Everyday I wonder "where has all the hours gone?" How did I manage to spend 6 hours watching YouTube. Granted, I do seem to spend a lot of time searching. I spend a lot of time searching for answers online. Who is being watched, talked about, creating? What are people talking about? When will the next Wong Kar Wai film come out? Where is the best place to go to find myself? How do I plant a fruit tree?
Am I wasting time? I'm not sure. How better could I spend my time? Should I write, read, paint, listen to music? Should I go jogging, do yoga, volunteer, go back to school?
Or should I search to meet new people, make new friends? Should I spend more time thinking and caring for my family and friends? I think I am doing a lot for them, but am I missing something? Should I be doing more?
I've been feeling so restless lately. Not so different from how I usually feel, but I can feel my heart beat faster. Like I'm not moving in conjunction to how my heart beats, all that stirs inside seems to go to waste. There seems to feel something stirring inside that I need to pour out in an exact unique way. I need to say something in my own unique voice. And I need to be heard, not just by the few, but by a community of people who understand. I have this urgency to share and help.
I've been watching videos on YouTube of depressed people talking about their depression. There is something so raw and real about their videos. I want to hear their stories. They tell them out of desperation. I know that desperate feeling all too well. I feel connected to them, and I write comments trying to give them some hope. I feel like I know what they want to hear because I know what I want to hear when I feel desperate. I just want to feel loved. I guess its so disconcerting when youre depressed to hear "cheer up" or "lighten up" or "things will get better" because it is the most disconnected thing a person can say and it feels like a brush off and that they dont have the time to listen and love. I feel so affected by people who are depressed, feel alone, and that no one cares. Because I know I do. And I know how important it is to have just one person who you can count on to listen and love you when you feel like an alien. And the great sensitivity that is required when someone is in that condition is often not realized, even by professionals. This is what I've witnessed with Gino. And this is what I see in that kid who shot up those people in the mall recently. He didn't feel loved. He felt like a burden. I refuse to believe that all those professionals and all the family and friends could not help him. I refuse to believe that there was no other destiny for him. What could have been done to save him and all those people? He was obviously desperate for help. There must have been something that could have been done.
I've been having many apocalyptic dreams lately. Dreams involving helping my family get out of some sort of massive attack.
And there are all those dreams about puppies. Dying puppies either hit by a car or injured in a horrific way, and I swoop them up in my arms and try to soothe them back into life by petting and saying "it's okay."
It's obvious the common theme here is my ability to take care of others. This urgency inside me to do so. And the dire consequences if I don't.
Even when I see a dead squirrel on the road, I feel a pang of sadness.
The thought of not having my mother seems unfathomable.
I guess the dissonance here is between the intense urge to care for others and not knowing exactly how to go about it.