Introspective blah blah... you've been warned.
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
I've been thinking for some time now (I'd say a week but it always seems a week is the generic amount of time a person cites as being the time needed for a thought to gestate into words so I'll refrain and just say for some time) how fickle people seem to be. In particular, how flippant their moods are. I hold no malice against my fellow members here (and the SGs we all love in particular) but it amazes me how a person can pour their souls onto a blog, offering it up like a soul dissected and examined by strangers, detailing the pain and suffering no poet this side of the 19th century seems to capture that makes you yearn to ease their pain, to lessen their sorrow... only to hear two days later how stoked they are about taking a road trip to a concert with the bestest friends in the whole world.
I was going to blame age when I realized (huh, looks like gestating for a week is a good idea) it is actually maturity. We equate the two, expecting the roll of years to bring maturity when it won't necessarily. And so people spout off about how bad their lives are because it's raining outside that particular day. Perhaps their favorite television program was postponed until the following week. In this one day they think all is meaningless and the world is crap. They seem to forget this sorrow as soon as something positive happens, when one of those things they lamented is no longer a sorrowful burden.
I'm struggling with this right now because of a particular friend who stumbled into depression. Moreso than that, as it always comes down to, it's a personal concern. Say I post a summary of depression here (which this isn't, I write it with clarity and lucidity, removed from my own troubles). I'll walk outside and smile at the warmth of sunlight on my face, a grossly overlooked simple pleasure on a cool October day. I might even go to Best Buy and gift myself a new piece of technological gadgetry. But ultimately, I am still in mourning over that thought laid down in words here. I try not to forget the positives (I am fed, employed and of fair health) but I don't run off at the mouth about sorrow without meaning it, without feeling an absence of certain things and knowing my life will never be "better" until these things are attained. These aren't frivolous wants but simple needs. Like friendship. Like love. Like respect. Like all the things others seem to forget they have and blah blah about how they've run out of their favorite nail polish, complain that their bored while waiting on a friend. I know complaints are always personal and one can't tell how it is to be you but it's getting difficult to hear a person with feet complain about having no shoes when those shoes just happen to be in the other room, out of reach.
So all that said, consider it as I tell you I sat and listened to Lloyd-Webber's "Phantom of the Opera," a story in general (thank you, Leroux) I relate to so, because I feel the sorrow of The Phantom. And also because it was this time of year I met my first love whose idea was to surprise me with her costume, a period gown to portray Christine Dae to my Phantom, come Halloween. The surprise of her love didn't last that long, we falling to the temptation of each other, oh, right about this date those many years ago. And I thought then, as I do now, how it must have felt to be shunned by the world until one came along to notice, to become interested in, and to finally love. In those days of teenage lust I never took a single one for granted. Every day was special because it was so fragile for I knew they would be short lived. I, like the Phantom, wasn't supposed to be happy. For it seems no one is capable of loving me or befriending me truly and with longevity. So these people, like the ones described above or the teenager in our department now that says he can't see getting married since he loves the bachelor life too much though he does have a devoted girlfriend, I find nothing but contempt for because they miss the point of their very lives; that they can share it with other people.
There are days when the pain is less but the pain persists. Few know how hurtful it is to not have a friend, not to be loved. Good for them.
I was going to blame age when I realized (huh, looks like gestating for a week is a good idea) it is actually maturity. We equate the two, expecting the roll of years to bring maturity when it won't necessarily. And so people spout off about how bad their lives are because it's raining outside that particular day. Perhaps their favorite television program was postponed until the following week. In this one day they think all is meaningless and the world is crap. They seem to forget this sorrow as soon as something positive happens, when one of those things they lamented is no longer a sorrowful burden.
I'm struggling with this right now because of a particular friend who stumbled into depression. Moreso than that, as it always comes down to, it's a personal concern. Say I post a summary of depression here (which this isn't, I write it with clarity and lucidity, removed from my own troubles). I'll walk outside and smile at the warmth of sunlight on my face, a grossly overlooked simple pleasure on a cool October day. I might even go to Best Buy and gift myself a new piece of technological gadgetry. But ultimately, I am still in mourning over that thought laid down in words here. I try not to forget the positives (I am fed, employed and of fair health) but I don't run off at the mouth about sorrow without meaning it, without feeling an absence of certain things and knowing my life will never be "better" until these things are attained. These aren't frivolous wants but simple needs. Like friendship. Like love. Like respect. Like all the things others seem to forget they have and blah blah about how they've run out of their favorite nail polish, complain that their bored while waiting on a friend. I know complaints are always personal and one can't tell how it is to be you but it's getting difficult to hear a person with feet complain about having no shoes when those shoes just happen to be in the other room, out of reach.
So all that said, consider it as I tell you I sat and listened to Lloyd-Webber's "Phantom of the Opera," a story in general (thank you, Leroux) I relate to so, because I feel the sorrow of The Phantom. And also because it was this time of year I met my first love whose idea was to surprise me with her costume, a period gown to portray Christine Dae to my Phantom, come Halloween. The surprise of her love didn't last that long, we falling to the temptation of each other, oh, right about this date those many years ago. And I thought then, as I do now, how it must have felt to be shunned by the world until one came along to notice, to become interested in, and to finally love. In those days of teenage lust I never took a single one for granted. Every day was special because it was so fragile for I knew they would be short lived. I, like the Phantom, wasn't supposed to be happy. For it seems no one is capable of loving me or befriending me truly and with longevity. So these people, like the ones described above or the teenager in our department now that says he can't see getting married since he loves the bachelor life too much though he does have a devoted girlfriend, I find nothing but contempt for because they miss the point of their very lives; that they can share it with other people.
There are days when the pain is less but the pain persists. Few know how hurtful it is to not have a friend, not to be loved. Good for them.
raen:
what's up? I know how feel, but at least that washed up old bastard is starting to lose the race. that's one major thing I'm feeling kinda good about right now.