Perpetually sorry

There is a thin line between being genuinely sorry and apologising for your own existence. Ever been in a situation where you feel like you are perpetually sorry? When you feel hurt, angry, anything, you are made to feel like you do not have the right to your feelings. As a result, you end up apologising for your feelings. Eventually, all feelings, good and bad, start to seem unjust. You deny yourself of the right to feel anything. You deny yourself of the right to be human.

I have completely lost the ability to distinguish between the two. I do not know anymore where the line lies or which side of it I am on. Saying sorry for numerous times in a conversation was never my style. Apologising for things I felt was even less my style. Yet, I find myself doing it all the time these days. Am I really that awful of a person that all I should do is apologise for the way I am feeling? Am I really only having feelings, which are unfair towards others and unjust? Are they always just that, unjust? Or have I just become so insecure that I have to apologise for my very existence?

I always thought all feelings were justified by their existence. What one does about the feelings may or may not be justified, that is up for debate. However, one feels a certain way about things because of a variety of reasons. Something that upsets me immensely, might not have any effect on another person because our life experiences are different. We are completely different people, who perceive things in different ways. Under any circumstances, one does not have the right to take away a person's right to feel. How does one define what is a "wrong feeling", the kind of feeling you are not allowed to have? And please, I am not talking about the sort of feelings little children awake in paedophiles, so stop right there.

Even if I am not pleased about the fact that someone has been hurt by something that I have done (especially when I would rather think that I have been "right"), I must give that person the space and opportunity to feel hurt. What is the gain in trying to tell the person that you have no reason or right to feel hurt for what I did? I do not see there being any gain what so ever. Instead, I see there being loss. In the long run, one builds up frustrations and bitterness for being denied the right to feel.

There are times when you feel like you are banging your head against a brick wall. When even the most direct of approaches does not work, when nothing you say is accepted. Eventually, you end up in a place where you feel guilty for everything you do. With that guilt on your conscience, you just cannot help but to feel perpetually sorry.

Cleaning.

I am pretty sure that people will not find their way back to reading my blog since it has been forever since I posted actively. Luckily, it does not matter because I have a feeling that I have to write. A feeling I have not had for a very long time. For two years now, I have been perfecting my skills in academic writing while producing gazillions of papers for school. During that time I have not written down a single word with creativity and self-expression in mind. It has been like slow suicide. Something that used to be a necessity for life became an evil, which I avoided. Again, as before, I cannot promise any kind of regularity in posting or high-quality writing.

A lot of the old posts were deleted. I felt like it had to be done, so that I could start writing again. I had to clean that table. The posts that remain are the ones that are at least somewhat neutral. But I have the old posts saved on my computer. Just so that I never forget who I have been, where I come from and where I am going to.

Bad habbit

Some things in life provide endless comfort. Like a bottle of redwine with a cigarette. Untill they are finished.
There are some things in life that you think will last. At least as long as you yourself will last. Untill they cease to exist.

It seems like the only thing that does not run out before me is my stupidity, my bad habbit of never getting anything right.

Feel-Eel

Who was I to fool you? Yet I fooled myself.
What more am I than a poet? I am not an artist, I am not an expert.
I have no skill, I have no talent. To you it was very apparent.
The only thing I know - it's a useless way to show - my thoughts, what I feel.
You see, I do not think, I merely feel.
And what I have is the most useless of skills.
What is this so called skill that gives me no thrill?
I write. Word. Letter. Nothing better.
Over-rationalising my every emotion.
Making each one a grand notion.
I write pretty little words of how I feel.
But do I really feel? Other than the feeling of wanting to be like the rest.
To feel...
It must be blessed.

Ego, Go, O!

Last summer I wrote a post on selfishness. Around two months after that I got into a dicussion with someone on egos and egoism. Ever since that discussion I have been bothered by egos and what they actually are and most of all what we mean when we talk about them. I want to get into the bottom of this issue right here, right now. In the computer room of my school while being pissed off to have come here this morning to attend a lecture which was cancelled.
So, to start from the basics I will look into the sick mind of Sigmund Freud. He believed that the human self (or maybe even the animal self, how would I know) was divided into three parts. It consists of three components, which are the Ego, the Superego and the Id. These, let's call them building blocks, of the human psyche seem very random at first glance. What is this division based on? I do not know if I have the kind of patience it takes to read such extensive quantities of Freudian perversions, therefore I will let Wikipedia be my friend in this time of need. Indeed.
Firstly, I would like to point out that the word 'ego' is the first person singular personal pronoun in both Latin and Ancient Greek. When looking at the word's original meaning, it appears to be rather neutral. I would not dare to call the word 'I' negative nor positive. It just is. But the connotations the word ego have in its current use are multiple.

So what does this 'ego' Freud the Pervert was talking about mean?
Sigmund liked to use the iceberg analogy to describe the human psyche and I shall do the same. My sources (oh, my beloved Google!) tell me that the ego could be understood as the visible part of the iceberg, i.e. the part above the water line. Not the part visible to scuba-divers, that is something else. I firmly believe that is where dirty little Sigmund liked to spend most of his time - under the water. The active scuba-diver he was. Oh, Sigmund!

Negative so far? Positive?

I would still call the term and what is behind it rather neutral.

Let me make all of you rationalists of the world (who do not read my blog) think 'ego' is the most beautiful word that ever existed!

Apparently, my pervy partner in this particular crime, Sigmund believed that the ego represents rationality, good sense, reason and rational self-control. All things completely unfamiliar to me but who am I to argue with my homeboy Sig.

Sounds positive, right?

But I believe my favourite definition BROUGHT TO YOU BY GOOGLE! was "psychology jargon. use pride and proud instead."

Negative?

Not negative enough at least.

Funny?

Like hell.

Okay, so we can talk about the ego as the consciousness of one's own identity or as the conscious mind. But how interesting is that really? Not very. We, modern Westerners, want blood, vomit, shit and intestines! And what do we get? What we ordered! Otherwise there would be a reclamation letter headed my way soon. Customer services is my company's top priority. That is also why my business is understaffed and underpaid and my employees hate all the customers.

Now I will give the Princeton online dictionary a chance to prove what it is made of.
ego: an inflated feeling of pride in your superiority to others.
Now, that is what I am talking about! INFLATED.

Negative?

Oh yes.

I find it my duty to also inform you that ego is also a four-piece rock band from Northern Ireland. Pretty cool that a part of my psyche is a rock band. What does yours do? Does your ego build electric motor scooters?

Now I am more confused than ever.

Meeting limitations

Why do people who make each other unhappy to a frightening degree stay together? Is it a matter of pride or principle? Are we afraid of shame? When is it okay to say this is enough and walk out? Or can we even admit it to ourselves that the person we are with is the one making us miserable? And even if the case may be that we are able to admit it, will we find the strength for leaving? Where does love start and where does it end? How do you know when it has ended and turned into a life sucking feeling making you long for something else? And what we so often long for is our self. You crave to be the one you had the potential to be before you slipped from your path and did what so many have done before you and will do after you. One morning you wake up and realise you have grown-up children with lives of their own. And they are not yours.

What would I not give to be a cat.

What would I not give to be a cat
to roam along my own paths
in the evening come home to eat
fall asleep feeling at ease
I could avoid all the institutions
with the evil education they offer
life would be my teacher
I'd learn as I suffer

What would I not give to be a cat
to be free of expectations
and rejoice the moment I catch a small rat
I could be independent
and live on my own
I'd be my own master
necessity would show me
how to run faster

What would I not give to be a cat
to seek for the truth
in whatever I might do
I'd have nine lives to keep me safe
when I lose one another one will replace
no matter how I'm treated
I always land on my feet
and when it's time to fight
I'd do it with my nails and teeth

What would I not give to be a cat
you'd want to pet me whenever I'd show up
anytime I'd come around
it would suit your schedule
because you'd know I could be gone
in a matter of seconds
I would be loved
regardless of the condition my fur is in
and all of this is just the beginning

What would I not give to be a cat

Full of shit

I was just in the bathroom and started thinking that when we were younger, didn't we all think that princesses don't shit? Why did we think that? Were they too pretty to take a shit? Then again, who gives a shit? Shit, get it..? Ha, man, I'm funny. Not.