If you’re prepared to publish and be damned, whenever you are damned, you’d better be sure that if you want to count for anything you’re prepared to publish that you have, indeed, been damned, especially when it’s been by your own hand.
I’ve been getting consumed with thinking that I was about to go into war yet again, when nothing much has been happening at all. Putting the pieces together, I’ve come up with something that was so convincing it could easily have escalated into what I was guessing at, acting as a twisted form of confirmation. But I checked my facts the first realistic chance I got and came up with nothing to verify even the slightest conscious emotion in someone that would have suggested war was on the horizon, which in a way makes this different to a case of pure paranoia, where there are no checks and balances available to offset an imagination gone horribly wrong.
That said, I do feel like I’ve been at war, still. It’s not easy to put into words the thoughts and feelings you can get when you think the system’s about to rape your soul again, effectively on the basis of a poor level of analysis from institutions you always believed were there to protect against such abuses. A succession of physical illnesses, traumatic anniversaries, compounding sleep loss, maddening sleeping pills, memories of past injustices (to which I could add some crackers), how I crashed off the back of them, along with the remaining potential for all of it to happen again, have hit me from all angles, grinding me down when I’ve been near my weakest.
But this is important, this error, in a way that isn’t merely the positive thinking of our times. Not being someone who believes in sweeping things under the carpet, which I think only gives them a greater potential for harm, I’ve brought on the memories and given this year as good a battle as it always had in store for me, and in facing down the threat of overload, I’ve dealt certain damaging thought processes what could eventually turn out to be a fatal blow. Too much time on my hands? Maybe, but if that time’s going to significantly improve in quality, I’m certain some things need to be done.
This isn’t the end of it and the instant birth of endless good times. Too much has happened down the years for anything to be that easy. This is going to be gradual, this evolution of life and, though I’m making more progress than appearances may suggest, I’m hoping it all starts getting a lot easier pretty damn soon and the natural change of time returns to its conventional approach.
This is the first day, after 13 of them, that I’ve woken up having not taken sleeping pills the night before. My mind’s no longer feeling ragged and the world’s finally stopped melting. My body’s craving more sleep, but that’ll surely come. I’m not desperately chasing peaceful experiences, now, and looking out of my window to test this out, the scene looks settled, nothing out of the ordinary at all. It’s good to see.