I should have just made my own version of "The Aristocrats"

It's already been established that I can't write, and I have a lot of trouble focusing...what is happening, every year things get worse: should I return to and old way of life, pull an anti-Nietzchian sentiment and just shut everything that is so NOW out and only do what used to work? Well, what used to work was masses and masses of caffeine + any other stimulant. That's not working now. What used to work was watching TV...nope, that's not working now. What about getting away from it all? NO! Still not working...having more confidence about my looks? NOT WORKING!! Drinking...not working. Talking to a doctor? Not working! Can I tell you the truth about my left arm? I'm not exactly sure what numbness feels like, and I don't exactly know what shooting pains are...if you want to know exactly how my left arm feels, well, it feels like I'm stretching it...and like it's a mile longer than my right arm: which all concludes that reading things on the internet isn't working, as well as going to a doctor isn't working.

Today was a tremendous day in losses for me: I lost my whole day in bed, frozen. I lost the heat because a roommate tore down the thermostat. I lost the winning proposal of my passive aggressive note with a 5th grader witticism, which I dignified with an answer. I lost my composure with too much caffeine. I lost my seriousness by showing up at the computer lab hoping to be forced by social pressure to just sit down and do my fucking work, but instead, freaking the fuck out. I lost my ability to make a point. I lost having a place to go when I'm freaked the fuck out. I lost having anyone who can make a difference when I'm losing, but I know I shouldn't be. I just keep thinking "anxiety is anger directed inwards". But I know who I'm angry at...why would I direct this inwards. That episode of Law & Order: SVU where Dr. Wong explains that people who once abused certain drugs are destined to have life long anxiety problems keeps interrupting my thoughts...I can't get anything done. I was fooling myself all along. Or am I just that much of a follower, that every doubt anyone has ever had about me, I jump through painful hoops to prove TRUE. I follow directions that well. "Neeraja, you can't stay in school like this". "Neeraja, you need to RELAX."

I feel like my life is one of those TV shows (who am I kidding, I mean "That's so Raven") where people see the future, try to stop it, and in trying to do so only allow it to happen. My fear of failure makes me fail, my fear of anxiety makes me anxious, my fear that others will be right and I'll never be able to prove them wrong make others right and me unable to prove them wrong. Instead of just trying, I've created a series of elaborate obstacles progressively more and more intrinsically inclined so as to sow them into my own body. Nietzche talks a lot about how the ascetics try to explain away the physical problems as a problem or a punishment of the soul...but who will address the issues of the problem of the soul creating a problem for the body, which in turn create problems for the soul and so forth in an endless see saw of non-productive misery? No, I don't believe in the soul in any religious sense, and I never think of God as the beholder of the soul; by soul, I mean psyche. It is being more and more comprehensively proven with every panic attack that nothing physical is triggering my physical reactions. Nothing. Physical. That means soul to me. My soul is troubled, I am sickened, just like Nietzche. He could focus, he could write, so I know he didn't have what I have, and yet they tell me he was in constant pain. Why do they keep telling me this? Is this supposed to mean something? Am I supposed to be impressed? Or jealous that someone in pain can actually fucking get something done?

Someone explain to me, since I can't concentrate enough to finish this fucking book, what I should do to while trying not to look to the past, or fatalistically break down while looking to what seems to be no future for me. What can I possibly think of if now beginning or end? It reminds me of that joke "The Aristocrats", where the beginning and end stay the same unwaveringly but the middle is what makes the joke a joke. Truly all life begins and ends the same, no matter whose it is: with birth and death. So why continue to dissect every moment of anxiety or pain in the past to understand how to deal with it, and why continue to freak the fuck out over what will happen in the future since I can't get anything done cuz my past remedies aren't working NOW? Why?! Cuz there's nothing fucking else to think about. Goddamn. Everyone thinks it's soooo fucking obvious. WHAT THE FUCK ELSE IS THERE TO THINK ABOUT?!

Monday, March 10, 2008