This web page was written on 8-12-2001 at 22:02pm whilst trying to talk to people on ICQ and downloading stuff.

DISSECTING MY MIND
Bear with me. I have a point but I may not get around to making it. Or this may go off at a tangent, I don’t know.

Okay. I’m a Goth. Some things are expected of one of my kind; a fascination with make-up, a love-hate relationship with the colour pink, a predilection for the cure, the mission, Siouxie and the Banshees and Depeche Mode. Etcetera. None of these things do I share, but that nasty little gremlin of Gothdom, Mopey-bastardness, is something I have in abundance.

Now, as I type this, I feel really shitty. I’m not ill, bar a little throat infection; I’m not suffering any family trauma or angst-fuelled crisis. It’s not even the whole Christmas thing, cause I’m not Christian and it doesn’t matter to me. Yet I’m miserable. It isn’t sudden. I’ve been sliding for the past couple of weeks, suddenly finding myself stuck in a mood of utter blackness and melancholy for no reason. I’ve sat back with my best Freudian head on trying to find the cause and the same answer keeps cropping up; “It’s nothing new”. By that I mean that the whole shit feeling is based on the state of my life and the world at large, something I am powerless to change.

Problem is, for the past few weeks, upon finding myself in this mood, I could use loud music to drive it out. Just slip on something suitably heavy, hard and angry and let it wash it all out of me. But that isn’t working anymore. I feel trapped in a sense of inertia from the mere mechanics of my existence.

I figured that all I would need to start writing again would be a PC. I’m more used to typing than handwriting and I correct writing on screen almost automatically, without noticing. Problem is that I’m not writing fiction. I’m writing stuff for Role-play. I’m writing stuff for job interviews and applications. I’m writing other people’s notes up but I’m not doing anything creative for my own benefit. It sucks. There is, as I said above, inertia.

But not just on this front. I feel trapped. I’m in this tower of perception (if you will indulge me in a bit of bad prose here), able to see everything around me that I want to touch, be involved in, or be a part of. I can see everything and, even if I can’t see the details, I know it is there, where it is and what it is. Yet the tower is locked and I have no keys. I can’t get out to make contact with any of it. I am the perpetual voyeur, bound never to touch his fantasies. I see the great elements of Gothdom all around me, the whole community moves within my sight, but out of my grasp. Love is another thing that eludes me. I am confined by geography, economics, society, my own self-doubt and lack of will.

I am, and please don’t tut or shake your head when I say this because it IS a cliché, incredibly alone. I have this deep gap inside of me and I know the things that would fill it. But I can’t get at them. It’s frustrating, and the frustration in turn leads to an impossible irritation, an itch that can’t be scratched.

I get the feeling that this is the sensation than would drive someone insane. I certainly fantasize about a trendy descent into insanity. To gain some deep rooted and rather cool mental illness which can get me locked away and pumped full of free drugs; a suitable affliction that would take the world away and leave me to my thoughts. But I can’t. Every time I feel like I may be going down that road my self-analysis kicks in. I see the consequences of my actions. I picture myself screaming and gibbering like a mad person and just stop, because that action is pointless and self-indulgent. It’s a hideous fairground ride, stuck in high speed and reverse. Argh.

Well. I got near a point. Hope you liked the insight.