A Gumption Reduction
*I do wonder, almost daily, where my gumption has wandered off to. So elusive are they, where did they stay when they went away? In another mind, propelling, impelling? The goddamn traitor! 🤬

These are the things an alive human does, but you. YES YOU!!! Sit there. A bump on a log. In your chair. Intent to exist. Absent an inner voice to insist. 😌

“Do this, do that!” “Produce, reproduce.” “Take care of the Hive.” A drive to exist, to be alive. Going AWOL, buzzing off! 🐝

By societal standards, invisible. Not contributing? Not important. Worth packaged away, exported. (Wahhhhh!😭)

Requirements for existing. Boxes checked. 
Respect permitting. That internal drive from being alive, poof! Kaboom! Without a word, has left the room. Never again, to ever return.

Recipe book, Perusing. An earlier pass time, alluding. Self-help inspiration. Blah! 

Vitality, Disintegrating. Am I alive? A displaced member of the Hive?

A small window of time.
Self-aware. Alert. Self-caring. Goal projecting. Cleansing. Work-outing. Bicycle rides, mountain climbing. Vitality shining. 🌟

*A Morose Visitation 
Goddammit, I’m sick and tired of pretending I’m happy. Not showing my present state of mind. Keeping it all inside. All to make them comfortable. Presenting myself, as I feel…. seems impossible. To show them my mind? Preposterous! Unthinkable!

A smile supplanted in place, a deceptive disgrace. Animated voice, projecting. Pretending. Ethos Bloating, distending. 

A broken leg? “Oh no! What happened?” Overflowing with kind words. Empathy surrounding, unreserved. 

An accepted disability to be excused. Hurting places, Comforted. Soothed. Compassion, freely projected. A physical injury socially accepted. Surrounded with ample care. State of mind, bypassed. So Blissfully Unaware.

These icky topics, so messy. Sticky. Why? Why? Why is that?

*This may be why, to even think about visiting people feels so exhausting. 

*To be fair, maybe it isn’t fair.

I mean, is it fair to dampen the atmosphere with reality? Like, to be depressed and sad, when everyone else is happy? Or even just to bring up uncomfortable topics that nobody really wants to talk about? The reality is that some people will simply never understand or get it. So why even try? 
*But really. It is unfair to dampen the atmosphere, is it not? 

“Blah, what whiner!” my evil alter-ego whispers in my ear.🥱

Oops, I kind of got off topic. We were discussing my missing gumption. Back on topic.

*Some Brainstorming to try and locate 
It’s the seemingly small things, at first noticed.
The impulse to cook and clean, to bake and create.
To make our home an Inviting place. Blah! Who cares!
In front of a mirror, make up application, hair in place.Stylish clothing to perfection. An evening out, what fun!A put together, Presentation. “Why bother?”

I Knew for a fact, I was present there, with the rest. A real person. A society participant. Valued. Not this present ghost, invisible. Spirit broken down, indivisible. “Poor, poor me!” hahaha!

Self-aware, self-caring. 
Self-improving, self-repairing.
Cookbooks, self-helpers. Dusty on their shelves.
Unused and forgotten. Gumption decomposing. Rotting.

That goddamn Gumption!!!!! Where have they gone????

*Shopping, an earlier hobby. It doesn’t matter what it was for. I LOVED to shop. I would get so excited. That was my gumption, was it not? Or possibly another addiction manifested. 

* I’m having feelings about writing about myself. And the “negative” things. We are socialized to have a positive attitude. These subjects are avoided and often outright rejected. And even writing in this block, I’m feeling judged. Even though, nobody is here judging me. Even though, these are MY realities. Even though, I should be free, in this space especially, to self-reflect. But even here, I feel a stifling energy. And I have thoughts, wondering why so much of my writing veers into such dark territory? How would that be judged? Are people wanting to read only positive reflections? If someone reads this, will I be judged in a particular light?

I think, though, that even if I’m venturing into some dark places, my sense of humor stays intact. I can always rely on my wit. She pops into my writing at opportune moments. A reprieve from all the seriousness. But it’s NOT that serious!!!! People only think it is, and that’s what scares them away. It doesn’t have to be a huge thing. It doesn’t have to be so goddamn heavy! Jesus Christ! 

Normalize talking about deep shit, that isn’t actually all that fuken deep!

If it didn’t feel so goddamn serious, maybe people would be less afraid and more open. To see their eyes, as I speak, the sheer terror they project, telling me I’ve made a colossal mistake, I feel embarrassed and ashamed. I make a joke. I quickly make a correction by changing the subject. Most importantly, I know better than to ever be open again.

What makes them so afraid??? There is literally not a thing they are required to do for me, except hold space. Is it because my broken parts are repellent to them? Such untidiness, right? A mind isn’t allowed to be injured, is it? Only other parts of our bodies are afforded the luxury to be unwell or broken. Only those other body parts are deserving of their compassion. It is seen a character defect to struggle with a mental illness.

This writing block, just like earlier writing blocks, has wandered off the subject. This is very revealing, is it not? It’s like my subconscious is deciding on its own, what I need to say. My daemon is speaking. I like believing that. I enjoy imagining an attached animal daemon, living alongside me. In this world, Sadly, they are unseen. But they are always with us because they ARE us. Our consciousness is split in two, not like DID! Ugh! No. But like there are two parts, each Unaware of the other. Except if you imagine them. You talk to them. Soon they will talk back. This has happened with me before. My daemon is an owl. They see in the dark.

*I may have found my gumption! Hooray! 🤗
Yes, she may be found. How so very relieved I am! She has been here the whole time. Inside a secret part of my mind. Working behind the scenes. A self-reflecting lens, propelling me to see. 

To see, to see, to see! To finally see!
A quieter time, than before. In my cave, tucked away.

Inspiration still existing. Gumption called forth, Persisting.

A new way of thinking, emerging. 
Reality undressing. Truth Purging.
Passions changing. A life, rearranging.

*I mean, even though my mind is very young at heart, I am aging, am I not? 👵 I have settled down. Most of my life was a rough ride. Some of it’s self-imposed chaos. I feel like I’ve been resting. Recovering from it all. And it makes sense, now that things have calmed down, I am able to do some soul reflecting. And what better way to reflect on a life, than to write.

Hmmmm…. was the wreckage of my life, truly “self-imposed?”🤔 Wasn’t I made to be the person that I was. The person that I am. Everything about me is all a result of each earlier event that occurred in my life. Hmmmmm…. I am a staunch determinist, right??? RIGHT????? Are we not built block by block? Is anybody ultimately responsible for the person they become? Don’t get me wrong, there does need to be accountability, reconciliation, amends made. That is for the healing of all who are involved. I do believe that. And sometimes people need to be kept from society because they are dangerous to others. But even they can’t be held morally responsible. If I am a determinist, I must believe this. And I do.

It doesn’t mean I have to love everyone for the garbage people they are, (Trump 🤮) simply because they were constructed to be that way. I am still allowed to feel any kind of way I want. But at least I can rationalize why people are who they are, right?

Oops, off topic. I love to talk about “moral responsibility” don’t I? 

Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. I did not personally create my own downfall. If I’m a determinist, I must believe this. It’s a hard thing to say though. It’s much easier to place all the blame on myself and just get on with life. Now, this doesn’t mean I do not take accountability when my actions have hurt someone. Even if I’m not morally responsible.  For the sake of being a human being, these are the actions that must be taken, regardless of where fault lays; if it even lays anywhere. Which it can’t, can it? According to determinism. 😵‍💫
*That is the deceptive emoji. 

Goddamn that mind tricking prick!

But we are on this journey to experience being alive. Being a person. So, we behave as people should, right? We make “choices,” we experience the results of those choices. We grow from our experiences (hopefully). We try and do the right thing. 

I still wish my gumption would extend from its present position into other areas of my life. When I was younger, I was so inspired to better myself. I believed all the new-age self-help jargon. I believed in magical things. Things my present brain won’t allow me to indulge in. I was on every health craze that came along. The exuberance! The naivety! The dumbness!

Alas, I have become jaded and cynical. I don’t care much about outward beauty anymore either. I want to look nice, but sometimes I can’t be bothered. It seems too much of a chore. Everything like that feels like a huge endeavor. Like a mountain I’d need to climb. Whereas it previously was a daily part of my life. I LOVED makeup and dressing in stylish clothes. I wish I cared. I want to care. So, I do wish my gumption could propel me to try a little harder to care about myself and my health in the way I did before. 

Do I secretly want to die? 😵 Maybe I’ve had enough of existing. If all I do is sit and sit. Thinking philosophical thoughts. No inner drive to move, for action. Content with trivial distractions. Writing all day long, to get it all down before I’m gone. The way things are going, it won’t be long. 

Goddammit.