Category Quick Jump
I am Nietzsche
Ok. So this writing about hating has been good for me. This writing about depression. (OMG, I just heard a bang right above me: the actors are moving into the previously empty room right above my bedroom – I’m sure of it. What am I going to do? I feel so invaded. Is it possible that I may make enough money to buy my own freestanding home? One where I don’t have to worry about loud actors who recognize me for the worm I am and treat me as such?)
Ok. So I’m going to try and go with it – writing even when I may not be sooo depressed, in the hopes that it will end the confusion and lostness I feel. The despair. The ennui, the malaise.
What are going to be my rules for writing? What subjects do I not want to write about? I definitely do not want to hurt people, even though many deserve it. Should I choose themes? One theme is definitely going to be “depression”: “sadness and loneliness”. I wonder if loneliness should be the theme? I’ve been pretty much friendless my whole life. (I can get into that later.)
Ok, let’s settle on “loneliness” for a theme.
I also like the theme of depression: chronic, deep-seated depression that really isn’t depression at all, just who I am. Wow, that sucks to write, but I think it’s good: the theme of my identity being “Depression.” Like, if someone asks “Who are you?” I answer, “Well, I am Depressed. I am lonely. I am lost. I am confused.”
“But why, Malcolm, why are you Depressed, Lonely, Lost and Confused? You seem so happy and successful.”
And I will just sigh and turn away, because there is no way anyone can understand identity. Because being Depressed, lonely, lost and confused for me is like having red hair, or brown; pale skin, or dark; male gender, or female. Why do you have the hair colour you have, or the skin colour?
(Now fuck off you stupid middle or upper class psychiatrist and go fleece someone else with your labels.)
So, I’ve got a good theme here: my identity as a depressed, lonely, confused and lost being. Lot’s of woman stuff too, because women aren’t supposed to be depressed or somber. Women are supposed to lighten the load of hard working men: women are supposed to be like toys, providing amusement and reprieve at the end of a hard day. They should entertain, soothe and support with kind words and delicate smiles if they cannot “buck up” and make happy nonsense talk. They should not, however, challenge, make a man think or – did I say challenge?
Women should never be serious or desire to use their brains or even their physical strength. They exist to be the setting for the man’s shining brilliance. If their brilliance is brighter than the man’s, they should work extra hard to dim it. If the setting they are is more compelling than the man’s brilliance, they should sand the filigree work that is themselves, themselves. They should kill their uniquenesses and strength. Men need their weakness.
Ok, so I have my identity as a depressed, lonely, lost and confused woman. Do I need chapters? Do I need to write an outline of this book I’m going to write? (I figure that if I write a page a day, in 365 days, I’ll have a book!)
Are there any female Nietzsche’s or Kafka’s? Margaret Atwood is a pretty depressing writer but she writes fiction. If there is a female Nietzsche, you or I have probably not heard of her because men, who control most channels of self-expression, do not like to see anti-male sentiments spread or flourish. Anti-female is fine because it keeps the women in line while providing an “outlet” for men who might otherwise actually hurt the women they fantasize about killing, raping or hurting. But not for women, to write anti-male diatribes or stories. Ha! Who said a story didn’t have power? Who says the arts aren’t important?
Nietche does not seem to be the kind of guy who wrote outlines for his works – but I could be wrong.
What would my outline be? Chapter 1: On Depression; Chapter 2: On Loneliness; Chapter 2: On Being Lost; Chapter 4: On Confusion and Chapter 5: On Being Female?!
Hmmph. Maybe the thing to do is just write, like I’m doing. I know that’s the way some writers wrote. I remember reading about one in university, Evelyn Vaughn, was it? Who went to a hotel for three months at a time every so often, stayed there and just wrote and wrote and wrote. Doesn’t sound like there was much of a plan there – but I could be completely and absolutely wrong.
At any rate, I’m going to have to rely on my inner compass and just let it pour out. If I stop to analyze, I’ll get stuck, so my book will be on My Identity as a Depressed, Lonely, Lost and Confused Woman. There won’t be a formal structure but hopefully, it will have an internal rhythm.
Hopefully, these themes will be so dear to me that they will just flow out naturally, after 46 years of brewing in my hard, closed little ecosystem of a soul. Hopefully, the pain will wash away the pain, or rather, I’ll learn to live with who I am, cherish my Depressed, Lonely, Lost and Confused identity and in the process, realize that it way trumps Happy, Loved, Oriented and Clear ones.
Well, that probably isn’t going to happen, but maybe I’ll achieve some sort of sound of one hand clapping in the forest state? That would be pretty cool. Cause it sucks to BE depression, loneliness, loss and confusion. It really fucking does.
Image from: http://rsleve.people.wm.edu/FNLAS_1882.html
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