Life is going backward.
Well- it's 3am and I'm getting off the computer to go stare at the walls in my room and hope that this thing called sleep comes around for a while. last night I went to bed at 3pm and sat, doing nothing, till 5am. Well- nothing consisited of playing my guitar (and being annoyed at myself for not being able to sing well enough), drawing (and realising I have lost the ability to draw- seriously) looking through old notebook, finding a scratch on my Dolly Parton CD and realising that I feel trepidatious about practically every tiny aspect of my life. *Everything* in my life right now holds some kind of worry for me. This (funnily enough) worried me, so I promptly had an anxiety attack and thought about getting someone far away to come get me and take me far away again. But I slept instead- till 2 in the afternoon.
I've also ceased being interested in HP. Well, I still like it, and I'll still be getting the book on the day it comes out, but I'm not really sure I'm interested in going to the launch party. Or the one the night before. Or the picnic next week.
The apathy level in my life is really escalating. I keep having fantasies about what life should be like for me- about what I want it to be. And it's not really anything like what it is now. I know I have the power to make it as reality, but... I don't know. I just feel...hopeless. I want two different lives, despite that I can make them into one.
I'm hoping Rohan's moving out next weekend like he said he would. I have some (probably false) hope that getting the bigger bedroom and being able to work on getting some stock together for the gallery will make me feel a little better. Less stale, less caged in.
I have to get out of the house. I have to get...away. Go somewhere new- somewhere alien. I feel like I'm pinned in- I've made myself really comfortable here. I like living with Jane and Allan, I just...why am I even listening to myself? I said this exact same thing when I moved to the country! I pushed myself out into the cold and spent the next six months having even bigger anxiety attacks than usual and being way too scared to go outside, especially at night. I was scared for six months. Scared of the front room, scared of spiders, of outside, of children, of the highway, of the shed...fuck.
I think we've established that running away does not help. Why then is it always the first option your mind gives you?
FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT
I want life. I want creation, food, love and good times. I want lemon trees and front porches covered in prayer flags. I want chickens in the backyard and veggie patches down the side. I want shopping at the organic market and yoga in the mornings. Bare feet on old wooden floors, open fires in the loungeroom. The sound of jamming in the sunroom, the smell of incense. I want all this- and in Melbourne this is as esy to get as breathing. Why can't I just stand up and get it? Why do I avoid going after it? I keep myself down to avoid hurting the feelings of those around me.
There's a moth on the window, busting itself against the glass to get in. I feel like that right now. It thinks the loungeroom light is the moon.
I've also ceased being interested in HP. Well, I still like it, and I'll still be getting the book on the day it comes out, but I'm not really sure I'm interested in going to the launch party. Or the one the night before. Or the picnic next week.
The apathy level in my life is really escalating. I keep having fantasies about what life should be like for me- about what I want it to be. And it's not really anything like what it is now. I know I have the power to make it as reality, but... I don't know. I just feel...hopeless. I want two different lives, despite that I can make them into one.
I'm hoping Rohan's moving out next weekend like he said he would. I have some (probably false) hope that getting the bigger bedroom and being able to work on getting some stock together for the gallery will make me feel a little better. Less stale, less caged in.
I have to get out of the house. I have to get...away. Go somewhere new- somewhere alien. I feel like I'm pinned in- I've made myself really comfortable here. I like living with Jane and Allan, I just...why am I even listening to myself? I said this exact same thing when I moved to the country! I pushed myself out into the cold and spent the next six months having even bigger anxiety attacks than usual and being way too scared to go outside, especially at night. I was scared for six months. Scared of the front room, scared of spiders, of outside, of children, of the highway, of the shed...fuck.
I think we've established that running away does not help. Why then is it always the first option your mind gives you?
FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT
I want life. I want creation, food, love and good times. I want lemon trees and front porches covered in prayer flags. I want chickens in the backyard and veggie patches down the side. I want shopping at the organic market and yoga in the mornings. Bare feet on old wooden floors, open fires in the loungeroom. The sound of jamming in the sunroom, the smell of incense. I want all this- and in Melbourne this is as esy to get as breathing. Why can't I just stand up and get it? Why do I avoid going after it? I keep myself down to avoid hurting the feelings of those around me.
There's a moth on the window, busting itself against the glass to get in. I feel like that right now. It thinks the loungeroom light is the moon.