I have been needing so badly to write, but in fear and embarrassment of what would come of it, I have been avoiding it at every cost. I want to be unaffected, unfeeling, and I have been striving so hard for that lately. I can't sleep, it's been getting bad again, it gets to be five am and I toss and turn until I am sick. I know that this is my anxiety speaking, I know that most of this must come back to my nerves. I am a disaster when I stay in, I am a mess when I go out, there is nowhere to be. And I am so easily and permanently influenced. It dawned upon me the other day that I could be making a huge mistake, with the plans that I make. I was told that I make my plans out of desperation, has it always been that way? Will it remain to always be that way? I am not impulsive, I do not make rash, hasty decisions until I feel that I absolutely need to. Timing is just everything, and the timing has been off, flawed. I realize that 'cold feet' are rational, and even expected for worrier, over-thinkers. But I mean what am I doing? What draws me to make the choices that I do? I don't want to think about that. But my epiphany today when I began to ask myself questions, from your point of view, and then answer them in my head in my own, as honesty as I could was this; I asked why it was that I was not writing you back, when it would appear to be everything that I could ever want to do, I responded by telling myself that you felt obligated to feel very sorry for me, and I am making such an arduous effort not to feel sorry for myself like that any more. In which way? The way where you feel sorry for who you are at your core being, your personality, thoughts, feelings, rudimentary reactions, intrinsically. After a year, and perhaps longer, of small but important worst-case-scenarios playing out one after another, I am as weary as ever could be. I am skeptical, untrusting, timid, fucking terrifying; working, sleeping, feeling, loving, living, I am just trying to get by. I told myself the other day that the biggest mistake that I could make is taking myself or my life too seriously, and I still believe that. I am moving away for a little while, because I can no longer be here, things are simple and should remain that way. I told myself the other day that I would not allow myself to make decisions based off of my low self esteem any longer, that if it clearly comes from a place of absent self worth, then to push through it and make that choice on better grounds. I can't hideout forever, what am I hiding from? I goddamn fucking hate myself, and if that is going to be my absolute truth, then I will endeavor as long as I live to cure myself of that sentiment (its burden and force). It isn't fair to torture myself like this when I am surrounded by opportunity, and good, and love. I am so blessed, I am lucky, I am learning. If I could only be less hung up on every single minuscule mistake that has happened, it would be able to mend just about everything. How does a person lose themselves? It sounds so drastic, so difficult and thorough that the person would almost indefinitely in some part of themself have to desire it. Of course I believe that each person gives themselves exactly what it is they conceive that they deserve. I knew it to be true when I asked myself why I put myself in miserable and self defeating situations, or stay in them for so terribly long. I answer a lot of questions in my head with telling myself that it just makes sense, but what I should be saying is that it makes sense to me. Only forcing puzzle pieces to fit in a puzzle of my own devise. Stop asking yourself why Oakland, and make the best of this positive circumstance. If you hate Oakland so gravely, then allow yourself to let go of a negative situation, and move forward into something better. Accept stepping stones, assistance, guidance, lessons, things that are good because you deserve good. I just cannot fucking get out of my past, I swear to god I did not glorify or idealize, things have been getting progressively harder, and I question more and more each day why it is I do what I do. More prominently, I question why it is I do not do what I do not. I have been staying deep in my comfort and discomfort in fear of defeat, I am just too tired of failing. I thought I would recuperate and heal here, but I have been uprooted, beaten down, thrown around, shaken, ripped open, back and then forth again. There is (predictably) no peace in a premature return. This year has deteriorated me, ripped off layer after layer of skin until I walked around naked, gainlessly failing to conceal what was hidden within. I hardly wish to sleep, I hardly want to be awake, it has been difficult to be anywhere, but I have really been working on a lot of things, and there is work to be done. There is more to this than feeling sorry for myself, there is more to my future than past reflections.
I shall move on from this like all other things; with a substantial piece missing, but imaginably better for it.
I shall move on from this like all other things; with a substantial piece missing, but imaginably better for it.
