Some Thoughts on Love and Anger
How could it be anything other than my fault?
My rage is very complex.
I am tired of undermining and diminishing myself, and watching those around me, those whose respect and admiration I crave, follow my lead. I am tired of my subtle energy working against me. I am frustrated that I have not yet conceptualized enough knowledge and experience and wisdom to stop making the same mistakes over and over again. I am tired of my socialization — the programmed pathways in my brain that have me “fall” for emotionally unavailable men, for angry men, for men with mother issues and men with father issues. I am tired of living in a world that has wired women to crave validation, to need romantic love. Lately I’ve been so distracted by burning forests and flooded streets that I forgot. I forgot Weinstein and Cosby and every man who touched me inappropriately. Every man who took with his eyes and muttered sexual asides. I forgot that capitalism is an arm of the patriarchy and Mother Earth is burning because we don’t respect the feminine. I forgot that my personal rage and the planet’s rage are one and the same.
And how could it be anything other than my fault? I allow this. I purchase the plastic and eat the meat and crave the sugar that pours out my pores. Could it be any more obvious? Acne like tears. Rage and disappointment and the human cost of my consumption. I don’t want to live in this timeline anymore.
I’m tired of policing my punctuation. I’m tired of not knowing the line between unconditional and loving too much. I’m tired of other people looking at and telling me “I’m trying too hard” or “I feel too much.” Don’t they know I’m doing all of this because THEY are not doing enough? I am so tired of being disappointed by men. I am so fucking tired of being disappointed in myself for believing in men. For believing things could be different. I am so tired of loving everyone and wanting only one. Because my brain, my mind, my psyche has at least two conflicting personalities. So it’s not just the not knowing, the not being able to decide, it’s the complexity that it will always be split, a million ways or more. I’m tired of knowing too much, and the knowledge that knowing will not keep me sane, that the more I learn the more confused I become.
I’m tired of not having sex. I’m tired of not flirting, not sharing, not deepening, not expanding, not loving to my full capacity. I’m tired at looking around at happy couple after happy couple, all of them loved up, serene, doing nothing — NOTHING — to save the planet. Or, not nothing, but not enough. Because they have each other, because they’re comfortable, because they’re insulated by the numbing expansive other worldly addiction that is the only truth and only thing I want and possibly the very reason the planet is burning: love, or the infinite, vacillating stories we tell of it. This love that I’m desperately driven to achieve. Because capitalism tells me so, and also, my heart.
I am tired of infinite potential falling flat, showing me its flaws in 20/20 hindsight. I am tired of wanting and wanting and wanting and looking back and realizing that what I wanted was not what I need. Because I am a goddamn fool for the story of love. Because infinite potential is not reality. Just like how understanding that we are infinite beings made of light will not save us or the planet. That conceptualizing the beyond does not fix the here. I am tired of wanting a dream that I’m not sure is real. My bullshit brain always tumbling into fantasies of commitment and road trips and helping each other grow and thrive for the rest of our lives. I’m tired of not being able to do simple, just one night. I’m tired of heart-and-ego-break giving me artistic breakthroughs. I’m tired and I am scared and I don’t want to do it alone anymore.
AND! And! I’m tired of Elon fucking Musk and the greed for money in this world. The worship of dystopia. The conjuring forth of death and destruction. I’m tired of the systems. I’m tired of the structures. I’m tired of Mark Zuckerberg and the wedding industry and the Hallmark channel and prescription drugs and designer donuts and fucking GASOLINE. I am tired of Thanksgiving and white supremacy and hustle culture and this whole freaking beautiful world. But I am not tired. I am and I’m not. And I wish there were more people like me, more people who felt it all and realized the inherent joke of this entire complex existence. I am tired of feeling alone. Because I’m not alone. Not even close.
But I am scared. I’m scared of what the science says is ahead. I’m scared that this path will prove that I won’t get the satisfaction I crave. I’m terrified of staying the fool. Anger is just the outward expression of grief, and I am grieving for the world, for what could have been, and for myself.