Why Do I Cry When I Go Potty?

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My apologies to Harvey Mandel who first used this phrase in a comedy routine.

I am still enduring a tsunami of conflicting emotions. My mind is filled with ambition. I daydream incessantly of being a successful comedian. Thankfully, I still managed to transcribe a large portion of my novel, therefore inching a bit more toward publication. The quality of the writing is a bit better. Some of this sucker really needs an overhaul, and I don’t feel up to it. Gotta do it! That’s the difference between amateurs and professionals, isn’t it? Amateur writers write when they feel like it, professional writers write whether they feel like it or not. So why do I cry when I go potty? What is my problem? Search me. Most of these emotions come rushing up from long buried humiliations and disappointments that I have consciously forgotten. I can’t stand failure, but I am quite used to it. I am afraid of success in some ways, because? Well, you tell me. Anything I come up with just feels like bullshit. I find it hard to just kick back and relax with my kitty, maybe read a little, and give my limitless ambition a rest. But it’s hard for me to do. I settle down and my mind just buzzes incessantly. As much as I write about mindfulness I don’t practice it too well. It is too late for me to retreat back into my cave, for I have discovered what lies outside, so the shadows on the wall that satisfied me before just don’t suffice. But when I think about what I need to do to reach my goals, I get really confused and frustrated. It is so much easier to daydream. When I sit here and type this out I can feel a vast ocean of precious souls yearning for love, recognition of their talents, but always disappointed with what they find. I can’t speak for them, but this is what I sense. If they are like me, they yearn for that transformative event, which makes it all worthwhile. Not ‘yes there is a God’ meant as a witty remark, but really Yes!! There Is a God!

Now, before I start getting deluged by Christians thanking me for finding Jesus, I want to clarify. For me, God is not an old man in the sky, he is not my father. For me, God is the source of my being, a mystery which no religion or philosophy has really fully gotten a handle on, in my not so humble opinion. Some people have used this fact to justify their Atheism. Just because we have projected our own fantasies and fears upon a God of our own making, doesn’t necessarily mean God does not exist. In fact, this matter goes beyond questions of real or not real, existing or not. This is our paltry attempt to make sense of things. The truth embraces both sides of the coin, and given the nature of our brains, we literally cannot get our heads around it. But our spirit, our true self is a different matter. I don’t like to pigeonhole myself into being a Christian, Buddhist, Existentialist, or whatever. (although there are things I like in each of those belief systems.) Whatever religion or philosophy you may subscribe to, if your reason for being is to Love without conditions, to be committed to the Truth even if it threatens your beliefs, being eternally young regardless of age, and as Free as that unnameable something or other which moves the universe, then you are alright with me. And I have a strong intuition that you are also alright with Jesus, Buddha, Lao-Tzu, and maybe even Nietzche. But that still doesn’t explain why I cry when I go potty. I guess I digress. I often wax philosophical in order to avoid painful personal issues.

To get to the heart of it: there is an emptiness to life which saddens, and ultimately terrifies me. It involves a gnawing feeling that nothing has meaning, nothing actually matters, that you simply live your life and die. That’s it. No profound meaning, no God, no nothing. I don’t really believe any of this, of course, but that makes no difference. That feeling persists despite what I know to be true. It haunts me in my happiest moments. It is a fucking curse. If there is evil in this world, this feeling is at it’s core. It permits the worst to happen, because nothing really matters, you see? That is enough to make anybody cry when they go potty! I consider it the Big Lie. But when you find your dreams dashed again and again and are in despair, it is so easy to succumb to this emptiness. The fact that I am writing this post, addressing this problem is proof that I have not succumbed to this abyss.

Leave it up to me to take a simple case of the blues and turn it into a problem of cosmic proportions. I have always been like this, even as a child. My parents didn’t know what to do with me. I was never a normal kid or normal adult, but it has been my experience that if you can get past that social facade, nobody is really normal. We are all lying in the gutter and reaching for the stars. (I don’t know who wrote that, it may have been Nietzche, I just know the Pretender’s version).

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