There is a voice in my head, very familiar, that will wait for the right moment and then say the one thing that could make me feel possibly worse than I already do. It is the voice that reminds me about all the guys my girlfriend has hooked up with before me and how uncomfortable I am with that, it is the voice that brings up how upset I am about my living situation, and it is the voice that looks for ways to give me that completely and sickeningly satisfying rush of negative emotion. It makes me want to wallow in sadness, anger, and frustration. That wallowing is so familiar, so comfortable to me, that unless I recognize it and halt the process, it will be more immediately satisfying than trying to feel good in any way.
This voice is the voice of dirt, disgust, and blackness. It comes out of mounds of cigarette butts and empty bottles and cans, shit, piss, and vomit, interpersonal conflict, misogyny, violence, delusion, and all sickness and darkness. It is like a black hole that I’m constantly being sucked into, a little at a time, and sometimes I pull myself away from it and feel better, but that shit is a vacuum and unless I keep fighting it, I’ll eventually get sucked in all the way.
This is my hell. Sometimes. And other times it is a distant and bleak reality, a possibility that has been explored and somewhat understood, and I choose not to be enveloped.
My question is, What is that? Where does it come from? Why is it there? What is it about existence, or my existence, that necessarily includes a self destructive, negative tract or aspect?
I guess I already know the answer. But then I think that the answer will come to me after further contemplation. And finally I think, this is just part of life. Awareness of one’s emotional zero point and all that it consists of, the worst thing imaginable. In that for me this thing is imaginable, I imagine it, and am therefore conscious of it. BUT WHERE THE FUCK DOES IT COME FROM?