I don't even have a good explanation for this one
Long time, no write. This is just me writing SOMETHING for the first time in forever. I watched Perks of Being a Wallflower and holy shit I haven't felt that many emotions for a movie in a very long time.
tl;dr but read it if you'd really like. or if people are still out there.
These moments just come sometimes, often late, far too late, where your good sense is yelling at you to sleep now, think later. But we’re always thinking, aren’t we. I do more thinking in the few hours I’m awake in the darkness than I do in an entire day’s worth of light. Then there are these people out there that have accomplished so much, and you’re just a penny, a dull faded penny in a stack of mint-new change waiting to be lost with time. That maybe once you actually had a talent, a talent that went beyond what your brain could or couldn’t comprehend, a talent that had everything to do with the physical and nothing to do with the emotional. Not that emotional or psychological talent isn’t talent, it’s just a talent looked over unless you’re a genius or you have some abnormally unique idea for a novel.
And then there are all these people that have these horrible lives. These disgusting and gruesome newspaper worthy things happen to them, but it’s just another grain of sand on the beach. So who are you to complain about anything when in the big scheme of things, you’re not even worth a grain?
Maybe if I refined this talent, this written talent that I know I’m adequate at, at putting words on paper and creating this melody. It’s like liquid ink leaving my fingertips because gone are the days where pen meets paper, no, this is the 21st century - damned the hand cramps and smears of forgotten letters on lined paper. Maybe you lose the beauty and novelty of writing this new way, but what good is a paper if you can’t decipher the scrawl you wrote fifty years ago.
I used to tell myself that I would be something. Someday, somehow, sometime I would grow up and be a firefighter or the president or be involved with world peace. But I don’t want any of that, I don’t even necessarily want to make a difference on a worldly perspective. Not because it’s not possible, but because I am an introvert by nature and I wish to influence the people close to me not the whole world. That is my goal.
But my goals are always changing these days, always morphing and mocking me. Just when I think I know exactly what I want, it shifts and I’m constantly losing my identity in the change that surrounds me. The change that I drown myself in because I can’t decide which way is up and what love is and who is worth what in my life. I’m a strong girl marred by the remnants of what could have been and feel as if there will never be another way.
You throw your life away and it isn’t something you just get over. It isn’t a break up or a failed test or a lost cell phone, it is life. It is a clean, crisp breath of cool air on a night where the leaves are getting ready to abandon their homes. It is rainwater, wet on your arms, staining your clothes dark, and painting your hair, embracing your body in the comfort of a summer shower. Everything good and real and whole in your life just completely vanishes and its place rears this ugly shadow of a beast that looks like your reflection if you tilt it just right. Because nothing in your life just happens by coincidence. There are no divine interventions or miracles.
Those god forsaken years spent growing up and facing the real world are hell and ongoing and all you can do is sit and pray for them to end. But even when you think you’re almost out of them, you’re not, because even if you are - the people around you aren’t. So your forehead meets the pavement again and again, your shoes aren’t as sturdy as you once remembered them, and the bitch next door keeps making you lose your balance.
But there is love. I’ll admit it, there is love. And it’s great and amazing and breath taking and every cliché adjective in the dictionary. And it’s that first REAL love of almost adulthood that kind of makes you lose yourself a bit. A lot. You lose yourself a lot because change completely sucks and it’s like trying to learn how to swim when you already know how to do more complicated things, like trigonometry and riding a bicycle. And you can move your whole life in the hopes that maybe this time it will work, but it’s never going to work until you sit down and write this out and realize this. That maybe your life is a mess because you stopped looking at it as your life and started hoping that everyone else could figure it out for you.
But this isn’t high school anymore.
And you’ve got to get your shit together.
You can move as many times as you want and you can follow as many people as you want but it won’t mean a damn thing until you put faith in your capabilities and future. You will never succeed until you become your own person again. Fuck if that doesn’t make you feel entirely empty, either.
Because these realizations don’t give me hope or faith or light or love or whatever the hell else you’re supposed to feel when a good thing comes your way. It makes me scared and regretful and sad because I’ve ruined some pretty big things in my life and I don’t want to ruin anything else. I’m fearful. But I’ve always been fearful so I suppose it’s really nothing new in hindsight.
Approximately two weeks from now I will be moving back home. Closer to my family. Closer to my friends. Closer to the man I honestly feel like will someday be my husband. I want things in life. I want a family of my own, children. I want children more than I want a career. But I will never get to that point until I bite the bullet and realize that this all starts now. It started yesterday. Better late than never I guess.
Well, shit.
tl;dr but read it if you'd really like. or if people are still out there.
These moments just come sometimes, often late, far too late, where your good sense is yelling at you to sleep now, think later. But we’re always thinking, aren’t we. I do more thinking in the few hours I’m awake in the darkness than I do in an entire day’s worth of light. Then there are these people out there that have accomplished so much, and you’re just a penny, a dull faded penny in a stack of mint-new change waiting to be lost with time. That maybe once you actually had a talent, a talent that went beyond what your brain could or couldn’t comprehend, a talent that had everything to do with the physical and nothing to do with the emotional. Not that emotional or psychological talent isn’t talent, it’s just a talent looked over unless you’re a genius or you have some abnormally unique idea for a novel.
And then there are all these people that have these horrible lives. These disgusting and gruesome newspaper worthy things happen to them, but it’s just another grain of sand on the beach. So who are you to complain about anything when in the big scheme of things, you’re not even worth a grain?
Maybe if I refined this talent, this written talent that I know I’m adequate at, at putting words on paper and creating this melody. It’s like liquid ink leaving my fingertips because gone are the days where pen meets paper, no, this is the 21st century - damned the hand cramps and smears of forgotten letters on lined paper. Maybe you lose the beauty and novelty of writing this new way, but what good is a paper if you can’t decipher the scrawl you wrote fifty years ago.
I used to tell myself that I would be something. Someday, somehow, sometime I would grow up and be a firefighter or the president or be involved with world peace. But I don’t want any of that, I don’t even necessarily want to make a difference on a worldly perspective. Not because it’s not possible, but because I am an introvert by nature and I wish to influence the people close to me not the whole world. That is my goal.
But my goals are always changing these days, always morphing and mocking me. Just when I think I know exactly what I want, it shifts and I’m constantly losing my identity in the change that surrounds me. The change that I drown myself in because I can’t decide which way is up and what love is and who is worth what in my life. I’m a strong girl marred by the remnants of what could have been and feel as if there will never be another way.
You throw your life away and it isn’t something you just get over. It isn’t a break up or a failed test or a lost cell phone, it is life. It is a clean, crisp breath of cool air on a night where the leaves are getting ready to abandon their homes. It is rainwater, wet on your arms, staining your clothes dark, and painting your hair, embracing your body in the comfort of a summer shower. Everything good and real and whole in your life just completely vanishes and its place rears this ugly shadow of a beast that looks like your reflection if you tilt it just right. Because nothing in your life just happens by coincidence. There are no divine interventions or miracles.
Those god forsaken years spent growing up and facing the real world are hell and ongoing and all you can do is sit and pray for them to end. But even when you think you’re almost out of them, you’re not, because even if you are - the people around you aren’t. So your forehead meets the pavement again and again, your shoes aren’t as sturdy as you once remembered them, and the bitch next door keeps making you lose your balance.
But there is love. I’ll admit it, there is love. And it’s great and amazing and breath taking and every cliché adjective in the dictionary. And it’s that first REAL love of almost adulthood that kind of makes you lose yourself a bit. A lot. You lose yourself a lot because change completely sucks and it’s like trying to learn how to swim when you already know how to do more complicated things, like trigonometry and riding a bicycle. And you can move your whole life in the hopes that maybe this time it will work, but it’s never going to work until you sit down and write this out and realize this. That maybe your life is a mess because you stopped looking at it as your life and started hoping that everyone else could figure it out for you.
But this isn’t high school anymore.
And you’ve got to get your shit together.
You can move as many times as you want and you can follow as many people as you want but it won’t mean a damn thing until you put faith in your capabilities and future. You will never succeed until you become your own person again. Fuck if that doesn’t make you feel entirely empty, either.
Because these realizations don’t give me hope or faith or light or love or whatever the hell else you’re supposed to feel when a good thing comes your way. It makes me scared and regretful and sad because I’ve ruined some pretty big things in my life and I don’t want to ruin anything else. I’m fearful. But I’ve always been fearful so I suppose it’s really nothing new in hindsight.
Approximately two weeks from now I will be moving back home. Closer to my family. Closer to my friends. Closer to the man I honestly feel like will someday be my husband. I want things in life. I want a family of my own, children. I want children more than I want a career. But I will never get to that point until I bite the bullet and realize that this all starts now. It started yesterday. Better late than never I guess.
Well, shit.