breaking down
More than ever, there is an incessant need, a nagging, constant feeling, in the back of my mind.
Sometimes, all the time, I want to break down. I never did consider myself strong. (In fact, I wonder if I consider anything of myself, without actually looking for it. I have always been able to make myself think something. Describe for me a memory, and in seconds I won’t remember if it’s mine or yours. Imagination is my jester. I can make me see myself as…almost anything.)
I can even convince myself that I can jump onstage and make an actress of myself. I think we all know that’s bullshit.
The American ideal is to believe in yourself, to have confidence in everything you do. But then again, America is found wanting in numerous senses - education standards and health care, to name two, and then in self-esteem we rise to the occasion.
It’s an ideal I can’t follow. Results first, and then reason to feel confidence.
Overconfidence is destruction, in my world. Emotions and imagination take me too high. When I fall, I shatter. I can’t express how much that disgusts me. Two parts of myself, Yin and Yang, laughing at each other as the circle turns, turns, turns…
Two parts that do not work together, but rather drag one another along. A constant pitiful state.
There is always a balance. I will crack, but I won’t stop. I can break down and cry, but I’ll drag myself along because…there is always some part of me that has more to do.
I’m frustrated. Terribly so.
And ranting.