I am dissatisfied. Truly, deeply dissatisfied. It may be on a cellular level for all I know. I imagine if you stripped apart my DNA you might see it had abandoned the double helix in favor of a frown formation; such is the level of my discontent. I have always been dissatisfied. Take for example one of my honest-to-God poems from fifth grade:
Alone
Blamed
Hurt
Running away in tears
Sobbing
Hurting
Minute by minute
More and more
Time stands still
Nothing
Quiet
Alone
In addition to being incredibly embarrassing, I think the above stab at literary greatness demonstrates a ridiculous amount of angst for a ten-year-old. And sadly, while I’m debatably a better writer, the sentiment is still alive and well in the nearly 30-year-old me. I’m not entirely sure where all this whiny frustration comes from. It could be genetic of course. Both my parents have struggled with depression. But I’m not depressed. Or rather, as a non-licensed psychologist I would say that I do not consider myself depressed. Depression, to me, is a state of inaction. Of paralysis. Whereas I am nothing if not action-oriented. While many, if not most people seem afraid of change, I thrive on it. I crave it. I will almost always choose flight over fight and let’s just say I spend a lot of time in the air.
So no, I’m not depressed. I’m simply…annoyed. To keep myself sane I try to focus my annoyance on the outside world. It is, after all, wholly self-destructive to fixate on one’s own shortcomings. I’ve done that and it isn’t pretty. But the world outside my horribly flawed mind and body provides no shortage of things to be annoyed and disappointed with. There’s all the stupid people, of course. And the incredibly misguided Government we are now under the jackbooted heel of. And everywhere, everywhere you look, there are horribly inefficient systems, from coffee shops to multinational corporations. As one stumbles through the day it’s often more a question of what isn’t annoying than what is. Life is an all-you-can-eat buffet of annoyances. And I am a glutton for it, I suppose.
Sometimes I very dearly wish I could shut off my radar for all that is wrong and trade my black colored glasses for rose-hued ones. I would like to bask in gratitude and unfettered joy and see the good in everyone and everything. And sometimes I do. There are those moments where I very nearly choke back emotion at all that is beautiful and real. It buoys me. I regain my idealism. And then, as always, it is dashed upon the rocks like so many ill-fated ships in a storm when I’m terribly disappointed once again.
Alone
Blamed
Hurt
Running away in tears
Sobbing
Hurting
Minute by minute
More and more
Time stands still
Nothing
Quiet
Alone
In addition to being incredibly embarrassing, I think the above stab at literary greatness demonstrates a ridiculous amount of angst for a ten-year-old. And sadly, while I’m debatably a better writer, the sentiment is still alive and well in the nearly 30-year-old me. I’m not entirely sure where all this whiny frustration comes from. It could be genetic of course. Both my parents have struggled with depression. But I’m not depressed. Or rather, as a non-licensed psychologist I would say that I do not consider myself depressed. Depression, to me, is a state of inaction. Of paralysis. Whereas I am nothing if not action-oriented. While many, if not most people seem afraid of change, I thrive on it. I crave it. I will almost always choose flight over fight and let’s just say I spend a lot of time in the air.
So no, I’m not depressed. I’m simply…annoyed. To keep myself sane I try to focus my annoyance on the outside world. It is, after all, wholly self-destructive to fixate on one’s own shortcomings. I’ve done that and it isn’t pretty. But the world outside my horribly flawed mind and body provides no shortage of things to be annoyed and disappointed with. There’s all the stupid people, of course. And the incredibly misguided Government we are now under the jackbooted heel of. And everywhere, everywhere you look, there are horribly inefficient systems, from coffee shops to multinational corporations. As one stumbles through the day it’s often more a question of what isn’t annoying than what is. Life is an all-you-can-eat buffet of annoyances. And I am a glutton for it, I suppose.
Sometimes I very dearly wish I could shut off my radar for all that is wrong and trade my black colored glasses for rose-hued ones. I would like to bask in gratitude and unfettered joy and see the good in everyone and everything. And sometimes I do. There are those moments where I very nearly choke back emotion at all that is beautiful and real. It buoys me. I regain my idealism. And then, as always, it is dashed upon the rocks like so many ill-fated ships in a storm when I’m terribly disappointed once again.
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