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How To Save Yourself (from Feeling It's All Gone to Shite)

Writer's picture: Feef MooneyFeef Mooney

If you, in the midst of these biblical- feeling rains, might feel inclined to include yourself in the S.A.D. category (Seasonal Affective Disorder) , take a breath.

Sure, my giddy three-cup-coffee joy is too soon displaced with the caffeine comedown. Acidic anxiety, along with the "heightened awareness" that nothing really matters, we are done for, the human race is destroying itself and the planet every day. People are opportunistic, don't really care. True friends are hard to find. At the end, what's gonna get you? Disease, loss, accident: face it, you're gonna go. Oh, the bleak midwinter! Save me from myself at 4am!

Harder to be funny than tragic.

But these snarky philosophicals with their "I told you so" impermanence theories piss me off.. Next to my Pagliacci despair is a more than capable Pugilist who would love to rage on their meditative parade. Fuck. I don't want to sit with my legs crossed , surrendering to the "Moment." Ironically, this feels like more self-conscious narcissism. If I am indeed turbulent, I don't want to look like a peaceful lady of the canyon. I'll be a messy terror, a dervish, a Tasmanian Devil first.

If you are now waiting for my list, here it comes. And be aware that these conclusions may change. It's my Rainy Day Mind Parade, I will not get soggy!

  1. One of the first songs I ever wrote as a kid (I was ten) was "Get The Madness Out Song." I stand by it now. Blast something not pretty and let yourself rage. Be pissed off. In your own room. If I could smash plates, I would. And, not being a screamer, I simply move about. I whack up the volume. Yes. I play "Rage Against The Machine."

  2. I do blam and jam and tear at my electric guitar, I do percuss the hell out of my acoustic. I do not care about sounding melodious or entertaining anyone.

  3. I will pull up a chair and write something. I will immerse myself in a phrase. Even if it makes no sense. I know there is some other part of me that is making something, even when I am stuck and sitting in my own crap. There is something going on,. There is always another channel.

  4. If I put the telly on, I yell at the pundit. Hey, fuck you! No, I do not agree with you. I have a private session with that person who is in the moment an idiot!

  5. I do not reach out to anyone. I am going to be alone. I do not want to share this. I do not want advice. I do not want to be fixed. I am in the land of I do not give a fuck. I do not want anyone to talk me down. Let me be here. Just let me be a mess. I do not want to be cute. I do not want to be attractive. I do not want to make someone laugh, or cry. I don't want to help.

And it is my sense that sometimes a person needs to be forlorn. Wretched. Discombobulated, Remote. Imperfect. Not on camera. Not available. Not on a social. Not picking up the phone.

It's gonna pass. The clouds shift, inevitably.

I think there is no saving oneself. Just go there. Just be in it. Just have that time alone.

Pushing it down, acting as though everything is fine, reading self help books: NO.

Life is shite sometimes. Unfair. Sad. Hard. Let's be real and not Pollyanna what it is to be alive.

If I can't be my own monster, I will never understand anyone else's.

Is this advice? No. This is a hint of what has been happening in me lately. I can't even give you a pinch of it. You can't be there. Nor should you.

Rest assured, if you've been down in the dregs, you are part of that weirdness that is the human condition. Completely and utterly naked and alone, one of a kind. Yet recognized by all of us who have had our own unique freak outs.

Oh yes, we were shoved out of that birth control and now we continue to live and tell our tales.

But hey, it certainly ain't over yet.

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