Pearls and swine

"How could you reach the pearl by only looking at the sea? If you seek the pearl, be a diver: the diver needs several qualities: he must trust his rope and his life to the Friend's hand, he must stop breathing, and he must jump."

I feel like there are grinding wheels in my head that need oiling.

I have been working 10, 11, 12 hours a day. I took on too much work because I don't like to say no and lose newish clients. But it was too too much. Editing is work that needs a fine touch. I hate to be doing it so badly. (I don't mind doing it a bit badly, because I realise that I cannot concentrate on it all the time and need distraction, and anyway, I'm good enough that 75% is better than most can do firing on all cylinders. I have no pride in my work. I hate it too much for that.)

It is very lonely. I rarely ever go out or do anything, unless it's to drop Zenella at school or buy the groceries. I barely feel like I'm living at all. Yet I don't want change. I feel worn to nothing. I have tried and what good did it do? Everything I do is thoroughly disappointing and I am dispirited.

I just cannot take pleasure in anything. I should never have come here. I am stuck in a self-fulfilling spiral: I convinced myself I would be unhappy, so I robbed myself of the equipment to become happy; well, not that, but to have a life at all. I cannot make friends because I hate everyone too much to like them. Yet I am charming and funny if I forget to hate. I cannot even keep the friends I do have. I feel they do not really want to know me, and they confirm it when I am in the least difficult by simply dropping me like a hot potato.

I do not indulge in self-pity, only for this few minutes. I am too numb for pity for anybody, least of all myself. I just sit at my desk, pushing words around, trying to get through it, on a journey to nowhere.

It is breaking my heart that I cannot keep myself from confirming others' suspicion that I am hollow and not worth knowing. They are right. What the fuck am I? My world has shrunk to the confines of my house. It never was much wider. I have always been a hikikomori in waiting, just hoping for an excuse to shut the world out, so that it can no longer touch me at all. I have no idea why. It's just my inclination.

Sometimes, when I am in a wishing mood, which is not often, I wish someone would reach in and shake me, take me out of my box and recognise me for the jewel I could surely be. But anyone who does is doing it for them and not even the smallest piece for me. Or if it is for me, I do not recognise it, because it is not what I want or how I want it, and surely, if you are going to do something for someone else, those must be considerations?

I know, I do sound selfish. Well, I am. I have to be if there is to be anyone in this world who thinks I am worthwhile. I have to be if I am to keep alive the small spark that makes me hope that I can still be a man I can be proud of. Because even though I know it is senseless to be vain, I will always want to be a pearl far more than I can ever enjoy being a swine.

posted by Dr Zen @ 6:20 pm