Venting double-binds

[lamargue]

feel as if there is no way out. i want to piece things together but they just become more chaotic and unordered, as if it will require some herculean commitment, or worse to do away with some part of myself which is integral to my world. i am in a series of double-binds. i always think to myself that it is not yet time, that there are still things to be done; that there is something which shall die with you which i want yet to manifest as something material.
i don't even have the energy to vent properly. it's as if the thing that holds me here is some ephemeral rule that i cannot violate, for the consequences will be going against whatever order there is in the universe. there was a quote by goethe which i forget, but it vaguely said that if there is order in the world, then all great works shall become known, that one can amply devote their lives to something and will receive recognition in due time -- he used the analogy of something silver in a river, though i cannot for the life of me remember. i don't know.
i feel more desperate the longer i stay on this site, as if the only problems which can be received are the ones which our society deems worthy of attention, of problems which cross the boundary from theoretical into absolute; things which call attention to our shared capacity to emphathize with problems of the flesh. sex, chemicals, loneliness. things like that.
maybe i am speaking nonsense yet again

 

[derpyderpins]

i always think to myself that it is not yet time, that there are still things to be done; that there is something which shall die with you which i want yet to manifest as something material.

I feel this. I've always been one to hold on to hope too long: the team can make a comeback, I might win on that last number of the scratch-off, she might be what I'm hoping she is. . . over and over. Maybe the next job will somehow be worth it. Maybe once I've finished X.

That mentality has made me prolong my life, probably too long.