I’m having a grand time, really.
Like, there’s microcosms of such light in all this heaviness.
And, I am so aware when it is happening, yet so poignantly aware that it has the complete opposite effect on my chest.
It sinks. My eyes, refuse to look at the beauty before me.
Steve says it all has to do with this “irrational feeling that I am not good”.
The frenzied sickness of my thoughts. The grace and clarity of my speech, even if it’s not genuine. The fixation on overthrowing the government. The gladly fucking men a decade older than me who are the government. Fuck. It’s all haphazard and I feel like a fraud.
I agree with Steve, but he’s also my cis white therapist from Pennsylvania who loves pastels and cardigans. And me. I make him laugh a lot. What would he know though? Yknow?
A year and a half of mulling over my life in search of an analysis and chance at progress. I’m still here. Maybe I should try yoga?
My upbringing was painful. I was a poor, abused, depressed little thing. I was silenced as soon as I could speak. My mouth is still trying to grasp for every breath at proof of my ability to, and shit since I found out I’m good, I can’t quit.
But I lack something. Though I excel at most things I immerse myself in, my success at productivity is truly not fulfilling. I don’t know what I should be doing. I love music, I write, occasionally, but there’s something I should be doing! If only I could identify it..
Two years after the birth of this blog, I am changed. But this voice in my head is at work and it’s not nice. It urges me to rush on through, attain the impossible, get out of the hood, fill my void with sex, drugs, sad tunes, mediocre friends. The office jobs, the pervy boss, the conniving older womxn that wish for my demise.
I need a break..again..but that’s okay right? I’m allowed to take breaks? To slide the world off my shoulders and be a tourist somewhere for some time?
Until I’m something. Until I find something. Until I have something to show for. Maybe then I’ll be absolved?
Everyone I know lusts for this youth. This uncertainty, no ties, endless possibilities. But mostly I’m just floating man, and it sucks. It fucking hurts. It limits my survival. And I have so much left to do.
“So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin, don’t try to put me back in
just say here we are together at the window aching for it to all get better
but knowing as bad as it hurts our hearts may have only just skinned their knees knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming
let me say right now for the record, I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance, even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet”- Andrea Gibson
I’ll try to stay. Okay?