On Being Defeated

Most of the time, we are able to keep things under control. We are aware of the boundaries of our relationships, we know our friends, we know our work schedule and how much we can spend in a given month. We know what things make us happy; what shows, movies, books, music, activities. We struggle with trying to be "really" happy, but even in our times of crisis, the fight is well outlined. We may not want to do what we have to, but we are aware of the rules and consequences.

In this way, we are very much like gerbils. We have our toilet paper rolls to chew on.

Then unexpectedly something happens we cannot control, cannot see the structure of, and are not capable of planning action for. I am in one of those moments. They blindside you. The horrible things and the minor uncomfortable things, you can't tell which one is going to be the one that breaks you. I can deal with death, but cannot deal with insult. I am okay with loads of debt but not with bugs in my apartment or a scar on my chin. The dishes in my sink are capable of launching me into a catatonic state given the right circumstances. Sometimes it's worse, and more valid. It's less about the actual action, and more about the mindset of your moment when it happens.

In my case, it's a moment caused by a specific thing, sure. But once you're thrust into a chaotic moment like that, the spiderweb crack spreads. I wander around my house, unable to concentrate on watching tv, or reading. I cannot force myself to sleep. As I start to drift off, my brain twitches uncontrollably and I start off on another chain of nightmarish dissociative thoughts. Strange fantasies, creepy cravings, and random unholy images. Last night, as with many other nights and many other people, I finally got myself focused on revenge. Which, while not healthy, is at least a coherent thought.

Oh don't worry. My imaginary revenges may be swift and clever (and very vicious, I am a wicked woman), but I don't think I've ever executed an actual one. This may mean I'm a pushover. More likely it means that somewhere past my reptilian brain, I understand that this too shall pass.

I'm not a control freak, by any stretch of imagination. But being pushed into the riptide of nonsense, the ever flowing current of crap that floats around our world, it destroys me briefly. It takes a great deal of effort to pull myself to the shore and emerge, gooey and mucky and poisoned. Pulling yourself out may sound like it's a victory, but it isn't. It's a straight up defeat. The small compensation of surviving does not make up for the long term effects on brain and liver and vagina. This is my definition of being defeated - being forced through the meat grinder against my will. All things in my universe should be in unison with my will. Times like this only serve to remind me of my lack of control, of my true position which is nothing more than flotsam in the jetsam. A speck of plastic in a landfill - mostly laying still, but powerless against the bulldozers. The Universe can defeat me anytime it wants. It can kill me. It can hurt me. It can destroy my body and leave my mind. It can do exactly the opposite. It can force me into whatever playdoh shape it wants, or it can leave me alone, and it's all completely random. Worse, it's impersonal. The forces of nature and time have nothing against me, but also nothing for me. I am defeated by complete lack of impact and consequence.

And don't give me some spiritual crap about happiness being obtained by accepting and embracing your defeat against life. Struggle is the only thing that builds thought, and thoughts are happiness.

When the Consequential Event involves a person, or persons, this outcome is even worse. Because, when faced with the uncaring Reality and the only Certainty is that of being buffeted like a turd in a toilet for the rest of your life while you desperately cling to any and all things beautiful you see (the pattern of muck lining the pipes, the waves of the tank, the forward motion promising unknown things around the corner, and the eventual river, lake, drainpipe), well, it's a little hard to care about the individual situation anymore. And people require you care about their pain and their perspective in order to resolve anything or get anything from them. You can't shut down, you're not allowed. There's this wonderful relaxing coma state out there where you don't care about anything, and you just ride this whole life thing out. But I couldn't check out forever, and then there would be all these regrets to deal with. I don't want people to think I don't care. So I'm doubly defeated there. Defeated in my aspirations of love and loyalty, but also defeated in my reliance on them.

In a conversation recently my friend told me that girls don't have regrets, and that it was strange of me to have them. What a weird thing to say.