God, the pain is really unbearable right now. I look ahead and see only darkness.
I can't decide who I should be angry at. Myself? Society? Fate? God? The basic fact is that I'm a cubicle drone with no outstanding job skills. I mean, I've been to film school, and I got a master's in that, so I suppose that's a "marketable skill," but I haven't really done much film-related since in almost 10 years.
Beyond that, there's my training in journalism. I've never been very good at it and have always hated it. And journalism jobs really don't pay shit. On top of that, the whole journalism industry is starting to die a slow death.
I look back and try to figure out where the fuck I went wrong. What bad choices did I make? At every stage, though, with the exception of going to film school, all the choices I made were the safe ones that everybody advised me to make. And even in the case of film school, I tried to chart as safe and conservative a path as possible, to maximize my chances for a job after graduation.
And now I've reached a dead end. I literally do not know where to go from here. Perhaps it's just my personality, but I've always tended to go the safe, reliable route. But there is no obvious safe route leading on from where I stand now. It's just a maze of gray misery, for the rest of my life.
This should be the point in time when I start to flourish in my career and start a family. Instead, I'm nowhere near either of those milestones. Why? I mean, was it me? Did I do something wrong? Is there somebody else I can blame? I do not know.
I am thinking now of the Swan. You know, I barely know her. Well, I know her more than slightly. We've had experiences together. But I was just the briefest flash of light passing through her life, and I probably don't ever figure into her feelings at all. I think we all have an internal narrative of our lives, and in her narrative, I am the tiniest of footnotes, an insubstantial asterisk in a large and complicated section.
I know, or can more or less guess how she sees me, because for the past year or so I've been seeing the situation play out from the other side. I was dating this girl — let's call her the Dove — and while I liked her and enjoyed spending time with her, she never really engaged me on any passionate level.
Unfortunately, it seems that she feel deliriously for me. Thinks I'm "the love of her life," and all that. Even though I broke up with her months ago, she still hasn't really gotten over it. I still hear from her all the time.
My feelings about the Dove are deeply mixed. On one hand, it is flattering to be loved with such intensity — though what she sees in me, I will never know. On the other hand, my relationship with her uniquely illuminates for me my relationship with the Swan. The Dove does not occupy my thoughts too much, and I recognize in my own coldness of affection something of how I must appear to the Swan. It is not an encouraging thought. Indeed, it makes me painfully aware of the unbridgeability of the chasm between me and the Swan. There are no words the Dove can say, no actions she can perform, that will make me feel the sort of affection she craves from me. And seeing that, I am able to put myself in the Swan's shoes. I know there is not a damn thing in the fucking world I could do to win her.
If it weren't for my relationship with the Dove, I might not understand that. I might be able to convince myself that I had some chance with the Swan. But thanks to the Dove, I understand just how impossible that is. And for that — should I thank the Dove? Or be angry with her? She denies me the soft lullabies of self-deception. But also thanks to her, I am able to refrain from vainly offering the Swan any more pieces of my deeply wounded soul. I know just how futile a gesture that would be, and it allows me to lock away what's left of my heart and keep her from destroying it further. And she WOULD destroy it.
It really hurts, to have your own well-being so dependent upon another person. I mean, it's crushing. Why do I feel such a bleeding desire for something I can never have? How can I shut this feeling off?
See, it's my damn rational mind again. I am faced with a problem; I reason myself to a solution. Being honest with myself, I can't see any plausible scenario in which the Swan would ever be able to love me. For whatever cold reason God thinks it proper, my deep feeling for her does not move her. There is no way I can conceive of to change that. And it's not a situation that circumstances are likely to alter, either.
I will never be able to offer her the security that another man could offer her. The basic fact of the matter is that women like her don't end up with men like me. Men like me get table scraps. The men that end up with women like her are men that have value, that have achieved great success. That is just the naked sexual politics of life. I am an economic nonentity. A cog. I am of zero economic, political, social, or cultural significance. Nothing I do adds any value or advances or defends civilization in any way. I'm basically a parasite. I steal the resources of society and give nothing back.
My great accomplishment on any given day is putting together a nice newspaper page, and making sure all the words are spelled correctly. This is my bequest to posterity? This is the bold gesture of assertion I make against the unfeeling black heart of the universe? This is the blow I strike to proclaim the Nobility of Mankind?
It is nothing — it is worse than nothing. The lightest footprint, washed away by the tide. I am just so much prideful seed for the millstone. I am the dregs of the gene pool. I feel the blunt blade of Darwinian logic hacking away the useless offal of my DNA. It is like my suffering has a sinister purpose: Natural selection is driving home to me how useless I am, as a way of commanding me to pare myself out of the rootstock of tomorrow. The Swan's children — she will have them, you know — will be beautiful and strong. I know they will, because I see that in her, and I know that their father will be beautiful and strong as well. I must die that the way be made straighter, the path softer, the road easier for them.
That hurts, you know: That for someone else to be able to look forward to tomorrow, I have to go to bed every night fearing and cursing it. And for me to look forward to tomorrow, I have to make the Dove miserable, too. Can there be any way forward that, if not making me happy, will at least bring me peace, and in turn, will bring all others peace, as well? If this situation must persist forever — well, then life, when all the accounts are settled, is really not worth living.
Well, maybe that is ultimately the truth — this life is a vale of tears before we go home to the New Jerusalem, with paradise our reward for earthly struggles. Fine, I can deal with that. We must all bear our cross, we must all carry our own burdens, and I am strong and can carry a heavy, heavy load. But this, Lord, this is too much to bear. I will walk as far as I can, but my legs will soon give out. Please help me before I reach that point, Lord. Please.
It really hurts, to have your own well-being so dependent upon another person. I mean, it's crushing. Why do I feel such a bleeding desire for something I can never have? How can I shut this feeling off?
See, it's my damn rational mind again. I am faced with a problem; I reason myself to a solution. Being honest with myself, I can't see any plausible scenario in which the Swan would ever be able to love me. For whatever cold reason God thinks it proper, my deep feeling for her does not move her. There is no way I can conceive of to change that. And it's not a situation that circumstances are likely to alter, either.
I will never be able to offer her the security that another man could offer her. The basic fact of the matter is that women like her don't end up with men like me. Men like me get table scraps. The men that end up with women like her are men that have value, that have achieved great success. That is just the naked sexual politics of life. I am an economic nonentity. A cog. I am of zero economic, political, social, or cultural significance. Nothing I do adds any value or advances or defends civilization in any way. I'm basically a parasite. I steal the resources of society and give nothing back.
My great accomplishment on any given day is putting together a nice newspaper page, and making sure all the words are spelled correctly. This is my bequest to posterity? This is the bold gesture of assertion I make against the unfeeling black heart of the universe? This is the blow I strike to proclaim the Nobility of Mankind?
It is nothing — it is worse than nothing. The lightest footprint, washed away by the tide. I am just so much prideful seed for the millstone. I am the dregs of the gene pool. I feel the blunt blade of Darwinian logic hacking away the useless offal of my DNA. It is like my suffering has a sinister purpose: Natural selection is driving home to me how useless I am, as a way of commanding me to pare myself out of the rootstock of tomorrow. The Swan's children — she will have them, you know — will be beautiful and strong. I know they will, because I see that in her, and I know that their father will be beautiful and strong as well. I must die that the way be made straighter, the path softer, the road easier for them.
That hurts, you know: That for someone else to be able to look forward to tomorrow, I have to go to bed every night fearing and cursing it. And for me to look forward to tomorrow, I have to make the Dove miserable, too. Can there be any way forward that, if not making me happy, will at least bring me peace, and in turn, will bring all others peace, as well? If this situation must persist forever — well, then life, when all the accounts are settled, is really not worth living.
Well, maybe that is ultimately the truth — this life is a vale of tears before we go home to the New Jerusalem, with paradise our reward for earthly struggles. Fine, I can deal with that. We must all bear our cross, we must all carry our own burdens, and I am strong and can carry a heavy, heavy load. But this, Lord, this is too much to bear. I will walk as far as I can, but my legs will soon give out. Please help me before I reach that point, Lord. Please.
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