there is a certain familiarity behind it all. A familiarity in not wanting to carry on any more, at least on the most basic level of getting out of bed.
This is all.
Sadly, Jay, I feel a real affinity with you on this. It probably doesn't speak well for either of us. I know exactly what you mean by the sad calm feeling. For me it's like a really deep sadness, so deep that you can't even emote it anymore except in a soul-weary way with an air of apathy... I think because if you were to truly feel the full brunt of the sadness it might just overwhelm you. And you stand on the edge of a sidewalk and watch oncoming traffic and just think of that one step that you would take you out into the road and what would inevitably happen. And it is always the small stuff that sets it off - just layer upon layer of small stuff, each on it's own not so big but when taken as a whole becomes this unbearable weight of sadness, frustration, desperation and awful melancholy. People think you only have a right to be feel this way when someone dies or if some monumental disaster has happened. But just because you haven't lost your house doesn't mean you can't feel the anguish of the 50th rejection or the anguish of long-term loneliness - it's these personal crises that are the most dangerous because you let them build up until finally they reach critical mass... and then you're staring at oncoming traffic...
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