Quest for Compassion

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Will this sadness never end? Will there never be hope for this demoralized soul? Emotionally fractured, and addicted to the very torment I loathe, I began a search inside myself. A search for compassion. It was to retaliate against the apathy my AS wants me to have...against my very nature. Empathy isn't a part of who I am, but I want it to be. I want to learn to forget myself, to lose my own feelings and selfish impulses and obsessive desperation. To not be angry and overwhelmed, to not be so unpleasant. But how can one think of others when one is never the least bit comfortable in this overstimulating world? With senses so aggressively defensive, every second of my life, every centimeter of my skin feels as though worms with the tiniest of prickles are crawling on it. The itching never stops. And my house does not help matters, either. It features an incurable dust infestation, a cramped layout and general lack of space, a family that likes the drapes open, that likes to unleash the sun in all its mighty power. I cannot look outside during the day if the sun is out, not without it hurting my eyes. Like a vampire, the only light I find comfortable is horribly electronic. Like a vampire, food overwhelms me; whereas the vampire vomits if (s)he eats normal food, and is forced to drink blood alone, I merely gain a feeling of nausea in my throat that will take too long to dissipate--and that is for the food that I like. Were I to eat the food I dislike, I probably would vomit. That is what happened anytime I tried to swallow medication I didn't like the taste of. And sleep? It is only attained after hours and hours of lying awake, constantly changing positions in failing attempts to not be as uncomfortable. I am practically an insomniac; I just try sleeping anyway, so it comes after five hours. It is easier when I can masturbate before bed, but according to Revenant in the mature forum, if I continue doing that every night I will be rendered impotent.

I stand now, staring up at Maslow's towering pyramid, and as I realize what I have said above, it is no wonder my quest for a compassionate self feels so impossible. My very foundation of happiness is a crumbling attempt indeed; not even the physiological needs are as strongly provided as they should be because of those defensive senses. I have food in my home, and a bed, and a shelter, and parents who care. I am financially stable, living here. But what use is any of that if my body won't accept any of it? What use is any of that if the discomfort prevents my biology from gaining any true benefit from it? But this is the first story of the pyramid; without these needs fulfilled, access to the taller stories is impossible.

On the second story, there is security. I have a roof on my head, shelter from the rain, but security from pain is not something I have. I am given reminders of my broken heart daily, and of my guilt. Or my lack of confidence. There is no security for me. There is insecurity alone.

On the third story, there is love and belonging. My friendships are stronger than they've been since 5th grade...yet rarely do I feel a sense of true belonging, of true acceptance. And love...love is worst of all. I fear talking to girls I am attracted to because each attempt has been just one more broken heart or guilty flub, one more time when I screwed up and got angry or creeped somebody out, or obsessed about someone way too much. My track record is so bad I've never even been on a single date. I've never been kissed. Yet...the desire for romance is so strong. I want to love, to be loved.

At every turn I am pursued and haunted by inner devils so mighty that I shudder to even look at them, taking their forms from memories of guilt and strife and from my subconscious's most twisted false visualizations. The carnage that these demons make me imagine knows no bounds, and though I am a pacifist, though despise violence, the images of carnage in my mind never cease. These demons are too deadly. The ripping of flesh, the screams of those innocent souls undone by such grotesque atrocities...the pain overwhelms me. I don't want to think these things. I don't want to have such a relentlessly twisted imagination! It seems my compassion only comes in the face of evil, after I have said or thought a thing so wicked or insensitive or unclear that my lazy superego is compelled to reluctantly do its duty after all.

But I could battle it all, I could face every demon in my path if I only found love. Especially in the form of...her. The dream girl. The obsession. The succubus. The compassionate, understanding goth, hair of crimson, lips darker than shadows, with wisdom and intense eccentricity. I would pray to a love goddess I don't believe in if it meant she would manifest into reality somehow. Like my search for compassion, I won't stop searching until I find her. But I gave up hope long ago. I continue in my quest because it is all I can do, and if I do not then all I can do is wallow in my sadness...not because I expect it to end happily. Even if I find anyone even remotely like her, then she would probably not like me, or she would already be in a relationship, or I'd be too terrified to say a word.

Still ahead lies the pyramid's fourth story, the story of self-esteem. And here lies one of the worst paradoxes of all. In order to think good things about myself, I need to be compassionate, something I will not be able to attain without reaching self-actualization, the fifth story of the pyramid. But I cannot reach that fifth floor without first conquering the fourth one...without having a happy, confident, proud sense of self. Like my quest to find my dream girl, it is fruitless...but it is all I have.

I wonder if perhaps we aren't meant to make dreams real. If you have everything you ever wanted, ever dreamed about, then what is there left to live for? People's drive to attain their most impossible goals are what make their lives worth living. If you have everything you want, then why go on? What quest is left to conquer? What demon to vanquish? But with this realization comes an understanding that if it's a hopeless goal and you wouldn't be happy even if you reached it, then there's no point in even trying to reach that goal...and so how is life worth living?

I may be emotionally masochistic, and a little nihilistic, but I'm not suicidal. I don't care how impossible these goals are. I'll reach them, and when I do, I'll give myself more impossible goals to spend the rest of my life working out. This is all there f*****g is to the world. This is life. There is no alternative. Not even death would bring me peace. No grave could silence this torture.

I just wish some of it was easier to bear. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew where to turn.

believe it or not, you've already made the first steps towards happiness. Realize everyone on this spectrum understands the points you've made, to a degree. While I myself have no problems with food, I have tried 20 different medications in less than a year(starting in february), in several different combinations. I have been diagnosed with Post traumatic stress disorder because my memory is impeccable. Every detail stands out in those times of need, in those times of misunderstanding.

You are not alone, although none of us feel that to be truly true. We all have felt this way. To that degree or not, it doesnt matter. My advice for you would be to start to open up to your friends. Let them in deeper than you ever have. I must warn you, they may turn thier backs. But then they were never really friends, were they? Then again, maybe they are friends and wont know what to tell you. And yet, there may be one last possibility. Maybe they posess the answers you've been searching for.

You my friend, you remind me of me, in the fact that you know more than you should, and less than you need to. We all have this problem at some point, some of us just have it longer. You will find what makes you happy, in essence, you already have. Time is just in the way of that revelation...

Emoal6 wrote
"You are not alone, although none of us feel that to be truly true. We all have felt this way".

That's so true.

I would just like say that everyone needs a space, just a tiny space is better than none, a bit of space that is all yours. Find a spot in your room and reserve it for things that make you feel good. Maybe a beautiful picture which you feel some connection with, or a quotation which inspires you, or maybe something you have created. Keep this as your sacred space where you don't put anything 'everyday', and eventually it will help you feel more grounded. You will only have to look at it to bring you a sense of support.

Also, I would recommend that you read this book - Swamplands of the Soul, by James Hollis. It won't cure your pain, but it will help you find meaning in it. It is my 'bible' for the bad times.

Take care Veresae.

I have no answers for you though I suspect your answers will be found in you. It seems that at times we serch the world over for something that we had all along but just could not see it until we embarked on our journey in search of it. Similar to Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Mostly I am posting a reply to tell you how beautifully you write. You have the ability to paint pictures with your words, in case no one is ever told you, you really have a talent with the written word. Your writings remind me somewhat of the Pslams of David during his time of hiding and persecution and also of Soloman's as he neared the end of his life on earth and looking back over his days came to the conclusion that it is all for not, that in the end it is all meaningless. I wish you much luck on your journey.

Thanks guys.

Emoal6, I know I'm not alone, believe it or not. But that just doesn't make it much easier. I actually do talk about this stuff with my friends, and they don't know what to tell me. That said, I will think on your words.

Starr, I do have my own room (at least when my brother isn't down here--then we share it). I have decorated it with some of my favorite CG art, but its difficult to make it as comfortable as I'd like. See...my room has a problem with mildew. So in order to make sure it doesn't smell, we have to keep windows and doors open, and keep the drapes up, which means that my eyes are hurting in there all the time because the sunlight is so bright. (Another thing is it gets super cold in there if I keep the doors closed.) Thanks for the book recommendation though--I'll look it up.

If nothing else, the perils of this emotional journey will mean that I will have to find more solace in my novel writing, and in my film watching, the two things that bring me the most happiness. Writing is something that I definately need to do more of (thankfully I'm taking two writing classes next semester at my college) and hopefully this will help spur me into finally getting "Reality's Crusade" published. (It's my novel.) Or mayhaps I'll write more in this thread if I feel another storm of depression come along.

Good tidings to you all.