The Wallowing

Sunday the 1st of December, 2024

Uncomfortable with how my life has been lately. In a kind of free-fall. I feel unable to express anything to anyone, which makes spending time with people unappealing and emotionally tiring.

Feeling alienated from myself makes it difficult to seek any activity that might make me less lonely. There's no Me to be satisfied by the company. I don't know who I am, so how can I feel seen?

I've tried committing these thoughts to comic form, but I can't bring myself to be satisfied with anything I draw. I don't have a sense of poetry. I just want to state plainly my futile dissatisfaction, it doesn't feel worth the artistic statement.

I did a diary comic years ago that I quit because I got too good at coming up with sad things to say, and I'm resistant to doing that again. But lately I'm craving the release.

After 4 years' forward progress, I'm back where I was in my mid-twenties: in Dundee with not a lot of friends, too bored of myself to inflict my company on others. I got lucky in love last time but that ran out, so now I'm back to being a sad loner with no passions.

I'm trying to find motivation. I woke up for work this morning and searched my mind for a good reason to get out of bed. If I lost this flat and had to sell all my belongings that wouldn't be so bad, I thought. So I slept in. I'm considering doing the same tomorrow.

But obviously that's bad. Surely I should do things to ensure some kind of stable future. But I'm unconvinced by anything constructive right now. I don't know what or why I should want.

My life for the past half a year has been one leap of faith after another, and I'm running out of faith. I haven't felt at home for such a long time. Not a moment of comfort in the company of others, or in myself.

I think the problem is basic, as it tends to be. I'm trying hard to put on a brave face through all of this, but in truth I'm angry and sad. Denying this is tiring and alienating.

I don't feel like expressing it in art. I wouldn't know how. My ego looks on my feelings as a test that it is failing. How can I go through this without producing something profound?

A break up, relocation, redundancy, relocation again, followed by months of relative isolation. All done with the assertion that I'm doing okay, when obviously I'm not. How could I be?

I'm desperate for things to be good again, but I don't know how they can be. I just want to bury my head in the sand, avoiding all threats to my private misery.

But hey, whatever. I'll be fine. I'll find a way. I have no choice. It's either that or a slow fade into darkness and obscurity, although that's not entirely out of the question either. I'm sure it happens all the time.