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salixbabylonI've been unreasonably exhausted lately and not wanting to do anything, and finally last night I realized that, DUH, this is how I feel when I'm having another round of depression. So I guess I'm depressed. Blech.
I've been reading a real physical book lately, Dorothy Sayers' "Gaudy Night." Usually her mysteries are somewhat lighthearted and witty fun, but this one has made me think an awful lot about the mind versus the heart, and determining one's true passion and life's work...
It's probably not helping that a year ago this week, my marriage hit the most major problem it's ever faced and almost fell apart. It didn't, and we worked things out, and I dare say our relationship is much better than it was over the last couple of years, since I was ignoring a lot of problems... It was odd to think of splitting up though, since we've been together since I was 20 -- those are a fairly dramatic 11 years to have made it through.
Yet I've always felt somewhat torn. Like if I'm meant to be a writer, I should live alone, in a flat in the city, and be depressed and gothy and have lots of meaningless affairs and hot sex and my heart broken at every turn. Isn't that what being a writer is, for a woman? Virginia Woolf meets Dorothy Parker?
Yet I've always also felt like it's part of my life's work to be married. To live in partnership, to learn compromise and think of another's well-being, to be less selfish and yet true to myself. A vocation, which I have always taken as seriously as I would have taken Holy Orders or some such, had I remained Catholic.
And yet how pathetic is that, in this day and age, to think that it's part of my life's "work" to be MARRIED? How can I consider myself a feminist at all and feel that way? Yet it feels like that's an entirely intellectual contradiction, not at all an emotional one. I don't feel all women should be married, and I think I would feel the same way if I were a man. (If I were a man and still me, that is, which is probably unlikely, since we are products of our environment, and I would not have had anywhere near the same life experiences as a male.)
And what the hell am I doing with my life anyway? Why am I here? What am I supposed to be doing?
Three eternal questions that have been plaguing me for the last decade or more. And still no answers. What brings me pleasure and a sense of rightness? Writing. Living as part of a couple.
It's hard to believe that life could be so full of misery and angst and personal trivial pains and traumas and not have any point. And yet, what point do other people's lives have to me? Do a few lines of their scholarly writing, poetry, or novels really matter? Make a difference in my life? Sometimes... Sometimes not.
And poetry and art... aren't those really so subjectively personal that they don't mean anything? Mine never feels like anyone else could ever understand it or know what it means, and I'll be damned if I'm going to open my veins and explain it to them. Writing is different though... To make others think, to make them feel, even if it's only to titillate and amuse, is at least something.
Maybe.
Circles, it's all just circles, like my dog tramping down the wild undergrowth only to discover it's plush carpeting and it didn't matter what he did to it before he laid(lay?) down.
Now I can't even remember proper grammar.
Blech.
I've been reading a real physical book lately, Dorothy Sayers' "Gaudy Night." Usually her mysteries are somewhat lighthearted and witty fun, but this one has made me think an awful lot about the mind versus the heart, and determining one's true passion and life's work...
It's probably not helping that a year ago this week, my marriage hit the most major problem it's ever faced and almost fell apart. It didn't, and we worked things out, and I dare say our relationship is much better than it was over the last couple of years, since I was ignoring a lot of problems... It was odd to think of splitting up though, since we've been together since I was 20 -- those are a fairly dramatic 11 years to have made it through.
Yet I've always felt somewhat torn. Like if I'm meant to be a writer, I should live alone, in a flat in the city, and be depressed and gothy and have lots of meaningless affairs and hot sex and my heart broken at every turn. Isn't that what being a writer is, for a woman? Virginia Woolf meets Dorothy Parker?
Yet I've always also felt like it's part of my life's work to be married. To live in partnership, to learn compromise and think of another's well-being, to be less selfish and yet true to myself. A vocation, which I have always taken as seriously as I would have taken Holy Orders or some such, had I remained Catholic.
And yet how pathetic is that, in this day and age, to think that it's part of my life's "work" to be MARRIED? How can I consider myself a feminist at all and feel that way? Yet it feels like that's an entirely intellectual contradiction, not at all an emotional one. I don't feel all women should be married, and I think I would feel the same way if I were a man. (If I were a man and still me, that is, which is probably unlikely, since we are products of our environment, and I would not have had anywhere near the same life experiences as a male.)
And what the hell am I doing with my life anyway? Why am I here? What am I supposed to be doing?
Three eternal questions that have been plaguing me for the last decade or more. And still no answers. What brings me pleasure and a sense of rightness? Writing. Living as part of a couple.
It's hard to believe that life could be so full of misery and angst and personal trivial pains and traumas and not have any point. And yet, what point do other people's lives have to me? Do a few lines of their scholarly writing, poetry, or novels really matter? Make a difference in my life? Sometimes... Sometimes not.
And poetry and art... aren't those really so subjectively personal that they don't mean anything? Mine never feels like anyone else could ever understand it or know what it means, and I'll be damned if I'm going to open my veins and explain it to them. Writing is different though... To make others think, to make them feel, even if it's only to titillate and amuse, is at least something.
Maybe.
Circles, it's all just circles, like my dog tramping down the wild undergrowth only to discover it's plush carpeting and it didn't matter what he did to it before he laid(lay?) down.
Now I can't even remember proper grammar.
Blech.
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no subject
Date: 2005-02-11 03:28 am (UTC)How did you turn your marriage around? What made it begin to work for you again? Because right now, I don't find myself that far off from where you were a year ago.
"What brings me pleasure and a sense of rightness?" And what if those thing that make you feel right are wrong and selfish? It is so hard to live an actualized life. So many tangents of myself that I would like to see develop to fruition, but the energy and effort... And the consequences of deciding to pursue those paths... Frightening.
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2005-02-12 02:55 am (UTC)We saw a couples therapist. For 8 months, once every other week. The first few months were AWFUL, as we realized how poor our communication had grown and how bad everything really was. And then we had a few months of awkward "structured conversations" practicing listening skills and trying to work out some big issues. Luckily it was really important to both of us to BOTH stay together AND fix the problems. It was harder than just about anything I've ever done. Including trying to learn Classical Latin. Luckily, I did much better at re-learning how to communicate, especially about sex, than I ever did with Latin. ;)
I'm very sorry you're going through a rough spot. You have my sympathy, empathy, and can always email me if you'd like to talk or just vent. *hug*
Things that make you feel right being wrong and selfish... I would think that there must be a way to make them less selfish, somehow. One example: writing porn is perhaps somewhat selfish for a mother of a small child, but if it makes you more relaxed and happy, then that's good for everyone. Same with going back to school...
I guess it's all a balancing act between what you need for yourself and what starts to impact others negatively. "Selfish" is such a tricky concept, especially for women, I think. Being selfless is not always good, especially when it makes us bitter.
So many possibilities; such limited energy. I so know what you mean... I just try to have faith that it will all work itself out in the end, and not focus too much on the long-term consequences.
*hug*
no subject
Date: 2005-02-11 05:02 pm (UTC)You made me think a lot of things with your entry. I mean, they've been there all along in my mind but have been turning a blind eye. You gave me the nudge to face my own demons, per se.
It's terrifying to think the life ahead of me. Because as you put it so nicely, It's hard to believe that life could be so full of misery and angst and personal trivial pains and traumas and not have any point. Isn't the point living it thru', all those angst and misery? Everytime you do, you get close to fullness, somehow. I dunno, everyone has their own achievements in this life and regard different things as important.
I've been into so much stress and personal misery, (has nothing to do with my marriage) but everytime I think about it, I feel like breaking down and I wish I could do just that. So when I read your entry, I cried, all the pent-up emotions I haven't been able to express just took a step further. Had to go read smth else. (That gay gorilla...*heh*) So my own demons are haunting me and I'm depressed too, brooding and sulking.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-12 03:01 am (UTC)I agree that just making it through the pain and wretchedness is it's own reward. To know you have that strength in you. And it helps to make it easier to get through the next time it comes up.
*hug* Nothing wrong with breaking down sometimes, either. Bravo for having the courage to get up again. *more hugs*