(no subject)
I woke up in the middle of the night two nights ago and felt dead. I'm not sure what that means. it wasn't a sleep induced stupor, it was quite contrary. it was clear as ocean air. I buried those feelings as deep as I could. for years now, they've been in a deep grave that I refuse to dig up. but that night, they found me at my most vulnerable. there is a distinct nature in humans that programs us to feel invincible. I felt invincible when I was jumping off of that sixty foot waterfall. and I don't know what exactly to make of it. I'm trying so fucking hard to bury all of my instincts. I'm trying not to run, I'm trying not to be distraught, I'm trying not to break down, I'm trying not do anything but exist. displacing my brain from analytic creation and more so upon rationalization of what I can control. but fuck, we're all dead anyway. so what if real estate seems like a great investment? so what if I had the road just as much as I hate sitting at home? so what if I've burned every bridge I could find? so what if I'm trying so hard to be as alone as I possibly can be without going completely fucking insane?
what the fuck does that all mean anyway?
dead isn't something, it's nothing, and the only thing we can be sure of is that something will eventually become nothing. everything else is fodder between here and there. matter cannot be created nor destroyed yet we are all on some cosmic timeline and we are all pushed along like monopoly pieces on a colorful board. how is that I ended up here, right where I was years ago, displaced and rewritten and reworked? the only difference now is that I've burnt myself out and I've burnt my ties to what I was, but I miss it.
I miss being alone and desperate and crazy and fucked. I miss being broke and eating noodles with salt on them for dinner. I miss running. I miss running so fucking much. I was always so terrified of tethering anchors and I've spent the last year of my life finding the perfect rocks to ground them on. When I'm not here, I'm unhappy, but when I'm here, I'm slightly more unhappy.
the chance of dying alone is too exciting for me. the chance of losing everything and being a withered pile of flesh and bones with nothing to share but stories and sad eyes. sometimes the wrinkles you gain from losing everything tell stories all on their own. I haven't had anything stir the pot lately. I haven't had anything upheave my way of livelihood, I haven't had my soil tilled. I'm regressing. I'm suppressing. I'm swallowing the pill that makes me get up in the morning and feel like I'm doing something, anything, somehow with who I am today.
but I'm not doing shit, I'm biding time until I'm dead. I'm not chasing sunsets and I'm not screaming my lungs out. I feel too fucking old for that, and I'm twenty-two fucking years old. I feel like I failed everything I had ever decided to be. I don't feel happy. I don't feel fulfilled. I feel trapped. I feel like a caged bird waiting for its owner to fuck up and leave the window open for me to escape. and I know I'm lying to myself. I know this is a facade. I don't know how I became this today, but complacency is a scary fucking thing. if we're not running like hell, we're asleep. there's no such thing as an in between.
fucked.
what the fuck does that all mean anyway?
dead isn't something, it's nothing, and the only thing we can be sure of is that something will eventually become nothing. everything else is fodder between here and there. matter cannot be created nor destroyed yet we are all on some cosmic timeline and we are all pushed along like monopoly pieces on a colorful board. how is that I ended up here, right where I was years ago, displaced and rewritten and reworked? the only difference now is that I've burnt myself out and I've burnt my ties to what I was, but I miss it.
I miss being alone and desperate and crazy and fucked. I miss being broke and eating noodles with salt on them for dinner. I miss running. I miss running so fucking much. I was always so terrified of tethering anchors and I've spent the last year of my life finding the perfect rocks to ground them on. When I'm not here, I'm unhappy, but when I'm here, I'm slightly more unhappy.
the chance of dying alone is too exciting for me. the chance of losing everything and being a withered pile of flesh and bones with nothing to share but stories and sad eyes. sometimes the wrinkles you gain from losing everything tell stories all on their own. I haven't had anything stir the pot lately. I haven't had anything upheave my way of livelihood, I haven't had my soil tilled. I'm regressing. I'm suppressing. I'm swallowing the pill that makes me get up in the morning and feel like I'm doing something, anything, somehow with who I am today.
but I'm not doing shit, I'm biding time until I'm dead. I'm not chasing sunsets and I'm not screaming my lungs out. I feel too fucking old for that, and I'm twenty-two fucking years old. I feel like I failed everything I had ever decided to be. I don't feel happy. I don't feel fulfilled. I feel trapped. I feel like a caged bird waiting for its owner to fuck up and leave the window open for me to escape. and I know I'm lying to myself. I know this is a facade. I don't know how I became this today, but complacency is a scary fucking thing. if we're not running like hell, we're asleep. there's no such thing as an in between.
fucked.