I want to actually, physically wrap my arms around something that i know is purely GOOD.
Nothing with malicious intent.
Nothing that’s out to harm me in some way, shape, or form.
Nothing that’ll trick me into being someone I’m not.
That something seems not to exist in this world. It’s quite saddening.
I wish it existed.
Being reminiscent of times not even a year ago just makes me want to cry and pull all of those purely good moments back together and superglue the scattered pieces into a whole thing again.
It makes me miss simplicity, sobriety, life as it was.
Missing dry eyes.
Missing an entity (or two or three) I could safely refer to as ‘home.’
That, quite simply, sucks.
Lacking forward movement.
Lacking pride in myself.
They all laugh from the inside and it makes me feel empty. Happiness rooted from the places that no one else can see.
Jealous jealous jealous jealous.
It’s such a luxury, a freedom, to be able to express yourself that way. To be vulnerable enough to purely laugh and be conscious of that noise you’re producing, the effect it has, the meaning it carries on.
"So that means you’re all okay now?"
Pisses me off.
The world is not a bubble. No one is condemned to the law itself. Your bread is not your life if you don’t understand why you are that way, why you believe what you believe and when and why to stand firm in who you are- when to be yourself. That’s the most frustrating part. Stop being yourself to get others to like you.
Fuck your empty, shelled beliefs. They’re not getting you anywhere but anxiety central and a whole lot of fluffy, wispy thoughts that never last long enough to make it full circle.
I may be wilting away but even I can see that those aren’t as true as they seemed when they were spoon-fed to us for years upon end.
He was right. There is a HUGE difference between us, and our past education.
I was taught to believe, same as you. But I was also taught to see, interpret, and digest information and create my own NEW opinion. I wasn’t taught along the principles of regurgitation, where spitting out what you’ve been given is perfectly sane and acceptable. No no no no. I have a brain that thinks beyond the simple. Why couldn’t you learn that way too??
And until today I thought I was better.
Thought I had been improving. Happier, maybe. More settled, sure. Feeling almost loved.
Then nerves hit.
Kicked in, kicked me in the face, jump-started my anxiety all over again.
I can’t assume I’m being liked for more than just an artistic curiosity who happens to exist physically so wait, that’s a bonus. Yay, fulfilling other people’s needs and desires! Yay!
But am I actually being pursued for who I am? ir will advantage be taken?
14 rebounds later I don’t think or know if i feel like waiting it out all over again, if i feel like even dealing with the problems around me. Lately, I’ve just been letting them stack up, forming heaps that pressure the ceiling to expand past its limited bounds. Pushing plaster flakes from their sturdy molds.
I’m sick of life and dealing with anything. everything. Nothing.
Nothing wants to work out, so why should I even bother?
The only thing that keeps me going is the egotistical fact that yes, I know my art and my creativity are something special. That keeps me from ending things. I feel like I’m meant to be something, change something, actually DO something.
That needs to happen, I need to realize it, and i’ll be happily done.
I’d actually really take comfort in a dark, protected space right now. With fresh air, but pitch black. No vision to see imperfections. Nothing at all but basic senses, no vision to make me feel less superior.
No one to see silent tears race away, just a silent buzz from a constant solid source of electricity, to keep me alive when i need to live and put me to sleep when i don’t feel like being here anymore.
I really do want to cry, but i don’t feel like i deserve the right to it.
So many people have things so much worse than I do and it’s not fair of me to claim their glory. Not that illness is glorious. I just don’t want to take what isnt rightfully mine.
In it al gets held.
lost lost lost lost.
I’m not sure i understand what’s going on anymore.
Each new day seems like a baby bit more of a spiral, a dash more of acting, a sliver more of ‘how long can i keep this up?’
most people have no idea.
some know about the sleep. That’s a general, appears-to-be-physical condition isn’t a red flag to anyone, not even those closest to me.
My family is proud that I’ve combatted this as far as i have. They know i’m in a weird place. They’re worried about me, and it’s my duty to give them every reason NOT to worry about me. I’ve got this all under control. Forreals.
What a beautiful lie, in a beautiful life.
I’m hiding from myself just to protect, maintain the fragile, perfect lives of those around me.
Destroying my inner self bit by bit, but keeping a straight poker face all the while. I don’t know how long the rest of this act will take to reach its prime but i’m also not sure what the apex involves.
I’m not quite sure about anything. Everything is a blur. Unless i make, push, strain my mind to focus, everything resorts to blurry double vision. Everything blends, colors vibrantly appear as emotions, happy, bright teals and sad, worn beiges painted on lonely walls where no one leaves any trace of existence as slight as a fingerprint. Untouchable spaces.
The area between the life I’m actually living as viewed from the outside versus the tangled silk threaded complex of the internal processes I submit myself to. That area. Underneath the curve. Integrate to find the limit indeterminable.
The area is untouchable. The gap has been created. The divide has begun.
I think i’ve reached the point where there’s no turning back.
Doesn’t matter if i’m not wanted that way. I’ve got myself, my musings, my colors, my sounds in harmony. People are insignificant. They give me a place to dump all of my superficial thoughts, those that occur but my mind expels because, in the long run, they mean nothing. deeper things, like creations, ideals, ideas, deeper love, those are meant to stay inside and come out once and only once when they know it’s the apex of their existence. They surface, and glow in the aura of their beauty.
I’m waiting. Been used, coming as-is. Take me as i am, as cliche as that sounds. It’s kinda true.
Blabbering on in semi-poetic verse about the day and its billowy white clouds and the beauty in their wispy nature as if they’re alive, because in my reality, they all are. the clouds, the earth, every entity has a purpose to that that breathes. Some breathe on their own, as a signal of strength and independence. Others rely.
Reliance is key. Strategic reliance. Rely enough to reel one in, but not enough to reveal what’s reality deep down.
That’s a dangerous, dangerous thing to bear to anyone, even a person more trusted than anyone else in the entire world. Not even to someone who already knows.
Information is critical. Usage is key. Manipulation of variables is a skill.
Let the sun shine in. Tomorrow will be here before I know it, and I’ll arise from the lack of my slumber just as confused and entangled in myself as I was before, if not more so.
Nighty night. Best of luck
Finally Back Home. “Home”.
Home is where my dreams are actually thoughts i’m having while i’m subconsciously awake. Home doesn’t allow me to sleep.
Before this all started, I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to be invincible. I WAS invincible.
Ritalin made me that invincible. Gave me the superpower of alert mindedness, sharpened my skills, encouraged the productivity and creativity of my mind.
I don’t need it to stay awake anymore.
Anxiety and compulsion take care of that.
Paranoia is my superpower.
It’s my food, my drug, my life.
Everything means something and it’s up to me to decide what that ‘something’ is.
That something for now is my life. Every breath, as i’ve been told by my lovely medical professionals, needs to go towards my career, the betterment of my life.
Every calorie expended needs to have a meaning.
I plan to follow through with that. Every OCD, paranoid step of the way.
I don’t need people to follow me down this road. It’s dark. I think i’m the only one that cherishes the dark, finds comfort in its smoggy, mysterious embrace.
No one questions my presence here. Here i’m free to let my spirit rise with the smokestacks’ omnipresent offerings, release my fears through the visible vapor i exhale into the frigid night air.
I suffer through the chill that runs through my body, up from my bare, exposed, prettily decorated toes through my bloodstream, and into my mind, sharpening my thoughts, my senses, my awareness, turning me cold, embalming me out of the world i push through so seemingly effortlessly.
We’re only given the amount of suffering he feels we can handle.
I can take more than this.
Bring it on. That’s not a challenge, not by any means. It is in no way meant to offend any one or any being. It’s just an invitation to pile on whatever i may need right now. Nothing huge. Start small. Not wishing death here. We all know that. But i can take a little more stress here.
100 milligrams will probably change. Will probably bump up a few or so. That’s okay. I can take that, too.
Garrett is welcome in this frigid world of mine. He doesn’t even have to knock. He can just wisp around the doorjamb and wrap me in a blanket of serene calmness. He watches out for everything that’s out to get me. He’s the best bodyguard i’ve got, keeping me awake when I need to be aware or alerted of trouble. Trusty jean-ware never fails.
People say he’s pretend. He really isn’t, no one gives him a chance to be present in their lives. No one else needs him like I do. No one else is as shaken, i guess. He really is quite helpful. Unfortunate for them.
Nothing in life is computable.
Not math, not history, not science.
Nothing can perfectly predict everything.
Everything being known would destroy the beauty of life.
The beauty of existence.
That wouldn’t make many people happy.
Happiness is my goal.
Not for myself.
Why i’m here.
Why i’m me.
You should be happy.
For my sake.
I’m not sure how.
I can act happy, too.
I doubt you’ll be able to tell a difference.
Or is there one?
Maybe I’ve done this so long that I’m not even sure which side of me is the acted performer and which side is a true reality.
Just a few things for today.
1) I am way too obsessed with glass jars. Mason jars, oddly shaped jars, old makeup containers, all of them. So cool, so easy to display stuff in. I’ve got plenty of stuff for them too.
2) I love my daddy to the moon and back.
3) Singing and piano and guitar are such relaxing activities. And it’s hard to get worse at them if you keep it up. Only a little better, and when you improve its like the stuff you just performed for yourself comes back through the earphones when you listen to the recording and smacks you in the face telling you that wait- that was good vibrato! You can play that chord progression now! And at that point, one smiles and realizes that improvement was definitely recorded and made.
3) Chicken masala. Amazing stuff. Makes me overly sick, but awesome.
4) Vienna. Billy Joel. Recent obsession.
Bittersweet Harmony. Things refuse to fall together. I’ve held on to all of the pieces thus far.
I don’t need instructions. All i need is this tube of superglue and a long, involved searching for some faith i know i have.
Home is still home.
The rain will sing me to sleep tonight, a graceful, rhythmic pattern to soothe my heavy eyes and lift my hollow body from the grave it’s dug itself into.
Singing sweet, harmonious lullabies.
Right now? I am powerful.
I think I’m becoming selfish. Acting at my full potential. Being competitive. Nothing is going to get in my way if I want to make this.
I want to make this work. People should be able to say that they’re proud of me and mean it.
I owe it to them. I owe it to myself.
Senses are more aware. Mind is more awake. Mind wants to be constantly occupied with new info, new tasks, new ideas.Mind is super being. This is new, this feeling itself. Unlike any other sensation. This is real, this is subconscious as reality. This is my inner being, my inner voice, my inner mind, my inner creativity getting a chance to see sunlight; to live.
This feels like a different me. A second side. A driven, lackluster side. Not as much attention for general detail. Much less of a filter. Much more energy than before.
I don’t know if I actually like new me yet. There’s still time to change it all back. But not for long.