do you ever feel like you’re just sort of
like all your friends go out and do things and get into relationships and like people that like them back and have fun and do stupid things with their best friends and instead of doing all that you’re just sort of this mildly entertaining thing that people take an interest in once in a while but they wouldn’t really care if it was gone
like you just sort of exist but you don’t really mean anything
This almost perfectly describes the feeling I’ve had rising within me for the last five, maybe even ten, years; but, no matter how hard I’ve tried to put it into words—or even just to understand it to some degree for myself, no specific words needed—I’ve never come very close to succeeding. And this failure of sorts has always left me feeling more alone & unimportant to other people than I did before attempting to understand this feeling—when the feeling was just one more uncomfortable feeling of relatively little significance. Something about THIS FEELING felt like more than the others; it felt like it needed to be understood, like it was threatening to make trouble for me unless I could make sense of it. Thank God for the kindness of others! Now that I have a decent enough grasp on this heretofore indescribable feeling that was so powerful it could actually convince me it deserved no less than my obsession and fear that was coming to a boil, I have—at least temporarily—shut it up. Correction, someone I’ve never met and never will, has shut it up. Thank you kind stranger, thank you.
You are allowed to grieve the years you lost to mental illness. You’re allowed to be mad that it happened to you. You’re allowed to pine after the person you might have been had it been different. But don’t let that get in the way of your growing into your new self and following a wholly new path for your life.
jowls flap and fur flies for shake dog photos by carli davidson
all images © carli davidson
watch a video of SHAKE here
We tried the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator for our personality reflection. I said at least a few times that it’s not perfect, but I thought I’d followup it up with a post with some of the ways it might be broken or less than perfect:
1. One of you found this quote. Using the MBTI is “like using the…
Not sure what I think about any of this. Must get my father’s opinion first. What he has to say in response to this hypothesis that the MBTI® is broken will no doubt be both far more interesting and verifiably more informed than anything I might be thinking. (And this would still be true even if it wasn’t 4 o’clock in the morning.)
Would love this so much more if the totality of my life didn’t add up so perfectly to what Oldman’s character hasn’t got time for…
There are many things
That make me so sad. I thought
You weren’t one of them.
And You weren’t. Not at first. And that’s exactly what makes me so sad now. If only I could forget the about the sweet sound of your devious flirtations, and the nervous school-girl jitters you inspired, so quickly extinguishing the comfortable ennui I’d spent years developing, until it enveloped me. So I should have known, and I’m sure if I had been willing to listen to reason of any sort, I would have heard myself screaming, “Run away! Run away!” To which I would have laughed, because what would I have to be scared of from a cute and harmless little bunny rabbit?
Once you’ve decided
That you don’t like me please don’t
Talk to me again.
Exactly. I wonder if anything would be different—or if everything would be—had I been of sound-enough mind to make my feelings as clear and concise as what follows. Why was my mind not sound-enough? What was it clouded by? Isn’t it obvious?? You. You. You. That’s all that has been since we met; and now it feels like that’s all that there ever will be. No me. Certainly no me and You. Just You. Only You. Always You. And You don’t care. But I still do.
I’m too young to be
So sad. At what age is it
All right to be sad?
Thirty-four. I think at thirty-four it’s officially OK for one to be as sad as this. As sad as me.