"Everything Falls Apart" by Dog's Eye View is one of my favourite songs of all-time. It isn't really a great song by any stretch of the imagination, but it has two sets of lyrics which I have always loved, for different reasons. The first is the devil's not in the details/no, the devil is in my pants. I don't really have much to say about that line except that it is awesome, it always makes me laugh, and I try to quote it whenever possible. How could I not? The other, though, is much deeper and causes me to reflect.
I met God this afternoon, riding on an uptown train/I said, "don't you have better things to do?"/He said, "if I do my job, what would you complain about?/so I let it go to Hell, now I'll have something to do"/He said, "I'll let it go to Hell, does that sound familiar to you?"
Yes, God, that does sound familiar to me. Thank you for so succinctly spelling out why I let my life go to Hell on a pretty-much-daily basis. I'm a natural-born complainer. If I weren't complaining, I'd have nothing to do. And in order to have something to do, I take an active role in turning my life into a steaming pile of crap.
"Now, Dave," you might say. "Stop being so dramatic. It's not that bad."
Isn't it, though? Well, maybe it isn't. But you're not inside my head. You don't know how badly I beat myself up over every stupid little mistake I make, every unwelcome thought I have, and every reminder of wasted potential that passes before my eyes. This is why I complain, my friends: inner torment. I spend a lot of time hating myself. And I don't mean to imply that I think I'm worthless and that no one loves me. In fact, just the opposite. I think that I am a pretty awesome guy, and that a lot of people like me for different reasons. What torments me, then, is the hierarchy of thoughts and of priorities by which I craft my day-to-day routine, and because of which I spend hours on end berating myself and reminding myself that I'm a complete and utter failure at all aspects of life.
This applies to all types of ventures and across the broad spectrum of cognition. Intellectually, emotionally, ethically, motivationally, and any other -ally you can imagine: I despise myself for the way I have developed myself in every manner of personal worth there is. Crawl inside my head for a day; I dare you. If you aren't clawing your own eyes out within an hour and wondering how anyone can face the day with so much self-loathing, you're quite likely inhuman. It's almost nauseating.
I even hate myself for writing this post right now. These are the thoughts in my head at this very moment: 1) you have work you need to be doing, so stop wasting time doing this, 2) you are pathetic for posting this publically; what are you just begging for sympathy?, 3) when you make this post, people are going to think you're just begging for sympathy, 4) no one takes you seriously and no one is going to read this anyway, so why are you so worried about it?, 5) why exactly do you worry/care so much about what people are going to think about you?, etc., etc., etc.
Dave's head, top floor: nonstop self-doubt, -degradation, -consciousness, and -hatred. Enjoy your visit, and get out while you can.
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2 comments:
Nothing is wrong with us Dave, it is the rest of the world that is wrong. My primary care physician has said that I might benefit from Psychology. I wound up canceling my first two appointments. Sometimes I feel that it is the rest of the world who should go. Maybe we would all benefit from a little Psychology.
I can't help but remember when I was working at the sawmill and my back was hurting. Someone recommended a chiropractor. I called him and his secretary said that he was on vacation in Bermuda. After sleeping on my back, on the floor for a week or two, I felt better and never saw him. That was over ten years ago...
Still, I am constantly reminded that I have a problem. It is a funny thing... you go on for years oblivious to your condition, you get married and BINGO... you never knew how f**ed up your condition was until you have someone to constantly point it out to you. So what if I go a little crazy when I come home and find the blotter on my desk shifted over 2 inches to the right, or I find a pencil out of place… and isn't everyone bitchy before their first cup of coffee?
Well, at least I complied and went to the hearing specialist after my wife complained that I didn't hear her. The findings of the hearing specialist were just as I expected, I hear fine, I just didn't hear her.
As far as the desk thing goes, my self-diagnosis is that I need to maintain control in my life in some small ways to make up for the bigger things that I can't control. Somehow this makes me feel better about myself and my life. See... you are right on Dave. There IS something helpful and healing about writing.
As the expert, I can assist. Together we can come to a right answer.
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