The Pain Makes Me Laugh

It has been a arduous and lengthy amount of events that are now culminating into this creation of a post. On the drive home, I found myself pondering on my loneliness and whether it was merely the random depression swelling from within, haunting me with an unknown purpose, or if perhaps I was lonely indeed. Although, the weight of this feels more like failure, the heaviness of small things adding up to push against me, nag at me, berate me with these minuscule deeds now festering into something grander, no longer allowing me to ignore it. What to do...?
I hate using the term "empath" for myself yet the more I learn and look the harsher and more real it feels, and the greater truth it carries. As today wore me down, these words could not be used better to describe the feeling I have from being worn down by people and events, having the energy drained from me. "I am like a well, and that well is running dry." I say these words and I know it to be the easiest analogy though the weight of it is much more dire feeling, the emptiness surmounting to unbearable. And then comes to the guilt. Why should I feel so tired and worn out when I don't do as much as others? How can I be this way when I know those close to me are struggling with loss and true emptiness? The simple answer: I am not like them. I have for years called myself "broken" whether it be in an intimate relationship or the every day dealings with others. I don't seem to click on the same level as anyone else, at least not entirely. It feels as if I am an alien in this world, wearing the skin of a person. Or, a collection of energies, souls if you will, that battle for supremacy over my body, constantly making each day a concern on which one is winning, all the while I just want to be myself, whoever that is.
After a sapping day such as this one, I return home to what should be a relaxing time. Yet, I have concerns from home after my return away, things that need my attention, things I have to solve on my own that money cannot. And so, I am sullen, and then, during a fix, a focus to resolve one of the many things looming over me, I tear the nail of one of my fingernails halfway off from the top down. As the pain and anger of it all sprang up, lacking the energy to allow such feelings, I could only laugh. Chuckle at the the absurdity of it all, of the day, the turn of events, just the whole damn ordeal. Bandaging myself, completely baffled on how to feel, I grab the bourbon in my cabinet and pour myself a glass.
Part of me is judging me and part of me wants it, to help ease the sorrow and pain, the allow myself to drift from anxiety and depression into a malaise of warm, fuzzy relaxation. And so, I do. All I can do is shake my head and stare out at the world. I have learned that it is best for me to acclomate myself to drinking than fear it, shy away from it. The main reason I don't drink often is to do with physical training. I have been lacking in that aspect as of late and my energy does not meet my ambition at the moment so I focus on relaxing, trying to grasp any form of happiness or healing I can muster for myself. I accept the reasons why yet know this is only a distraction, perhaps a buffer, that helps me shrug off some of this confusion and frustration. I do it in moderation, for I know I have limits and some should not be surpassed, and those limits have been tested.
I took a long lunch today, sat down at one of my favorite joints, Waffle House, and ordered a good helping of breakfast foods. Drinking my coffee, I stared at the memorabilia on the wall, deliberately trying to shut off my mind, to not think. The waitress chimed in "Whatcha thinking? You look deep in thought?" I replied, "Nothing. I'm trying not to think at all." And her reply (though not surprising) failed me, as she said "Oh honey, I don't think GOD allows us that luxury." ...And I was both saddened and angered. The sadness was at the weak devotion she has to a religion with a deity that seems so terrible (even though I am a fan of the Old Testament...fire and brimstone are far more interesting). I was angry because her words were not encouraging and I felt as if they weren't even hers at all. As I listened to her ramble to other customers I found her selfcentered of which the best thing would be to ask about the person you are serving, try to make their day better but that is the customer service part of me talking and I know I have bad days so I shouldn't be so harsh. Beyond that, the food was as great as I could have hoped, highlight of my day really.
I take another burning, shivering drink and click at these silly keys. I shake my head. I laugh. My skin and insides grow warm and a smile creeps across my face. Somewhere in dealing with this joke of a mess, I stumbled past defeat and went straight into stubborn defiance. Since the days of late seem hellbent on challenging me then I will grit my teeth, bleed and sweat, and make this world earn my downfall. I have fallen to the darkest depths of myself, made friends with that dark, recessed part of my mind, and climbed back out. No matter what happens, like the mighty phoenix, I will rise again and again, until I can sore free. I know I am rambling but I am tired of being tired and exhausted from not fitting in however I am quite stubborn and a fury when I set my mind to something. This is all temporary, meaning I will regain my footing, I will rekindle that fire, and I will be indomitable, strong, and wild. So, cheers to those of you who are struggling, to any who feel lost or alone, I drink to you and your journey. May you, at your weakest, rise to your strongest, and keep the fire burning. May these words, and my madness, bring you comfort and strength.