Nothing means anything to me

I'm not happy I'm not happy

Everything means everything to me

I'm not happy I'm not happy

 

The thing that would suck about dying now would be the regrets, the opportunities missed. But the longer I live, won't those regrets just pile up even more??

Food for thought.
 

Whats the fucking line between numbing / burying your trauma vs getting over it / processing / letting it go? How are you supposed to know what stage you're at??

 

Think about everything, all the time, constantly, and forever

 

Had a thought today in the swamp that tripped me out. I was thinking what the ideal life would be, in my wildest dreams. And I immediately thought, traversing the galaxy, exploring different planets, getting to experience all kinds of alien life. And then immediately my next thought : how do you know you're not doing that right now? That you haven't BEEN doing that for eternity? What if every life you get a new planet? If reincarnation is real, why the hell would you be placed back on earth of the possibly infinite planets?

This seems like a massive oversight from reincarnationists.

 

"I do not know what it is like to not have deep emotions. Even when I feel nothing, I feel it completely" Sylvia Plath

 

"There are two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it" Oscar Wilde

 

Life is just walking around

 

I want to be hurt by someone just to know that I'm reachable. I want to be reached, I’m out so deep

 

"The person you used to be did not fight so hard for your survival just for you to view them as weak or embarrassing" 

 

“To write is to taste life twice: in the moment and in retrospection” anais nin

 

There is no beauty without the beholder

 

"I’m sorry that I couldn’t make you believe. I wish that I could’ve”

 

Things will never be the same again. Reality is racing to morph against itself. And you are racing to escape yourself. Things will never be the same again. Obsessed with an ever changing life, because nothing good has ever felt possible. Terrified of permanence. Terrified of boredom. Of one day looking back with regret. Because it hurts so fucking much to look back on who I’ve been. It hurts bad enough just to look at who I am now.

It doesn’t hurt me to look back on you, all I do is love you, you were trying your best and I’m proud of you for fighting through so much suffering.

 

In my head, memories are just memories. They're hardly even my past, they're someone's past, they're moments in time but the girl in them is someone else. That girl doesn't exist. All atoms replaced. That girl was yours. You’ve never had me

 

My feelings for you aren't consistent. None of my feelings for anything are

 

I don't want Will to leave. I don't want Sky to leave. I don't want Tyler, Nick, Josh, Ethan to leave. I want Elijah back. I want Luke back. I want Mars back. I want to be held, all the time.

 

This might be the best time I've ever had in my life. And I still get those random stabs of misery. I need to stop giving them so much weight and attention, why are they so heavy

 

It's intermission, but the lights may never come back down

I’m not sure where you are

Didn't I see you just moments ago

You’re back in Colorado, you're writing about me in a bunk bed. There’s a 0% chance. It's October but the sun is still so strong. We’re listening to music in the van. Driving in the mountains. I say we share a mutual appreciation.

You're still in Oklahoma, you're reading a book by the lake. You're waking up in pre-dawn black. You're wondering if we'll talk today, or if you'll ever kiss me. We’re watching the rain on the porch. We're getting drunk and sitting on the sidewalk. You're being honest, but I can't do it. I'm quitting, you're quitting. We're laying by the lake and listening to music.

You're hopeful in North Carolina. You like to see me in your clothes, in your bed, in your car. You're driving while I sleep. Maybe I'm really a part of your life now. You stay, I leave, you want to come with me, I need space. We try to find a way to be together, and fail. I say it can't only be you. You try to end it, and fail.

You're in Arizona, you wish I was there with you. It's colder than you thought it would be. You call me on the phone and raise your voice to me for the first time. You don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

You're nervous in Utah. We’re taking drugs and we're friends again. We’re star gazing and I'm throwing up on my shoes. The hot tub’s not hot enough. You try to end it, and fail. I’m high and crying. You say it's the best sex you've ever had.

You're panicking in Colorado. You’re burning a hole through our friendship. You try to end it, and fail. We’re looking for my mom's locket while the parade goes on. You're looking for a job in Louisiana in a bed of sunlight. You're being kissed by me. You say we're closer than ever.

You say everything’s ok in Louisiana. You say you want to kill yourself. I’m so happy here, I’m in love with everything I see. We’re on the sidewalk again. It’s raining very hard. You don’t want to end it, but I let you. 

There was an Act 2 after intermission, but you might not want to stick around for it

 

I wonder when I'll really grow up. 

I want to talk to my mom about mundane things. I want to play a board game with her. I want to bake something. Go grocery shopping. Buying groceries without her has never felt right. Now I’m not even allowed to think about it. Love kills.

 

“Nostaliga is a privilege, yearning for your own memories proves that you’ve had a life worth living”

 

"I want to fear for my life and then lie about how fun it was after"

 

Life is weird and hard

Almost everything has the power to seriously hurt you

 

You reject yourself first so that when others do it's not so far of a fall

 

Maybe I didn't want to be touched like that. So close. Maybe the nerve you struck was buried for a reason.

 

You never know, someone may have been waiting for you all along

 

At least I can say I knew you

 

I was reborn today as exactly the person I wanted to be

 

You haven't met all the people you'll love and all the people that'll love you

You haven’t met all the people that will hurt you either.

I’m not afraid of being hurt, god I hope someone will hurt me, show me that its even possible

No, you’re not going to hurt the way other people hurt, but that doesn’t mean you don’t feel. There is a wall of suffering around you, thick and permanent. It is difficult for outside forces to get through and add to the mass of it. That is to say – you are already at capacity – you are already hurt – there is a limit to how much one can feel.

 

Someone is out there

But your friends won't save you

Your memories won't save you

Is this a bad time? 

The answer might be deep within you

Dig! 

Keep digging! In your chest! With the knives!

I'm a warrior against this rattling sickness

A twisted aching to witness

My hands are up I'm wading through mud

Her body hits the ground

With such a wondrous thud

Stuck in this room together

Where we spill each others blood

 

I think you want to go insane, at least you want to try it on

Cradled by your warm loving conversation

I want to hear your voice forever

One day we'll wish for these wasted moments when we could have said more

Might fuck around and change the past

With the weight of a loaded gun you say to me:

"I don't think you love me anymore" 

 

Kissing the lime off your fingertips.

Flay me out for all the world's salt to get in to me 

and even though I know it only lasts a second it feels like forever and it makes me suicidal and there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it but wait.

You make me real. Your touch makes me tangible. You revealed me to myself. I haven’t spoken to anyone before you or since, I question if my speech is even intelligible.

 

We are all trapped here within ourselves. But since I have to be trapped with one person for all of eternity I'm glad I’m me. 

 

I'm so desperate to be a light shining out in the world. I want my color to be seen. I'm begging for it to show. But I don't know how to be.

 

Of all people you found me in this crumbling apocalypse. We were the only two people left on earth. The only two people alive. You found me. And then you left me there on that fucking sidewalk. You left me there. And I don't even care about that. I just want you to take me back. If I saw you again you'd have to tear my arms off of you

 

You can't miss what you forget. I love forgetting what I forgot.

Forgetting – detachment from the past – gives you a higher capacity to experience the present fully. But it also causes the present to lose meaning.

 

Dude you're allowed to be a tweaker. Being a tweaker is an AESTHETIC. (Me hyping myself up to go eat in a restaurant while I'm pupils wide high on 2CB and covered in sand). It's clearly not even illegal, considering the amount of tweakers you yourself encounter on a near daily basis. You can roll around smack dab in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk if you want. Clearly someone has to.

 

"I'm about to become a fucking problem" (Me deciding to start making eye contact and smiling at strangers) 

 

 I think one of the most important things I've learned from the hostel is the power of walking up to a stranger and starting a conversation. You never know what could happen, it's so lovely to find out.

How quickly I forget this truth

 

Wearing sandles makes me feel so confident like yeah I really just don't give a fuck right now

 

 I was basically walking around with a gunshot wound in my chest, bleeding out, on the brink of death. And I thought I was pretty much ok. 

 

What a pleasure to be so lost and confused in life. I love being young. I love that I have hated it for so long. My past self was an icon of hate and misery and honestly I can fuck with it.

I really thought my depression was cured for like 2 weeks after that shroom trip lmao

 

Us not being friends is insane

 

Memories from distinct eras of my life all have different, distinct flavors, but I can only taste them in hindsight.

It’s the way the air feels, the weight of it. The way the light looks. The way all my different apartments smelled. The foods I was eating. The view out my window. The music I listened to. I’ve had so many eras. So so different. I should make a page for them all, and try to describe them.

 

There is a deep well of sadness within me but I don't drink from it all the time. Enter : Someone to Love at the Party. Hope is happiness. I know I'll have it someday I know I'll have it someday I know I'll have him someday to cry lights me up the cry light me I'm alive with the lights. I'm going to let love change me. You I see, in you I see. How much I love. Catherine and 4th.

 

When can we talk again

 

Every day I am faced with the arduous task of concocting new and invigorating ways of spending my father's hard earned money. 

 

It's hard to remember, but Yoshi and I were really madly in love. She was so beautifully open and vulnerable. Innocent and naive and childlike. Overly emotional and trusting, so incredibly full of love. So tragic. Her skin was so soft, her face, her lips, her hands. She smelled so good, like how I imagine a baby would smell. She had an incredible smile and the most shocking deep and sad eyes. I loved the sound of her voice, so gentle and light. Of course saying that reminds me of the times when it wasn't that. Those really bad times when she was so caustic, so dark. But they would always melt into her overwhelming sadness. She cried such big, thick tears, and so many. I called them Miyazaki tears. We loved holding each other, we loved falling asleep together and waking up next to each other. Sometimes in the mornings she'd be genuinely upset with me because I turned over in my sleep and didn't cuddle her through the night. She would get mad at me if I wanted to shower alone, even though her shower was the tiniest one I’d ever seen. She always wanted to hold hands, and sit on the same side of the table together. We'd dress up in matching outfits, I'd dress her up in my clothes and makeup and she loved it. She was more beautiful than me, honestly, and she wasn’t even really a girl. I was never bored with her, no matter if we spent days and days in bed. We were laughing constantly, so in sync. She felt like a part of me. All the time people would come up to tell us we were a cute couple, and I'm sure more thought it. We'd always get all gushy and later I'd say something like "Can you believe we won cutest couple of the day again??" We had so many bits and inside jokes. It really felt like the honeymoon phase the entire year and a half, and even at the end when I moved away it was just as strong.

But this is all I can remember.

I can’t remember a single conversation we had.

We had small notebooks where we would write notes to each other when we were apart and trade them off when we saw each other again. 

They are almost completely full.

I cannot remember writing the things I wrote. 

I have not missed her one day.

I think writing this was the last time I even thought about her. It’s fucked up that I don’t even think about how fucked up this is. How can love be so real and so not real? The circumstances post-break up wildly alter our perceptions of our past relationships, it almost doesn’t matter at all what actually happened, only how you reflect on it. But we never consider that in the moment. 

 

I write journals because my own thoughts surprise me

 

My heart says hi

 

The places we existed together are now empty of us and I am full of them

 

Every person I meet makes me miss you more. There's another boy, another boy, another boy who's touching shoulders with me on purpose. Another boy digging up things we have in common. Doing the things I did for you, the things we did for each other. And maybe at one point I would have cared, but you changed all that. It'll be a long time before anyone comes close to what you gave me. And if it happened I don't think I could even take it at this point. I just want one more night where we were us, as I remember us. There weren't that many of those nights to begin with, why is it so hard to let them go. 

 

Sure I might look like this sexy young woman all interesting and quirky and shit. But my mother died last year. Last YEAR. The only family member that I had to rely on, the only person that could make a place a home. The ONLY PERSON THAT LOVED AND CARED ABOUT ME DEEPLY AND UNCONDITIONALLY. The only person I had for so many things. I watched that person die and was left alone to to graduate college and be cast off into this fucked up disgusting world with no where to go and no one to turn to and I miraculously find this one beautiful person who makes me feel like I make sense somewhere and that person casts me aside because while he loves me for being so sexy and unique and free spirited, I am too sexy and unique and free spirited to even be friends with outside of the confines of monogamy. I really needed someone. And not just fucking anyone, I needed you. I thought you were a safe place, I trusted you, I trusted you with the highest honor of friendship I could bestow, something I’ve never even done before — I placed my hopes on you. I imagined a future with you in it. And I never even wanted a future before I met you.

 

How else can I say I miss you, I want you, give you back to me

 

Do you miss me? Is this really what you want? Do you miss me? Is this doing you any good? Do you miss me? Are you healing? Do you miss me? Are we ever going to see each other again? Do you miss me? Are you that much better off without me? Do you miss me? Do you ever think about calling me? Do you miss me? Have you rewritten me in your mind? Do you miss me? Do you only remember the worst of me? Do you miss me? Do you ever think of touching me and kissing me and being inside of me? Do you miss me? Do you remember what it was like to be together with me? Do you miss me? Am I still your favorite person? Do you miss me? Do you still even like me at all? Do you love me? Do you remember do you remember do you remember? It's hard not to call you, it's hard not to text you this shit, I hope to God one day we can speak again and I can tell you how I feel. I want to do Molly with you in a dark room with pretty lights. Maybe we can talk all this out and come to a solution. We can't not be friends, I hope you're not trying to convince yourself otherwise. I hope you're fighting off the urge to call me. I hope you're wishing you could drop everything and drive any distance to be with me. I hope you're thinking that every problem we had would be solved for a moment if you just kissed me. I hope you know I would happily listen to you rant and tell me everything you think is so sick and wrong about me just to hear your voice again. I hope you know I'm thinking of you and writing about you and imagining you with me throughout my day. I hope you know that in my darkest moments you're still my light and hope. I hope you know that I'd take you back wherever, whenever, whatever. I want to lay on your chest with my face in your neck and my hands in your hair with your arms wrapped around me and just think about how fucking gorgeous you are.

I’m so glad I matured out of whatever tf this was. I respect the passion though tbh

 

I'm worried I'll never love anything more than sleep

 

Cette vie va me tuer

This life is going to kill me

 

My love for you goes far beyond the pain of this separation. I'm fact being apart from you has only proven to me the depth of my love. And I'd go on loving you if we never spoke again. You broke through that glass that has seperated me from the world for as long as I can fucking remember. I had no idea it was even possible. But all of the sudden you were inside with me, you were beside me, and we looked through the glass together. For the first time I was even glad to be there, stuck on the wrong side, because that was where you were and that was where you and I could be alone together.

 

"Goddamn can't believe I woke up for this shit" (me when I do absolutely literally anything) 

 

Travel is my way of attempting to outrun depression. Like my depression is this thing that chases me and if I stay still it will eventually get it's hands around my throat. So I must always be in motion. It's really tiring but I don't want to choke. Whenever I feel horrible like this I tell myself "It will pass, it always passes and I end up feeling fine again". But this isn't the full story because it ALWAYS COMES BACK. Frequently. And it's never any fucking easier. 

 

It's been tricky trying to strike the balance between being sure enough of my feelings to rationalize breaking our no contact agreement while also trying to avoid the pain this proposal would cause me if you were to reject it

Very difficult to read back on this in hindsight. Like watching a car crash in slow motion.

 

"It can be painful to have a good memory. Because the better you remember something the less you recognize it over time" 

 

"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god"

 

The shittiness of working at this hostel may just give me the push I need to pull my life together

 

It's interesting how rarely humans make an attempt to know each other deeply. How many people does the average person have a deep connection with? If we're talking truly average, and truly "deep", I'd say it comes out to less than one. It's not a concept people are ever taught, or encouraged, it's never even spoken about, the idea that we should actively make an attempt to know another person as well as we can, even just one person.

People only desire to know others as well as they know themselves. Most people don't know themselves all that well

 

In the hour or so I've sat reading, a spider has used my bag as a wall for her web. How marvelous. 

 

Your dream can rise before you perfectly as envisioned, but if you are not the right person to receive it then the gift is useless

In other words, it's no use getting what you want until you've earned it

 

Everything you've ever lost has lost you as well

 

A large part of our identity is based on how we believe others perceive us. (if you think I'm smart, I'm smart; if you think I'm a dick, I'm a dick). Once we establish how we believe another perceives us, that knowledge shapes our actions around them. The longer a relationship transpires without establishing this understanding, our actions can become increasingly awkward and stunted. We don't know who or how to be.

 

The best and worst parts of your life can happen at the same time

 

You were put on this earth to save yourself

 

We feel that the world would treat us better if we were perfect. Like, maybe all this mess was somehow my fault for not being good enough.

 

We feel love when we give love. And you can give love all the time.

 

The happiest moment you felt today is the happiest moment of your life, because it's the only happiness you were really there for, the only happiness you can really feel. Don't let this pass you by, pray in it. 

 

No earthly delight could compare to the euphoria of waking up in the morning and being able to fall back asleep freely. No other happiness comes near to this pure comfort. Any other goal I might pursue in life is second to this. Any goal that would compromise the frequency of feeling this pleasure would be miscast. The best things in life are free indeed, and in this case absolute freedom, freedom even from life, from humanity. Death will be the ultimate culmination, the pure indulgence of this lifelong desire.

(me when I have to wake up at 7am tomorrow lmao)

 

America raises children like animals as slaughter to feed itself. The government does not think that human life has worth, humanizing the fetus to spite the mother and abandoning them both when it's needed most.

 

Can any human go through life without being traumatized? I feel traumatized just going to the store. Growing up and seeing you were raised on lies and the world just wants to rape you and take your money. Eager for you to die so they can tax your estate and any inheritance you’d leave to your children.

 

Self-immolation : setting yourself on fire in protest or sacrifice

 

I feel like I can't write a story because I have no idea how the world works. I wonder what the most original unique thought I've ever had was. Did I even notice it at the time? It's likely that some (maybe most ?) people never have an original thought.

I wish I knew if I'd had one.

Of course I have, my whole life is an original thought. 

I wish I could write a story about myself, my own life, in which I save myself. In which I turn everything around and find the answer

We are all authors, with varying levels of control over the accumulating novels of our lives, or else varying levels of how much control we believe we have. I believe I have a lot of control, and I have the time and resources to do so, yet I remain stuck and in my own way. Tragedy and stupidity combined.

 

I wish to be deeply affected and moved by something, I wish to feel the appropriate emotion

 

 If your thoughts had edges you would writhe all day searching for some moment of biteless silence

 

Nostalgia is grief. You can grieve for anything you've lost and can't get back. You can grieve for a future you know you'll never have. My grief is limitless, ever compounding, worse not better. 

 

Driving back on home to Philly after an interesting week in the Midwest. Unsurprisingly my nails have not survived the journey and every time I look at my hands I'm reminded of my consistent failure. This habit is a reminder of the lack of self discipline that has plagued my life, another example of a trait that I somehow view as outside of my control. I can hold off on the compulsion for a week or so at a time and feel briefly a sense that I am improved, that I am no longer a slave to the beast of whatever unconscious fixture toys with me. Today I've had the question, how much of my actions are propelled by the unconscious. Looking at my bloody stinging fingers. Surely no sane person would mutilate themself in this way so endlessly.

 

I have been conditioned, and for a very long time, to speak as though no one cares about what I have to say, and with no slight hope for a response that indicates interest or comprehension.

I'm not sure how everyone else copes with this

 

I think of meaninglessness as a last resort to comfort. The brief warmth is caustic, setting your furniture on fire to unfreeze your house until you're surrounded only by scorch marks and horrible memories which serve no purpose. The way all houses are just meaningless rooms when you leave them, at least any house I've ever known. The love never stuck, no where in my heart, the love always left me.

Why only me, why does everything else get to live?

I'm not inside the house, I'm not even standing outside looking in. I slipped through some crack in the doorway, into the placeless ether, here I am alone. I cannot stay, I'll never leave. The inverse is so pure, I think of ash, to be so clean.

I wrote this in the middle of the night when I woke up having a panic attack

 

It's so strange that in our bodies we have parts we cannot name or begin to describe the function of, yet we are the Gods somehow making them work. It's only if they stop working, by other forces far beyond our understanding, that we even notice them. Even babies are capable of such miracles. But these are processes we can never truly replicate. Humans can design an artificial heart that beats, but we cannot beat our own hearts. We cannot command our cells to heal, sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. It's truly magic.

 

Your lowest point is the doorway to your truest self

 

You have to accept that things outside of yourself aren't going to get better. The only way to make your life better is by making yourself better and expecting nothing from the outside world. The foundational absolute to every self improvement is welcoming each suffering as an opportunity to build resilience. 

 

If I died tonight would I regret all the time I wasted doing nothing, accomplishing nothing, leaving no mark on the world? No, I wouldn't. Would I say I wish I had been a doctor, ran a marathon, made my own money and been self-sufficient? No, I wouldn't. Would I even say I wish I would have shared my art, gotten married, improved the world, helped others? Not even that. None of it would have mattered, and death just makes it all the more clear. I would not regret the things I haven't done, so I shouldn't waste my time and emotion wishing I would do them, as if accomplishing anything would make me feel some great happiness that could only be attained through action.

You cannot buy peace, the harder you wish for it the further away it runs

 

Will I never not be tired, christ almighty

 

The world is ruining my life!! 

 

In a world where you can do anything, what is it that you want to do?

 

The only thing I really, truly want in this life is to not be tired. My mind and soul are deteriorating. I can't hold on to anything.

 

My brain is always screaming at me that I need to do something to help it but it won't just tell me how to help

 

I can kill myself or I can get ice cream

 

Imagine you had a year where you got everything you ever wanted, a perfect year. And then after that your life went back to normal, how it is now. How long would the happiness last? Would you be even more miserable in comparison, at having lost it all? Or better off for having the memory? What's the value of fleeting happiness?

 

It's interesting to watch the world fall apart. It's interesting to see the culture divides and responses to world events. History is happening rapidly, and for several reasons feels like it's all coming to an end. So much is barbaric, but humans remain human, and despite what happens far off in the locus beyond our control, the most important things remain our own individual lives and those of the people we love. I would do better to think of myself less as a character these forces are acting upon and more as a sociological spectator. 

 

"Study Finds Direct Link Between Ultra-Processed Foods and Chronic Diseases" no fucking shit

 

Being loved so intensely, and by so many people in such rapid succession, is a bit odd

 

My family have for the most part treated me as meaningless and disposable and not worth knowing. I think that's why I have no ambition to make something impressive of myself. The only person who could care would be myself, and I've never been taught to care about anything. I’m not sure this is a skill I can learn.

 

"happiness isn't getting what you want, it's wanting what you got" 

 

Yeah I'm on a whole other level. A level no one else is on, or wants to be on. All alone up here. It's not good. It's not what I want.

 

Sometimes I just remember how much I loved and still love [redacted] and it breaks my heart all over again. It's not like I think about him often, but it randomly springs up sometimes. Losing him is one of my biggest regrets, and he doesn’t even know how much he affected me. Of all the people I've lost he's the one I miss the most. It's the situation where I regret my actions the most. He's the person I've been the most envious of. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to think about it, I don't want to. I hope I don't think about him again for a long time.

At least this proves I can care about something

 

Being in love adds a new layer to reality. The depth of your connection to just one person somehow makes your connection with everything else stronger.

Love makes the world so much smaller, it makes you demand less from it. I wish I had more people that I loved, but it's so hard for me. I wish it weren't, I wish it weren't.

 

Even though it sucks a lot of the time, traveling is the only thing that keeps making sense

 

Ambition is putting a condition on your own happiness

 

How differently my life would look if I didn't judge myself so harshly

 

Will I ever lose the grief and longing I feel from being born in this anti-social century. I feel like we've all missed out on so much

 

Love makes the world so much smaller, it makes you want less from it. I wish I had more people that I loved, but it's so hard for me. I wish it weren't, I wish it weren't.

 

I must be depressed because I havent been able to find enjoyment in anything for such a long time. I can't wrap my head around making art anymore, I just keep asking myself what's the point, what's the point in anything. Im sick of eating food, I'm sick of showering, I'm sick of driving my car. I want to just turn my mind off and think of nothing. I think this is all a symptom of the lack of connection in my life. Its impossible for me to feel like a part of anything.

 

Do most people live through their days just waiting for them to be over? How does a person enjoy their day? What does it mean to be productive? 

-Productivity is an illusion but satisfaction is not. Maybe productivity is just chasing satisfaction. 

 

I really don't respect my trauma, or the fact that I have multiple complex layers of it. I see the symptoms of it not as direct results of the things that have happened, but as personal failures, or character faults. I tell myself that everything wrong with the mind can be cured by the mind if the will is strong enough. I believe that if problems persist, it's a sign of my own weakness. It's stupid and unfair. In my defense, I have overcome an immense amount of inner turmoil completely on my own.

 

The reason I'm so scared of the future is because Ive never met an adult who had a happy life I wanted to emulate

 

It would be one thing to be so traumatized and bear the weight of a tragic past as I do, and another to be a highly aware person living in a corrupt society doomed to violent self-destruction, but occupying both spaces at once is more than any person can be expected to bear

 

I imagine us lying in a field together with the sun casting shadows on your face. “You look so beautiful”. I say. “I wish we were a real couple.” And you're offended, and say “You don't think we're a real couple?” And I say “no, not really. We're not real to each other.”

 

Giving up on art is the same as giving up on life

 

You've been digging deep and introspecting since the moment you've gained cognizance, yet you've still barely scratched the surface of who you are

 

I have a theory that everyone is lead by a certain bodily system. One that they are most in tune with, whose fluctuations guide their lives, whose abnormalities they tend to with the greatest attention. Some people are occupied by their 

 

I think the gruesome thing about college for me was the unfulfilled promise of finally finding somewhere I belonged

 

And you might not understand but I can live a whole life, unseen, unheard, in a day alone in my apartment. I can feel every emotion. I embody the rise and fall of the sun as I embody life in my breath. Every color crossing the sky, every cloud and con-trail. The sirens and slamming doors far far away. 

 

In this hour alone I've mourned you a lifetime. Time twists back in me in tubes.

I believe in monsters known as men, watching my every step. 

 

I've lost everyone I've ever loved

Every single one

 

Holding each other

only in the physical sense

Feeling nothing

Counting breaths, counting seconds

Manual breathing

Hearing impeccable

 

There's a question we don't ask. What time in my life did I most grievously misunderstand someone's behavior towards me? When was my perception of a situation so off base? When was I in the wrong without ever even knowing it?

 

I value relationships and connections so highly, it's the best part of life, but I can't fucking stand anyone I meet. And I don't think it's cause I'm so great, I think it's cause there's something wrong with me. I have so much love to give, love I want to give, but I can't find the place.

It's so heartbreaking to realize that what I want most in this world is a family. A wish so helpless, distant, pathetic and impossible I have no choice to bury it deep down. I know I'm not alone in this lack. But that doesn't make it better. 

 

I forgot how infatuated Harry and I were with each other, the kind of language we would use. Completely forgotten. I've been so harsh on him in my memory. Beating him up for years for what really amounts to two weeks of bad timing against months of happiness. There are a lot of people I've been too harsh on. Yes, he was in the wrong in that relationship, but he was so young too. I don’t 'deserve' to feel victimized by his actions for the rest of my life. I've never learned how to forgive, never letting go entirely. But I'd really like to. 

We need to forgive others as we feel we deserve to be forgiven ourselves

 

Sunset at the train station

 

Paranoia is sound, the world is not safe

But the broken glass looks like shards of stars in the gutters

Ass on the line, feet in the rocks

The air is purple and smells of hydrangeas

The tracks all in static

A chorus of crickets

I sit beside myself

I see her and she sees me

Thank God 

We have each other

to look at

 

Music's been all noise lately

But these sounds of evening strike me to stillness, insides ringing metallic

I close my eyes, try counting the layers

I am life trapped inside of this traffic

The audacity of instinct 

I smack a mosquito from my arm

This will leave an itch, I'll remember this moment

The last light sinks, the world becomes less beautiful,

as all things seem to

I suppose that must be intentional

I walk home in the dark with two shadows and a ponytail

And I don't get murdered, the cars still stop at red lights

It holds itself together, 

another day,

I guess

 

Isn't it crazy how creating art is a force of nature? As much as rain, or photosynthesis, or wave function.

 

I used to imagine my own perfect place

A world in my head to design

Now I imagine my windows and bed

And, my god, how they really are mine

 

You would think that having all of ones basic human needs met would lead to happiness. Why is that not the case? Why must we be wired to crave some deeper 'purpose'? Even while simultaneously deeply believing that any sort of purpose or meaning is ultimately insignificant. It's moronic. I have food, I have water, I am safe from predators, what more do you want from me? I'm doing my best. Maybe you shouldn't have made me chronically fatigued and depressed if you wanted me to have a purpose so badly. You can’t have both.

Also why have humans evolved to be suicidal? We're born just to crave death? That's fucking insane. 

 

I shouldn't have been put on this earth. I don't belong here. I'm a different color than anything else here and it makes me fucking nauseaus

 

You can never have enough happiness, so why drive yourself crazy in the constant search for it? Even if you get it, it won't matter

 

Living is the act of seeking it's justification

 

Oh How oh how oh how am I going to make it through this

 

And the world was so beautiful and it made me so sad

 

Being sane in an insane world will make you feel like you're going more and more insane but actually you're getting saner while sanity becomes less and less bearable

 

Oh what a wonderful spin

How I love spinning

I love being drunk and dizzy

I love being on the verge of nauseas collapse

I love being stuck to my bed in cold sweats

I love clutching my stomach and heaving

I'm so grateful for this stabbing feeling

I wouldn't trade it for the world

In fact I wish it hurt me harder

I'm begging it for more

I don't want to stand upright anyway

And I had nothing better to do

Than lay here

Like I love being stuck in traffic

How I love being alone all the time

No one watching

I can do anything I want

I can go to prison

I can find the most beautiful roof in all of Pennsylvania and chuck myself right off

I love this freedom

I can be beautiful with no one to see

No one knowing if I made a sound

No one there to see

 

Is it sad to know that no one will ever care about your thoughts as much as you do?

 

6 months, 6 months, 6 months. I've been in Philly for 6 months. Lying in bed for 6 months. Waiting for the motivation for 6 months. Not feeling too good for 6 months. Treating my body like shit for 6 months. I think, I think, I think, and I hate myself. I cannot create. I write I write and I write, and don't believe I have the right to call myself an artist. Because I don't print it out and bind it? Or monetize it? Or post it online to an audience of validation? If I sing my songs only alone in an empty apartment am I a musician? If there's no one here to tell me what I am? I got up and I went out and I saw new things, does that not make me an explorer? An adventurer? I met new people, asked so many questions, and learned from their perspectives. Am I not a psychologist, a sociologist, an anthropologist? I volunteered my time, I helped the elderly, the young, the disadvantaged, does this not make me a giver? How do I become anything? How do I earn the right to believe I am good? Am I not allowed to recognize this heart of mine that I have fought so hard to tend and garden and grow from stone? Is it too small, too feeble, too weak for appreciation? Do I deserve this endless self-censure? Was it my fault the foundation of my soil was arid and barren? Is it my fault that I had to fight so hard for so little? I have made this empty room into a home, I have made myself a human being from this blank slate bag of a body. I have stared out the window and imagined a world that one day, some day, in some unattainable future, someone will allow me to be a part of. I am my own captor, my own captive. I tell myself every morning. I am nothing. I am trapped in this tower and I will not let her live.