It’s a cliche, but, nonetheless, it’s my reality. The ocean metaphor works universally well in any case. I am adrift. At sea. Clinging to a buoy that does not move away, watching ships passing by without getting on board any, because I have no faith that I will reach a destination once I do; that I’ll just end up back in the ocean again.
On a wholly different level, I’m also living in something close to a vampire metaphor. (I mean, the sheer amount I’m listening to The Cure and hide away in the dark right now should be pretty illustrative of this fact).
My existence is, more or less, parasitical. As mentioned in a previous post, I’ve realized how much my independence has lived off my dependence on others in almost every aspect of life. Sure, I have an original mind – even an ‘original’ personality – but I’ve mostly fed off the experiences, feelings and stories of others – whether those people have been real-life or fictional.
I’ve always been better at using someone else’s theories than coming up with my own to make a point. Even I do not want to stand by my own theories; I am reluctant to publish them even though there is potential in them. Still, I scoff at the idea of making a career out of it; becoming a professor, journalist, writer, etc., despite having a secret wish of making it work. And that’s the crux of the matter on a very general level: I have got the potential, just not succeeded unraveling that potential and made the finishing line. Personally, academically, professionally. I mean, there has been snippets here and there, but oh so brief.
I am a consumer in every sense of the word; I jump from one thing to another when I’ve ‘sucked’ everything I can from said thing; a constant immersion in fictional narratives, pictures, film and music – to substitute something I lack in my own life and ward off responsibilities in real-life.
It’s my sustenance in life; I’m a junkie in that sense. It scares me when I can’t find a ‘fix’ to get through the day (which just scares me even more; this realization). It’s a sad existence, really (well, being a junkie, in any sense, is). When my loneliness and dark thoughts crowd in on me, and I’ve been deprived of social stimulation long enough to feel a physical hole in my body, the realization becomes stark, because I know when I suddenly get this ‘fix’ – sometimes merely interacting, talking and laughing around good people – I get a rush, a social ‘high’, and I know how brief it will be; that once those people disappear again and go back to their lives, I will sink back into the shadows. And I have only my guilt and shame, feeling I have no right to claim any more of their time and attention, only grateful for the small amounts I can grasp now and then. I can’t even confess this to my closest ones, though I fear they’ve partly discovered it by now or will eventually.
This ‘vampiric’ existence feels – much like its literary origin – to have come out of nowhere, and yet I can’t figure out whether it has been my existence always, my fate, an unfortunate coincidence, or, in some parts, my choice. I don’t want to be a victim of circumstance, especially not since I still have a choice to not ‘suck’ (pun intended). …Don’t I?
*sigh* I’m really a pathetic ‘vampire’.
I have no real solution to this (which is another problem of mine). How do you cure a soul who is always feeling adrift? Not restless; adrift. Especially if feeling adrift is a basic condition of having a soul that is also always searching; searching for something and nothing in particular?
Huh. This whole ‘soul talk’ sort of undercuts the whole ‘vampire’ metaphor, doesn’t it? Oh, well.