"Still Got Issues"

The past week has been rough for me. This is my third attempt to blog about it. I keep starting to write, get a ways in, then end up coming down on myself for whining. I think about what I'm going through, how hard it is for me, then do that thing where I remember that others have it much worse. Problem is, that isn't making me feel better, it just makes me feel like what I'm going through doesn't matter and that I'm a whiny little bitch for even wasting my brain time thinking about it. Like some disembodied voice is saying, "Zach, people are starving the whole world over. Dissidents in the middle east are being shot. Japan is in ruins with half a million people displaced. And you're writing about feeling fat and not having any friends? Please shut the fuck up you self-centered sack of shit."

Yes, the voice of my insecurity still sounds like that.

So, do I write about feeling fat? How I put on 20 pounds last fall that aren't coming off, even though I'm doing weights three times a week and walking at least a couple miles every day?

Do I write about not having any friends? That I still haven't figured out how to make friends, or be one? Maybe a brief whine about how I always have tons of minutes left over on my cell phone plan each month.

How about my frustrations at not working? My fears that even if I find a job, I'll be treated like dirt and will make even less money at it than if I'd stayed on unemployment??

Or maybe I could write about being single, and feeling fat, and how my brain is telling me I'll never find an attractive woman? Or my fears about being a misogynist, or that the fact so many of my choices in women have been disasters and the fear that brings up--that even if I meet someone, she'll either be an Oedipus-inspired nut job like my mom. Or worse still, that I'll meet someone who is emotionally healthy, able to be a good partner to me, and I'll push her away with my own insanity?

Or hey, I could blog about how I still feel worthless even though I'm getting A's in school.

Maybe I could waste some space about how futile it is that I keep wasting my time making music when I'm never going to make much money from it.

Better yet, there's always the looming draw of a big fat joint, or double shots of ice cold vodka, or three fingers of bourbon.

Too surface level? I could take it a few steps deeper and delve into how I don't feel like I'm allowed to bitch about any of this, which brings up all the childhood lessons of how what I feel isn't important. Perhaps I could let out a tirade about how 'acting as-if' doesn't work for me, because it's the basic way of learning to deal with life that I picked up as a kid that stopped working for me a long time ago. Or maybe even indulge myself in some good old-fashioned self-hatred because I still have issues from time to time, that I'm not perfect. And as a bonus, I'll flog myself over how I can't keep from staring at every woman who walks by in a high skirt or a low-cut top.

Actually... I do feel a little better for letting that all out.

I'm not having a pity party, I swear. This is the shit that is flowing through my mind. I'm trying not to listen to it. I'm doing a lot of praying, a lot of turning it over. I'm trying to remember that it will pass. I just feel like... on this journey of life, I've driven through this town before. What I'd really like is a sign that says, "Happyville, 43 miles ahead."

God, grant me the serenity...