Monday, June 04, 2018

בחילת קיום Nausea of Existence

I cry soup-bowls of tears
I hear peaaa souuuup in the rustles of the trees when I take Nemo out for her night walk, and my eyes are puffy. I missed dinner there, and I don't eat anything at all for dinner at home. It was as if I was paralyzed in my self-pity. I hate myself for it and it makes me so ashamed. In any case, Tal is arranging a trip for us out east to the Cascades, and wanted me to help organize but my mind is so absent, and he arranges everything. All that's left for me to do is take some clothes into a milk crate and bring it out to the minivan. We go on the trip and I'm so grateful, because I love traveling with Tal and Nemo.

May 26, 2018, nighttime near Leavenworth, WA, in the minivan 
Ocean of emotion has swept over me in the past few weeks. It's hard to resurrect turmoil, especially when it seems (for a while, at least) like it's over. But the gush of frustration and overwhelming sense of Loss or Lost-ness have prompted me to have to find reason, consolation and benefits. And in any case, understandings and revelations have dawned on me in the past 24 hours, slowly adding more clarity to the picture with each new one, and they are interesting enough to be worth pursuing in writing. 
Many times, hard emotions can feel lighter when I write about them, as if once the burden is told to the world as a well-written story, it becomes fascination instead of personal suffering. But it seems like the utter helplessness and regret I felt yesterday may have surpassed that level, and were so hard to bear that even written expression can't ease them. Will write more tomorrow. 

May 27, 2018, in same spot as last night (back here for the night) 
I say to myself, "it would be nice to get home tomorrow in the afternoon and not night, so that we'll be able to relax before work on Tuesday," but then I revise that, asking myself: Is there really a difference if you get to rest or not? In the end it's all the same (in the end you'll have to wake up on Tuesday and go to work anyway...). And this is part of the sense of worthlessness and meaninglessness or despair disconnectedness, or fear, or anxiety, or I-don't-yet-know-what, that is my life, as me, inside of me, through my eyes.
I am kind of always tense, but at the same time there is no place I want to get to or be at that I can think will make me feel at east inside myself, at ease with ideas of time passing, of past-present-future as being linear and relevant, of goals-actions-sense of fulfillment. I sometimes call it cognitive dissonance, or claustrophobia in the self, or maybe (probably) there is something more that I am missing, some pieces of understanding that haven't yet dawned on me.  
Yes, there are beautiful things around me, but something doesn't enter through the veil behind my eyes into my timeless soul and godful existence. Or maybe all humans in fact feel this fear, and maybe only few stop to notice it. Maybe incessant work for some is a way to not notice the utter meaninglessness and emptiness of life as humans. 
Even writing - which in a sense is my saving grace, my refuge, my meaning - seems sometimes meaningless, because it feels like publishing a book would possibly be for the sake of recognition, which is just a continuation of the problem (just a deeper delve into the thirsty search for external meaning) and not a sustainable solution.  
I do love writing. A book wouldn't be just for the sake of recognition, but the fact that I use the thought of publishing a book as a way to ward off a sense of social shame or unworthiness, makes me believe it is also as shallow as the problem.
(The end of this idea was more elaborated in my mind when I started the sentence, but often my mind blanks as I go along and I lose the thought...) 
I want to mention that despite cognitive dissonance or inability to be here, the richness of the past grant me a belly-full of inspiration and excitement when it comes to mind. I want to incorporate it in my writing - bring in stories of my life with Gilad, all those great and pure memories of love, family, friends and closeness that seem joyous in my mind, images of nighttime bus rides, familiar sounds, city streets...


I feel so free when traveling in the car with Tal and Nemo, whizzing along roads with sunshine fluttering through the trees, a vast sky spread out in front of us, and wind singing to our open eyes.

I realize about the shame, on the way home. Shame which breeds anger. Anger and shame - Those are the two, I conclude. The two cores of belly-churning sizzling.
I pour out the shame.
I stomach it through my windpipe and I say, "I want to retell the conversation I had with Elkah, about the night when I missed the bus and missed the dinner." I retell it all. I retell about the paralysis, about the unearthed need for someone to urge me to do things I need to do because of my inability to get up and do them at the will of myself. About the difference in our mindsets - his of scarcity, mine of abundance. About the anger I feel. I feel so much anger, so much shame! "Even from you!," I say to Tal. "I do. I feel like puking all of life."

He says, "I think everyone feels that way -- (that makes me so angry; I say, "what you're saying makes me angry!") -- everyone feels nauseated from life. The essence of life is Suffering."

I had a dream that I forgot what our home looked like, while I was in it. I was in it, but couldn't recall it! It was so scary! (It's a heightened depiction of how my brain works when I am awake.) I called Tal's name, to help me remember, but he said, "I can help you in half an hour." Then I woke up.
I forget things. My brain is a machine that shows vague and blurry pictures of the now.
I don't know why.
My brain is falling apart.
I must have come all the way here, I think, to fall apart, the way that animals find a distant and secluded place to die.

I say, after a long silence, "I feel that there is one thing to do to fight off the suffering... It is Creating Things. Which I don't know if you have a need for (but I'm sure you'd benefit from it too) and which I have a terrible aching need for but some reason can't find a way to do enough of it."

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