I recently returned from seeing GHOST WORLD, a film based on Daniel Clowes’ graphic novel. I wrote earlier my anticipations on viewing this film – wondering whether it’d be as powerful and as moving as the book.
Well, I certainly didn’t have to worry about that. What I didn’t expect, however, was it to take it many steps further by affecting me more personally than I’d thought it would and causing me to think about my own restlessness.
I blame it on the fact that I identify entirely too much with the main character, Enid. Not only through her lack of identify but also through her total social misfit-ism. I know that all too well; it was expressed entirely too much in the film, enough to cause me to realise what’s severely missing from my life – both outwardly and inwardly.
Definition. The painful articulation in the film stressed my own lack of just that. My own uncertainty of purpose. And not only that, but the lack of concrete – if any – reason for my incessant depression, restlessness, mood swings, anxiety, and emptiness.
Oh, sure, I can rant in therapy session about this or that, and think I am getting to the root of my emotional problems – hell, even brushing the surface – but the fact is , that all does little more than help me to temporarily purge. Inside, the problem lies so much deeper, and is so inherent that it’s too vague to grasp, to examine, to identify.
But I can feel it.
“A strange malady… which one might call the splitting of the soul… which has left me with a taste for oblivion.”
That quote just popped into my head, and I seems very accurate; I don’t quite know why. I don’t even know what I’m writing right now – it’s all that undefined.
And all this just makes everything worse, it seems. Gets me more flustered, more disillusioned, more empty… and less willing to deal with any of it.
There seems to be no end, and that is all in the world that I want. I just want to be able to live my life without questioning and second-guessing every little thing that crosses my path. I want to be able to enjoy the nice things without wondering why there are so few and why they don’t make my soul happy. I want to live a life of freedom – of mental freedom, or emotional freedom, of social freedom. I want to be able to connect with outcasts and misfits such as myself in a production way. I want to be able to identify what’s going on around me and inside of me and to me, without just going through the motions.
I want to live. As purely and as freely as possible in this world, this century. I want to be.
To take things as they come gracefully. To not feel this constant, undefined, endless, irrefutable, clawing, gnawing, gasping, begging, screaming in the darkness emptiness. It comes in like the tide… and takes over completely. With it, my life is full of cynicism, questions, aggravation, unmet desires and yearnings, of emotional black-outs and uncontrollable fits of sadness and rage. Without it… I simply cannot imagine. Some things are just too outlandish.
But now I am tired. I wish to break this cycle of being burned-out, of not-thinking. I wish to plant my two feet solidly on the ground and seek out what it is I need from this life. A huge part of me wants to retreat, to turtle if you will, and continue to be dully miserable forever rather than face the possibility of something completely new.
Mostly, though I want it to end and I want to take action. They say that perpetual pain can drive one insane. I wish to go no further down that path.