“We thrive on keeping our distance, guarding our privacy, not letting our guard down, which takes us to self-preservation, self-perverted-narcissism and grandiose-self-projected-vomit.”Tweet
We dare not name it, we dare not call its name. We shall not face it, nor shall we ignore it. We simply murmur its existence, cling to its being and make love to its presence. We are scared of it, we dread it, and we make it our love-life-long-mission to eliminate it.
We shall call it by several names: sadness, melancholy, unhappiness, despondency, hopelessness, depression, loneliness, lonesomeness, disheartenment, dejection, low-spirits, pensive sadness, nostalgia, fuck-it-all-moment-of-no-one-loves-me-and-i-know-it. Us the citizens of this world, we all want it, feed off of it, and worship watching its “destructive forces”. We long for it to come and give us a reason to seek attention, feel the need to confess to “being it”, and lick its many faces to get its last remains.
Every day our obsession is to battle it. Denounce it, let go of it, for it can’t linger long enough to dissuade us, dampen our spirits and keep us from achieving what we deserve. We are armed, we are ready, we are filled with colorful prescription drugs, to fight the “disease”. “The disease can’t and doesn’t have us”, we proclaim, while marching ants in our heads tell us otherwise. We stump them one by one, with the help of therapists and hours and hours of psychoanalysis. We take walks, meditate, hire shrinks to help us unwind, and become artists to unload. We have and feel the urge to let it all out. We acquire licenses to help, coach and guide. We learn from our mistakes and become “better”, more of whatever the fuck it is we think we are.
We are lovers. We are lesbians, homosexuals, men, women, non-binary, subjects, objects, animal, feral, fucked-up-pieces-of-shit, magicians, superheroes, full-of-shit-mother-fuckers, and we want to be “better”. We want to be there, to be compassionate, to feel loved, understood, to give love, be understanding, and protect our loved ones. We thrive on keeping our distance, guarding our privacy, not letting our guard down, which takes us to self-preservation, self-perverted-narcissism and grandiose-self-projected-vomit.
We are full of slogans of independence, make-love-not-war, I-am-me-and-you-are-you, and I-accept-and-love-you-as-you-are. We dread it, the loneliness, the I-am-not-needed, I-am-not-included, I-am-forgotten, and the I-do-not-belong. Every time something happens, we get pulled into the cycle of needing it. Every time a hand doesn’t touch us, every second a heart doesn’t warm us, every moment we doubt and question and dismantle to prove we are worth it, we invite it in, and let it own us, bring us down and feed off of our corpse.
We think we are unique, we think there is something so special about us and those whom we love. We feel fortunate by their presence, we put them on pedestals, worship their heroism, and long for their attention. We criticize others for the exact things we are blind to in those whom we claim to love, support and “accept without any expectations”. We get injured, punctured, pissed and shit on, and we still “understand”, are “compassionate”, and believe in that aha-moment when all will be “fine”. We give a thousand chances, and love unconditionally. We hold vigils with our loved ones, and forget those whose love carried us, nurtured us, in silence, among the abyssal eb and flows we call life.
Yet, at that moment, when chaos and unrest falls upon our caged society, we let go of all that and get into “survival mode”. Lovers of thousands of miles away become just-friends of many years ago. Passionate kisses get lost in the need of passing through it all. We cave into the fright, get excited, feel the urge to play heroes and all the while fight loneliness, depression and anxiety. Because at that moment, when we feel “unsafe”, frightened and lonesome, and when loneliness caves in, crawls up into our pores, and we yearn a touch, a hug, or a simple sound of a loving voice, proximity is all that matters. Our tribe, and family, and those within reach. “Our-loved-ones” only includes those who are in that situation, next to us, feeling our presence, strength and courage.
And when loneliness, sadness brings us down, we simply ask and we shall receive. Or not. Circumstances make or break us. We are citizens of the “world”. We are not for chaos but for peace, not for unrest but for order. Give us our lovers, our plans for the future, a warm touch, a wife, a husband, a lover, some kids, a common goal, a community, and we shall prevail. Despair? No such thing, we shall conquer, and become, be and turn into anything we like. As long as we have each other, we will be good, and as long as we are honest we are. We shall love no matter what, we shall be happy together forever, while living our American dream inside our picket fences, with dogs barking, and birds chirping. We shall lay together when we are scared and hopeless and fragile, and keep an open mind, hold a dialogue and stand up and feel safe.
We are nausea, we are vomit, and we are disgusting manipulative leaches sucking each other’s blood in the name of love, kindness and compassion. We hide behind ourselves, wearing our self-righteousness, values, principles, self-preservation-tendencies, so proudly, and while being in our white-picket-fenced-boundaries, judging all and putting up fake walls of independence, we feel safe, cared for, in control, powerful, manageable, and so loved.
As if the land we are sitting on, with all its doors and windows, is anything but a cage: a beautiful cage, decorated by us, and our illusions of a bright future. A cage in which we were granted the freedom to roam, make rules, let go of chaos, and invite order. Our home, our house of cards: we are here to protect it and everything in it.