(no subject)
My life feels pointless. Like I'm loosing grip of a rope I thought I was strong enough to hold on to. Things like the lack of furniture in my lonely solitary apartment is starting to drive me mad. I sit in front of my computer or I lay on my bed because that's the only places to sit or lay. Not even a kitchen table chair to speak of. Now suddenly my apartment situation is going all bonkers and I don't know where I'll be next month or six months. Suddenly I'm wondering if I should finish my degree since I'm going to be stuck in fucking Utica for God knows how much longer. I guess there are things here I haven't learned yet or some equal Life bullshit.
I try to be active and find things to keep me productive. Go out and find something to shoot, be social, clean, something. But I'm apparently not bored or poor enough to kick myself into gear to get some lame shitty job at who knows where.
It's a matter of seeing the bottom of the whole and desperately not wanting to go back there, scrambling with tooth and nail to stop my feet from touching the floor just feet away. It's a matter of debating whether I want to sit there down there in the dark and wonder if anyone will ever find me and throw me a rope and not caring if I rot there but really I do care and I'd rather scramble.
I just don't think I should have to learn when I'm 22 that I am alone and I will always be alone and I may have people I can trust but I'm the only one who can make my life the way I want it. I'm the only one I can ultimately rely on.
So I'll sit here and suck on my smoke and busy my hands with a camera or computer or cleaning or book and try to sleep through all the thoughts and worries and wishes and obsessions and apologies and I'll keep telling myself that everything will be fine, because ultimately how could it not be fine? I was told some short time ago by someone who I don't know very well and who doesn't know me very well that, "you're fine. You have two arms and two legs, eyes and ears. You're fine." And the simplicity of it is excruciating but true true true.
But that doesn't mean that my head and heart doesn't feel like it'll explode from all the things I want to do so desperately, the things I want obsessively and the regrets I try to forget incessantly.
I try to be active and find things to keep me productive. Go out and find something to shoot, be social, clean, something. But I'm apparently not bored or poor enough to kick myself into gear to get some lame shitty job at who knows where.
It's a matter of seeing the bottom of the whole and desperately not wanting to go back there, scrambling with tooth and nail to stop my feet from touching the floor just feet away. It's a matter of debating whether I want to sit there down there in the dark and wonder if anyone will ever find me and throw me a rope and not caring if I rot there but really I do care and I'd rather scramble.
I just don't think I should have to learn when I'm 22 that I am alone and I will always be alone and I may have people I can trust but I'm the only one who can make my life the way I want it. I'm the only one I can ultimately rely on.
So I'll sit here and suck on my smoke and busy my hands with a camera or computer or cleaning or book and try to sleep through all the thoughts and worries and wishes and obsessions and apologies and I'll keep telling myself that everything will be fine, because ultimately how could it not be fine? I was told some short time ago by someone who I don't know very well and who doesn't know me very well that, "you're fine. You have two arms and two legs, eyes and ears. You're fine." And the simplicity of it is excruciating but true true true.
But that doesn't mean that my head and heart doesn't feel like it'll explode from all the things I want to do so desperately, the things I want obsessively and the regrets I try to forget incessantly.