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Dante` J Gonzales

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Member Since: Sep, 2007

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Mental Block
By Dante` J Gonzales
Saturday, October 10, 2009

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Stuck in a rut.

Mental Block

 

There it is.  The need to write again.  I hate it.  I don’t want to do it.  Because everytime I start something I fail miserably at it.  Anything.  Or else I will become bored and detach myself, dreaming of another topic or boring paragraph; a song that I never wrote or a story that was never typed.  My life flattens.  I am at the plateau of the pinnacle.  That’s what it feels like.  Unhappiness plagues me because every action that I take feels like I am doing wrong.  That I am wronging someone else and hurting their feelings and impressions of me.  And I hate it.  So I choose not to please any one and instead do not act.  I tell them that I am ill, that I am exausted, when in actuality I do not want to see them or the problems that they present to me.  They are all problems to me.  They read like the withered, yellow pages of a 1950’s history textbook.  Their crinkly, water damaged pages curl and crackle everytime I turn them.  The smell of their eroding dust invades my nose and as much as I pretend to be intrigued by what they have to offer, I only do so so that I may appease them.  Which is funny.  Trying to appease inanimate objects. 

            The thing that I have found about myself is that others like to come to me.  I do not contact anyone.  I do not wish to see anyone.  And I do not understand why they continue to come to me.  To ask me to validate them, because I cannot.  I stopped being a good friend a long time ago.  It’s amazing that they have not noticed my apathy towards any relations that we may have, because I try to make it as obvious as possible.  In this moment, right now, I find myself at a certain peace.  The air conditioner blows at a steady 70 degrees farenheit.  My back is sore from slighty hunching over my overcrowded desk as I type.  My bed remains made, but cluttered with small blankets.  My room is a mess.  Empty cups of water, ice tea and kool aid are placed strategically around the room, forgotten vessels of sustenance.  The dark makes me feel better sometimes.  Like I’m the only one who is enveloped in it’s omnipresent spectrum.  It’s ebony silkiness covers all the clutter of the room that the day and sunlight reveal.  Video game covers.  Controllers.  Chairs, socks, papers, empty packages, junk.  All junk.  I hate my room during the day. Only at night can I feel that it is mine.  The light pervades, shows it for what it really is, who I am.  A messy person.  Unorganized.  Lazy.  At night it is a landscape of an empty abyss, limited only to the slivers of moonlight that permeate the darkened cell.  And the light from the computer screen.

            Obsessed with my body, how I talk, act, appear.  For what?  For the people who judge me on a constant basis?  Who I feel the need to impress day in and day out?  “Stop caring then,” some would say.  But I can’t, and I do not believe that anyone could nor would want to.  There are over 1 billion people in this world, on this planet, this rock, floating through this universe with billions of other rocks and gases and cold.  Of course there are going to be things out there that make me care about my own appearance.  I cannot separate from society, as much as I would like to, because I need it so survive.  I am dependent on this society, and this societal dependence will always be present.  Ugly truth one. 

            At night, I wish for good dreams, ones not plagued by my daily experiences.  But they never happen.  The people and the places that I do not want to see are there as well.  The society that is both heaven and hell for me is there as well, although slightly distorted.  Personally I have lost that affection for the images from my childhood.  You can say I have outgrown them.  When I think about them, tears do not form in my eyes any longer, my heart does not “pang”.  I long for nothing.  There is nothing that I want more than to find an obsession again, some goal or some love.  There is nothing right now.  Only work, and I only partially enjoy that when I am there.  When I am not there seems to be apathy for that as well.  I do not look forward to school, because I do not learn well under pressure to succeed on a timely schedule.

             My boat is outdated, it sail catches no wind any more, and I am constantly bilging water from it’s insides, trying to keep afloat.  I go along with the current, because that is what gravity is telling me too do, ordering me to do.  It is as natural as heroine, or cocaine, or those suggesting it to others for a good high.  It is as natural as a person shot through the head with a bullet, or a drunk driver getting into an accident and killing others.  Simply natural.  I am forced into these things because they are expected of me.  I am scared out of any other ideas because others are scared for me on what I am going to do otherwise.  But why do they care about me so much?  Why don’t I care about them like they care about me?  I do not understand.  Am I a robot?  Am I not worldly?  What am I?  Empathetic? Apathetic? Pathetic?  Am I simply ranting and raving to continue this façade or am I just writing to fill up space?  What goals are attainable to me now?  Nothing.  And everything.  I am the tree waiting for the breeze.  A rock waiting to be thrown.  A guitar waiting to be played.  A loose hang nail that needs to be plucked.  All of these things I am, but I do not allow to define me.  Who I am.  So what does?  This passage?  This continuous series of complaints, building up into one super, massive titan that will show people ALL of the problems that plague me?  No.  This is a mental block.  A mental block of life.  Yes, there are times that I do feel this way.  Yes many of these things are true .  My mood rises and falls like the tides.  Unfortunately, one simple occurrence.  One bad conversation.  One doubt in my mind that I am unworthy of something, can simply set the mood for the rest of the day.  The week.

            If I feel that I am disappointing, not pleasing, simply failing at one thing or another, bad day.  When I fail to pursue the things that I want, the things that I would like to take interest in, but find my feet stuck to the ground, bad day.  I hate everything that doesn’t allow me to accomplish things.  Excuses are the main antagonist.  Excuses make me falter in places that I never knew that I could falter.  They overcome the confidence within me, put duct tape over his mouth and lock him in a basement.  And I can’t get him out.  I can’t find him to let him out, so doubt takes over.  He whispers in my ear the possible truths of failure.  And he succeeds because confidence is still locked away, unable to speak, to act, to support.  To tell me that no matter what, I can do it.  I find myself in conflict.  Conflict with the different forms of myself that reside inside of myself.  I fight with these siblings, clones, whatever you would call them.  They are all fighting to take charge of Dante` for the day.  Anger, happiness, sadness, outgoing, they are all vying for the top spots.  And its very easy to let them have it.  Depending on how my interactions go the previous day, the previous night, if jealousy and rage don’t get the best of me or I go to sleep with the beautiful Joy, waking up next to her as comfortable as if I had slept in  a bed of feathers; if sadness has tricked me into sleep and roofied the shit out of me, hell, even if solitude has found its way to me in the middle of the night, told me that I am the world, that I will live and die alone….my day is set in stone.  Of course it can be altered with a few kind words.  But they rarely come.  Simply a smile, a friendly nod, something, anything to tell me that I am noticed and that my presence is appreciated.  But no.  Nothing like that ever happens in my world.  This world. 

           

           

           


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