I haven’t written here in a while, as anyone probably didn’t notice. Ah, a healthy and humbling sense of self-deprecation.
I kind of got caught up in a mess of things after I pursued my rudimentary artificial intelligence. The roadmap I put out for the various systems is a pretty good one. It solidifies the different parts and how they need to be constructed. It’s going to be a long time though, but that’s okay. I’d consider it one of my side projects.
That’s something I do. I get all excited about something periodically. So I get excited about my robot for a week, week and a half, and then I get excited about something else for a week, week and a half. I’ve decided I just have to go with it. As long as I can keep the focus on existing projects and not something new every time, eventually I’ll get something done right? That’s the idea.
I’ve been having some trouble, but nothing that isn’t handleable.
Do you ever just feel in emotional pain? It’s hard to describe, but you just hurt inside, a lot, almost debilitating overwhelming sink into the ocean sucked up by a blackhole in the night sky can’t find your parents pain. Your heart sinks, your head even sometimes becomes very light headed, almost to the point that you feel like you are outside of yourself. It’s as if you’re under attack by a piece of emotional sandpaper, stripping away every layer, irritating the sore bleeding core. And you just swim… swim in a sea of red black, it’s cold and sting sinking into your cuts, and then sink into oblivion.
Pain about what?
That’s the hard part. I don’t really know. I feel like I’m reliving something sometimes, but I don’t really for sure know what. All my emotions become strewn around like static, and I can’t see through the digital haze of snow. All my smiles become supportive, and I try. I try to just hang on through it, let it wash over me and be done. Fighting it only seems to make it worse.
My mother suggested that maybe I experienced pain in another life. That this is karmic pain from when I was someone or something else in another time or reality. You might even wonder, considering the lumbering giant, if its genetic pain. Genes can remember things, and I think there are things in our genome that govern emotional stability. My pain would be in my genes.
But it’s not.
It’s the secretive television glowing in the dark downstairs. It’s a portal, a staircase into darkness. It’s the book, squirreled away on the top shelf. It’s Diane Arbus. It’s the electric guitar, the steam puff, the heart beat, the low incandescent vibrations traveling through the woods. Words, words, and more words meant to soothe, meant to hurt. Coddled in horror, it’s the birds flying ever onward into the sky. It’s a swirling black hole in the night sky calling out to me on the balcony. Calling me to go in. I can’t go in, gravity holds me down.
It’s all these things that live inside me.
I’m not crazy. I’m not delusional. I’m not suicidal. I’m not depressed. I’m not alone. I’m not planning anything. I’m not going to do anything I wouldn’t tell Mom about. I’m not all of these things, and still, the pain.
This isn’t a post where I’m going insane and writing some crazy thing about a life-threatening problem I’m experiencing right now. This is a post where I’m just putting what I feel sometimes out there, and see if it helps anybody, or if it might help me. I’m in a tough spot, but everybody has tough spots. I doubt I’ll miraculously find the answer on the internet. In fact, I know I won’t ever find the answer on the internet.
I want to make an interactive story (game) that talks about some of these issues; feeling small, deformed, scared, and in pain. I’m working on it, but it’s going to take a while to build. It’ll be different that’s for sure.
That damn book.
I think I’m deformed, that there’s something stunted, warped, and disturbed about my entity and stature. I’m small, and for the most part, that’s okay. It happened sometime in middle school. That’s when I started wearing the same jacket every single day. I did that up until I went to college, from then on. Something got blocked, something came to a head, and everything pulled and folded back in on itself, forming me, and my disturbance.
Sometimes, I wish I could go back and be 22 and know the things I know now. Then I’d do things differently. Maus says that I should do them now, but that’s the thing. I never know what to do now, only what to do ten years ago. What I didn’t do ten years ago. Every once in a while I just feel like I was more alive when I was 22. I remember meeting Maus, and moving in. We’d sleep on a twin bed, with me up against the wall. Things were good, I was on meds only, and I was free. I was in control. And I did things, my own things, and I knew people, my own people.
Now, I think I want to know people, but I hesitate to contact anyone new because it all could turn out wrong, like Tommy. It could all turn out wrong because I let myself get carried away, and I don’t do the right thing. And it just blows up in my face.
Now, I think I want to have things in my life, but I hesitate or block myself from actually finishing anything. Anything! I have finished more things in class than in my life.
I haven’t even finished the Furry URL Shortener.
However, it’s not all bad. There might be things that drag me down, there are things that pull me up towards the surface too. I at least have hope of finishing something. I mean it could be worse, I could not have anything to finish at all. I know what that’s like. Nothingness, blankness, emptiness every hour of every day. I don’t have that anymore, I’ve got things to finish.
I’ve come a long way, but I want to live. I know I’ve not wanted to live before, but right now I have a will to live. I lost my will to live completely for a long time, but I figured out how to get it back. So that’s better than nothing.
I have people who love me, and I have a beautiful life where I don’t have to really do much of anything that I don’t want to do. I mean, that’s a blessing, many people have to do all sorts of things that nobody wants to do. So, that’s pretty good.
Still… the pain.
I wish I could find whoever put that pain there, whoever hurt me this way, whoever said that one thing or did that one thing that made me this way. But I don’t think I’ll ever find that person, because in the end, *I* made myself this way. I am that person. I am the disturbance.
I wrote a long time ago that I was the problem, but I wanted to be the answer. Maybe it’s something like that. The problem is the answer.
Well, so it goes, my beautiful life.
Things are going well for the most part. My work is hanging in a real life gallery in Loveland! It’s priced at $325, so you should like, go buy it or something. It’s pretty impressive, I’m hanging up alongside artists who were faculty at CSU. Maus told me he’s never even been displayed in a gallery, let alone priced a piece of work. All this, after only 3 semesters of drawing.
I’ll write more about that piece and hopefully get some pictures soon. It’s pretty exciting.
It is my beautiful life, and all its friends.