I just need to figure this out.
Once I figure out what’s going on with me, I’ll be fine.
Seriously, I’m just working on figuring all these things out, and then I’ll be able to be a normal human again.
I’m a precarious math equation describing the formation of a cube into which I’m enveloped, waiting for that one little trick that will reveal the answer and I’ll finally figure it out.
In case you haven’t noticed, “figuring it out” isn’t going so well for me. Every time I think I see an option that makes sense, my very perception of reality and logic is questioned and challenged and ultimately thrown into complete disarray. I’m so preoccupied with reaching the endpoint, finding the answer, finally getting to that one place where everything will click and ease will descend without my noticing and, at last, I can loosen my grip on constantly reminding myself that there’s something wrong with me. I’m so focused on that nonexistent terminal that I’m inexorably crippled by my inability to figure it all out.
To anyone with any life experience (aka everyone, life experience is kind of a prerequisite for living), this destination mindset is extremely naive, not to mention limited. Although I’m aware that the quest to figure out the circumstances that led me to my current situation or reasons I feel the way I do or why I can’t fix the heartbreaking injustices I see everywhere is a fruitless one, I can’t help but feel like there is an answer out there somewhere, and I just haven’t reached it yet. I don’t know if I can try any harder.
What if we didn’t have to figure it out? What if it was impossible, and instead of ignoring the elusiveness we could embrace the fact that this world is absolutely absurd and there’s nothing we can do about it?
Maybe it’s morbid to watch comedies about suicide or laugh at our severe depression or make endless jokes about anxiety and paralyzing body shame, but the truth is there’s really no other option. There’s no figuring it out. Obsession with rationale only leads to increasing craziness because there is no explanation. My thoughts are ludicrous and my actions are on the one level we’re all sure we’ll never sink to and if you think that pondering just a little longer will reveal any coherence, well, I invite you to laugh with me because that’s all I have to offer.
I think the most difficult step for me right now is letting go of the need for explanation and control. Despite the fact that I’ve never known or understood or controlled anything, truly releasing that expectation is supremely scary. I know that once I step off that precipice I will enter a vivid, stimulating world of endless possibility and crushing disappointment and unpredictable risk, and even as my grip on my old sense of security slips away I still can’t seem to let go.
We can’t figure anything out, and making ourselves crazy over it is, well, making ourselves crazy. We’re preposterous and ridiculous and nonsensical and delirious and delusional and disgusting and disturbing and human. I am all of these, always. Let this mark my surrender of trying to figure it out. I am complex and insane and hilarious. I will never know what motivates me to jump from one entirely outlandish idea to an equally illogical one and then proceed to engender them in reality, and I intend to keep laughing. I will laugh at you and I will laugh at me and once we’ve run out of our own ridiculousness we’ll laugh at our parents.
This shit is crazy.