"When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade" as the old saying goes. Well, life ... I don't drink lemonade anymore.
And personally, I'm tired of that phrase anyway. Ladies and gentlemen, I come before you a humbled human being. I'm not who I thought I was. I'm not who I thought I was going to be. I'm ... me.
Me, currently, is undefined.
Minus the fact that me being undefined bugs me so that part is defined.
It's late, 12:30AM and I should be in bed but I'm in one of those moods ... so I'm gonna write. And you, my poor readers, are going to listen. For your continuing generosity of your time, I thank you. I don't know all of you (or maybe I do) but I wish I could thank you in person.
That said, I'm in a mood and it's a desperate one.
It smells very much like lemons, desperation. Let me explain my thinking:
I feel like the desperation that I feel is meant to be used for some greater purpose, one I haven't discovered yet. Like lemons are meant for lemonade, my desperation is meant for something better than what it is.
"But Zach, you told us you didn't have a greater purpose," you say.
True. I don't think I do. Let's just erase the "greater" part out of that. I feel like this desperation that I'm currently feeling is meant for some sort of purpose. To what purpose, I don't know.
I've done some things this week I thought I was incapable of doing. I felt accomplished for a little while ... big, in a small way. I overcame my huge social anxiety and asked a pretty girl out.
It was not as life altering as I thought it would be. It didn't make me fly or give me super powers (though I really wish it had) but it did make me feel ... better. Like I was a human being, in that moment. Like my desperation had an outlet and it was going towards something constructive: making me a better social creature. Lord knows, I need the work.
But that quickly went away the next day when I was told, by her, that she'd be out of town this weekend. I was bummed but I took it well.
But the desperation in me came surging back. Just when I thought I had it under control, that my mind was finally through tricking me into thinking my life was over, the panic ... that feeling of losing control, of flailing your arms with nowhere to go but the rocky shoals below ... it came back.
That feeling led me to being a very desperate, very selfish human being today. I had a dear friend of mine get a job she's worked very hard for and when I got the news I celebrated.
Very, very briefly. Like, for thirty seconds-enough to send a celebratory text.
And then my own desperation took over. She had found her job ... she had found her purpose. What about me?
Such a selfish question I didn't think myself capable of at this stage in life. But I am, apparently, more than capable of it. As the voices in my head argued over what I should feel, what I should do, I found myself quite miserable.
The day should have been one of celebration and instead I was throwing a pity party like some junior high reject (my membership to that club was not renewed this past year, I can say that now).
Lemons are sour and desperation is also quite sour. I was quite sour earlier this afternoon. I wanted to find a listening ear and dump all my problems ... but that wouldn't have been fair to the listener. Again, my selfish tendencies showing surprising resiliency.
Instead, I wrote. I felt better when I was done and life has gone on.
But I'm still very much in the midst of desperation.
It's a common misconception, I guess, that desperate people act a certain way. They do whatever they can to pull themselves out of whatever mess they're in usually and, usually, they make things worse.
My desperation ... well, it's not making things worse. It's kinda making them ... better. I don't know how or why. I just know that when I was way overweight summer 2011 I was desperate for a change. I made that change out of desperation, I made those choices out of desperation.
I feel like I'm in a similar position now. I'm making choices, doing things, out of desperation and the situation isn't spinning horribly out of control. It doesn't seem to be resolving itself any faster but it is allowing me movement.
I'm blessed to be in such a place that allows that. I don't know why I'm in this place, nor do I understand why my families puts up with me (all three of them). I don't get why they don't tell me to get out and never come back ... certainly, I can't mean THAT much to them, can I?
I deserve nothing, I readily acknowledge this, and the kindness I have received makes me even more undeserving. Which makes me even more desperate.
I WANT to be deserving. I want to be able to point at the kindness I have received and cite some sort of justification for it.
I can't find that justification at the moment. Just like I can't find a purpose or a passion, I seem equally incapable of finding a reason WHY I have been granted such kindness in my life. I don't get it.
My desperation is moving me towards something but what I don't know.
I'm scared of the unknown. I'm scared of this ... whatever it is coming down the pike. I want to be able to prepare myself for it, to be able to make a defense for it, but I can't. It's incredibly difficult to go to bed each night and wonder what could possibly happen the next day. It's not something I look forward to.
I live on a day to day basis and not having an reliable intelligence on what the next day brings ... it's terrifying. I don't sleep well very much anymore, as you would guess.
Desperation reeks of lemons. I reek of lemons and I know, somehow, it's going to lead to something ... but what scares me.
Like other scary things, I will face it down.
Unlike other scary things, I don't know if I'll win.