Idea Slop

 

I am convinced something is wrong with me.

Waves of nothing are momentarily settled with brief productivity, hyper-fixation, mania. Then they pass. And they leave nothing. Depression? Nihilism? I don’t know. Every time I’m so aware of the deep endless cavern inside of me that thinks ‘is this what life is? Waiting for every day to just be over?’.

When it’s not nothing, or mania, it’s sadness. A deep sadness that I just have to power on through. I’m always just trying to get through the day, having to stifle screams into a pillow when I remember a past embarrassment, a past failure, a past shortcoming. It fills me with a shame so intense I have to scream myself hoarse into a pillow. When that anxiety settles, once again I am left with nothing, or far too much. 

Maybe it’s my hormones. I thought for a long time it was. Surely that would explain these cycles of emotions I seem to go through every month. Every month. Every month for my whole life. Does that not mean that something is wrong with me, if I feel like this for weeks at a time, every month, every year, until- when? Until I die?

I’m overwhelmed with the passage of time. I feel so unfilled, so useless, so directionless. I have so many ideas in my head. I have too much to put out. None of it is perfect, none of it is interesting to anyone but me, and none of it goes anywhere. I am useless. I don’t know what to do. 

I just feel as if something is wrong with me. The world is ending, and everything is changing - I had all these years prior to do something, to make something, to be something, and now everything has gone to shit and what do I have? I have more than so many people in the world. I have so much more and I am so lucky, I am so privileged, and yet I feel so bereft of something. Something I don’t know what. 

I wish I had a big spreadsheet, an intricate database of my mind detailing and organising everything. Formatted in a way that is simple to decipher and plan around. Information I can sort through so that I can make something with this jumbled mush of thoughts and ideas I have swimming in the festering boiling pot of my mind.

My mind is an idea soup, and it tastes shit. Not even idea soup. Idea slop. The kind of stuff they used to serve in workhouses. You know it’s supposed to be food, supposed to be something nourishing and filling and satisfying, but instead it’s tasteless, bland, and vaguely disgusting. That’s what my brain feels like so much of the time. 

I have too much within me. Too many emotions, thoughts, feelings, opinions, ideas. Too many that are all wrong.