Pain, pain go away, please don’t come back another day…

Times when I have to be highly efficient are often followed by days on which I can hardly get out of my mental mess; days when I ask myself why there is so much pain and suffering in this world and why so many of us have to go through sorrow and misery, just so they exist somewhere on this planet, physically existing while being surrounded by drought, war, destruction, poverty, illness, and abuse. There is an imbalance in this world that is beyond human understanding, even though it is the result of human actions, of greed, hate, anger, and ignorance. … You see what I’m getting at? This is one version of the recurrent emotional festival known as “My Dark Days”, this is how I often think and feel during those times (like, right now). In German it can be subsumed under the term “Weltschmerz”, which in English would mean something like “world-weariness” and does by far not sound as dramatic as the German “Weltschmerz.” The Perpetuum-mobile-like questions of global imbalances and alike do not only correspond wonderfully with this Weltschmerz I bear within my heart from time to time (or should I say, which seems to break free, roam the open spaces of my heart and soul, only to withdraw until it once again wants to share its sullenness with my conscious mind) BUT are also a result of my academic work.

I’ve been working on war literature for at least a decade, though only with my diploma thesis did I decide to professionally focus on war writings in a post/neo-colonial-world (mainly wars–or ‘operations’–initiated by the US, primarily in Vietnam and Iraq). I’ve read about killing, being (nearly) killed, bodies blown apart, blown-off limbs, terror, torture, rape, abuse, destruction, and misery for 6 years now. Even though sometimes I read a “normal” book, everyday politics hardly give me a break. No matter if I want to take a step back for a few days, there is always something bringing me back to “my” work. War, terror, death, destruction.

I love research work, I love to explore the things hidden below, I love to question standards, traditions, and all that stuff certain societies “agreed on” even though it is dangerous, questionable and just plain stupid. But more often than not, especially during my dark days, I lose it all; I lose the distance to my work, this distance I desperately need, and I get angry as fuck. Angry with all sides involved in those struggles. And I get frustrated. I think back, when I was a child and everything–my world at least–seemed orderly and simple, and I was watching “The A-Team” and “MacGyver” with my gramps and the world was my playground because everything had its place. I think about that now, asking myself ‘what would the A-Team do?’ How would Hannibal, B.A. and Faceman handle all this crap? Why, exactly, was shit hitting the fan THAT intense?

In the end, on those days, dark days filled with anger, rage, and a sort of total emotional overload, it is not about one side or the other; there are only losers in this game. It is about all the pain and destruction that all this hate and fear and anger bring into the world, pretty much everywhere. This is what I mainly work on, this is what I read about and work on constantly. And I’m angry at myself for being such a wimpy whiner, crying about the stories I read and work on when there are people out there, thousands, millions of people, who have to live through this, who have to survive this in order to write about it, so a sissy Western scholar can create her own fucking drama around it while working on it. I am angry at myself for not being able to keep the distance I need to stay healthy.

I need a certain distance. We all need a distance to certain things, both professionally and personally. Losing your distance means losing a lot of time and energy cleaning up the mess your oversensitive crap made.

Pain, pain, go away…

“You? Never! Stop kiddin’ me!” – Dark hours, days & moments…

Moody landscape...

A lot of people who don’t know me well think that I’m confident, outgoing, and funny. I can be all of this with the right people. I can pretend to be this assumed person with a) the wrong people, b) at the wrong time, c) at the wrong place, d) b) a sufficient amount of alcohol and/or e) any combination of the aforementioned factors. This happens to many of us, for various reasons. And everyone faces the challenge of handling their individual issues the best they can. I failed often, still do.

Years ago (like, about 10 years ago) I experienced a period (lasting around 5 years) of anxiety, panic attacks and depression. I got out of it thanks to therapy, pills, and the constant hope that it ‘will be over‘ some day, but of course once your demons found you, they will stay with you. They will love you, take care of you, scare the shit out of you, guide you and force you to grow. Again and again, often for the rest of your life.

Nowadays (no pills and no therapy since 2011) they only visit for a few hours, worst case scenario they are with me for two or three days. But the last time was different – they seemed to enjoy their stay and decided to hang around a little longer than their usual 3 days. Luckily, I didn’t have to work/write a lot, so I had time to celebrate mood swings, crying, feeling desperate and hopeless without neglecting my duties. My demons may have celebrated some sort of anniversary or wtf soever; it was too long, too intense and exhausting.

To distract myself from my demons’ visit, I started to sew, or, to be more precise, I started hardcore-pro-24/7-sewing. Even though I don’t actually know how to sew. But I live true to the saying “learning by doing”, which included sewing…(what a rhyme!). At times like this, I prefer manual labor since my thoughts are all over the place and I can hardly focus on even short readings, let alone ’sophisticated’ intellectual work. Over the last few years I developed some techniques for handling myself better — a little melancholy can do magic about the tidiness of my living quarters. Besides, sewing serves my need for distractions as well as my creative aspirations…

 My demons left some weeks ago. They always leave sooner or later… And every time they return, I’m afraid they won’t leave again on their own, without me getting any help, again. And that is the only thing that truly frightens me about my mind, my life, my soul and my future…my stupid, lovely, fucking, somehow educational demons. Because sometimes it’s not the right time for education….