The Non-Kinetic Gryoscope is Dead

Where do I begin? Where do I end? I do not know. I am not sure I care anymore. Does it matter, does anything matter? Does life matter? Does death matter? Do I matter? I think the answer is no I do not. If the previous postulate is correct, and I do not matter, what is the point of any of this? Is there a point? Is there anything with a tangible value?

I am a frightened person. I am fearful of death, and I am fearful of life it seems. During the last two weeks, my elderly mother has been ill and fearful about her health. She has had to different surgical proceedures during this time period and we are waiting for news on the results of these various tests on the tissues the surgeons have removed. This two week period has accentuated my fears about death, and I have been emotionally in chaos. One minute I am weeping, the next minute I am angry, the next moment I am nearly asleep. Very little time is spent in happiness and very little time in life feels like joy.

I am sick of feeling this way. I despise these feelings and emotions. Why is it that I am so burdened by the fears, the guilts, and regrets? When do I get to live? I truly hate these feelings and I hate myself for having them. I do not know, but I sometimes wonder if I am clinically depressed? But then again, I have always been like this my whole life.

I envy those people who are more carefree in their spirit and soul. I wish I were like them. I wish I was not who I am. I am not sure if I can break free of the fear and the sorrow. I am afraid I will be caught in this whirlpool of frightening emotions forever, or until I die. What if there is nothing more for me? I see so many people who can find joy, can find peace, can find fun in life. Why cannot I have even a small sliver of that pie of happiness?

Is there something wrong with me? Is there something I have done to be burdened by this yoke of fear? Even when my loved ones are near me, I often feel so utterly alone that tears will pour from my eyes like a heavy rain and run into my beard. I have heard many women say that a good, long cry will make them feel so much better. I can report that a long cry does not make me feel any better.

I need to find a way to stop or change these feelings. I must. I do not know how to make the changes, however. I do not think I can stay as I am much longer. I hate myself, I had my fears, I hate my saddness, I hate the tension I feel, I hate not knowing how to live. I am afraid of death, I am afraid of life. I worry desperately about those I love. Yet, I worry about the mundane as well. For instance, I worry about the cup of coffee I have, I worry about not being a good father, I worry about eating the small handful of french fries I ate at dinner, I worry about the two bowls of pipe tobacco I have been allowing myself a day, I worry about not exercising enough, I worry about not going to confession enough, I worry about what the priest will think when I confess how horrible I am. I worry about excercising and working too much, I worry about neglecting my familiy, I worry about being too close to them so as to be emotionally smothering. I worry when I drive my car to work, I worry when it snows. I worry when it rains. I fear the impending death of each and every person I know. I fear being alone. I fear being in crowds. I am afraid of fear.

I must somehow change. I wish I was not who I am. I do not know how to change or if I can.

Tommorrow is also a day of sorrow and pain. Tommorrow is the 11th Anniversary of death of my niece due to suicide. She consumed a bottle of my sister's (her mother's) hypertension medication 11 years ago this evening. Even with pumping of her stomach, she could not survive and died the 20th of December, 1994. She was only 17 at that time. She would now be 28 if she had lived. She was a wonderful, creative, intelligent girl. I miss her greatly. Yet I am also angry with her. It makes little sense. I make little sense.

Konrad