Is Life Too Short for Erasures?
What follows is pretty much free thought, so if it jumps or ceases to make sense, that's just the way my mind works.
So lately I have been so busy doing what I'm supposed to that I haven't payed attention to what is going on in my head. There's just been this niggling wiggle in the back of my skull, something that was a there/not there.
I guess the overload finally came around...I've just been bombarded with strange dreams/thoughts/daydreams, that honestly I haven't had in a year or so. Just when I thought it was safe to back in the water, eh? So, while in a waking dream last night, it dawned on me. The age old problem of Britt....what I've been struggling with as long as I can remember struggle.
WHY AM i SO DISCONTENT WITH CONTENTMENT?
I get bored with happiness. I fuck up just to have something to do. I fuck up, then get scared that it will destroy this contentment that I loathe. Don't rock the boat, but hate the captain? normal normal MANIC, _____Ideation
So is fucking up a good thing considered self harm?
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Lately I've been thinking of myself as a ball of thick paint. Gobstopper style....the layers....but these layers are vivid, then primer, lustrous, white. I have times of breathing, of being more-than-alive, then the shame that follows I splash with a coat of bianco. There are handprints on top of the other colors that I try the hardest to hide, the ones that I attempt to erase...but I always end up feeling as if I punish them for my shame.
It's always the same....passion to shame
(not just with people). Sometimes those handprints bleed through, so more paint. Fingertips still come through from high school, from other worlds, from as far back and as recent as I can remember.
And then the suffocation comes back. That feeling that happiness is a mistake and not made for me. It's not the absence of joy, or depression...just...discontentment.
So lately I have been so busy doing what I'm supposed to that I haven't payed attention to what is going on in my head. There's just been this niggling wiggle in the back of my skull, something that was a there/not there.
I guess the overload finally came around...I've just been bombarded with strange dreams/thoughts/daydreams, that honestly I haven't had in a year or so. Just when I thought it was safe to back in the water, eh? So, while in a waking dream last night, it dawned on me. The age old problem of Britt....what I've been struggling with as long as I can remember struggle.
WHY AM i SO DISCONTENT WITH CONTENTMENT?
I get bored with happiness. I fuck up just to have something to do. I fuck up, then get scared that it will destroy this contentment that I loathe. Don't rock the boat, but hate the captain? normal normal MANIC, _____Ideation
So is fucking up a good thing considered self harm?
-----------------------------------------
Lately I've been thinking of myself as a ball of thick paint. Gobstopper style....the layers....but these layers are vivid, then primer, lustrous, white. I have times of breathing, of being more-than-alive, then the shame that follows I splash with a coat of bianco. There are handprints on top of the other colors that I try the hardest to hide, the ones that I attempt to erase...but I always end up feeling as if I punish them for my shame.
It's always the same....passion to shame
(not just with people). Sometimes those handprints bleed through, so more paint. Fingertips still come through from high school, from other worlds, from as far back and as recent as I can remember.
And then the suffocation comes back. That feeling that happiness is a mistake and not made for me. It's not the absence of joy, or depression...just...discontentment.