Shedding the Skin

People say they want to die. And in a way, it’s true.

I’m trying very hard right now not to write something horribly hopeless and despairing. If nothing else, recently I’ve learned that the less I think or talk about myself, the better. Far better to find ways to get absorbed in what’s going on in the world or in trying to contemplate God.

In my more cynical moments I’ll think the whole point of the idea of God is to have some Other to talk to, just in order to be distracted from oneself. Because the self is a trap. One look at the self and immediately you’re dragged into a frenzy of self-accusation, self-loathing, despair, guilt, hopelessness, and shame.

Maybe it’s better to stick with the fiction and the poetry. Because at least there I can manage to get absorbed into a story I’m telling, an image I’m working on, a person I encountered — anything on earth other than myself!

But to get back to people who want to die. I heard something recently to the effect that a person should try to die every day — like a snake shedding its skin.

Big truth there. Because the feeling of wanting to die shouldn’t be taken too literally — it’s a feeling like when your rectum fills up with feces and you gotta do something to get it to go away. Take a dump. Shed your skin. Do your best to cleanse the nastiness in your soul somehow, so you can face the day, be present in it, and maybe even manage to be a little grateful for it.

And some days you’ll be more successful than others.

(This is not one of my more successful days.)

The ideal is probably to live in such a way that the wonder and mystery of life is ever-present before your eyes. Last week I thought I’d managed that — there were days when I was so moved with the beauty of it all that I’d weep with wonder and gratitude almost the whole day long. When it was happening, I imagined I’d found a whole new way of being, where God would hold my hand and guide me through every day of life, and things would be great.

But of course you can’t live in that state. Maybe.

At the moment I just want to curl in on myself and smack anybody who comes close or so much as looks at me. Nothing’s changed, really. Maybe tomorrow everything will be different. But right now I’m having a hard time breaking out of my old self-absorption. And I’m trying not to beat myself down for it or blame myself for it, because that only makes it worse — shame already makes one want to withdraw, but feeling ashamed about feeling ashamed… there’s a recipe for slipping back into my old neuroses!

(Not that I’ve gotten over my old neuroses. I’ve managed to quit biting my nails after about fifteen solid years of constant gnawing, so there’s one demon exorcised.)

Which reminds me: I’m always a little (read: a lot) suspicious when people tell me about how they “used to” have this-or-that neurosis, mental health issue, or self-destructive tendency. I’m not psychologist, but my impression is that these are things you learn to overcome by rebuilding yourself and the way you’re living your life. A depressive type is always going to be a depressive type — they’ll just learn ways to overcome those tendencies today, and then manage to overcome them again tomorrow.

(That’s probably what people are getting at when they say the only reason on God’s green Earth anyone should ever do something as stupid as trying to write for a living is if they need it. Nobody would choose an artist’s or a writer’s life if they didn’t have biggo mental issues that demand to be fought through and addressed every. Single. Day.)

Anybody who says writer’s block is a real thing is a real blockhead. There are more things to write about than could ever be addressed in a lifetime of work.

I’m just gonna throw this out here: this is one of those pieces I wouldn’t have written or posted if I didn’t have the overwhelming superego need to fulfill my duty to post something today. It’s disjointed, moody, meandering, and doesn’t really come to a point — all the vices of my writing in their most concentrated form.

I guess if there is any point that emerges from all this, it’s that there’s a value in making the daily attempt to break through the veil of the self. Even if some days all you end up with is the attempt to shed the skin. Keep up the struggle and hope for a better roll of the dice tomorrow.