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Anxiety is indeed anxiety in the face of… ,but not in the face of this or that thing. Anxiety in the face of … is always anxiety for … , but not for this or that. The indeterminateness of that in the face of which and for which we become anxious is no mere lack of determination but rather the essential impossibility of determining it. In a familiar phrase this indeterminateness comes to the fore.
In anxiety, we say, “one feels ill at ease [es ist einem unheimlich].” What is “it” that makes “one” feel ill at ease? We cannot say what it is before which one feels ill at ease. As a whole it is so for him. All things and we ourselves sink into indifference. This, however, not in the sense of mere disappearance. Rather in this very receding things turn toward us. The receding of beings as a whole that closes in on us in anxiety oppresses us. We can get no hold on things. In the slipping away of beings only this “no hold on things” comes over us and remains. Anxiety reveals the nothing.
Posted on December 21, 2009
This is about loss-- of the people we love and the people we used to be. This is about letting go and growing up. This is about Janie. This is about the ocean.
This is a work of fiction. It is a place to help me write my story-- my internet notebook.
Some of the posts tell a (somewhat) cohesive narrative. These posts are numbered. Click here if you'd like to start reading the narrative from the beginning.
Other posts are things I find that are inspiring to the story-- things my character would like if she were a real, live, living girl. -N
