daily-apocalypse

[daily-apocalypse]

Cosmic Love

Not to be too poetic, but, I’ve been going through... things.

It’s mostly been anger brought on by fear that this thing before me is so utterly and tragically flawed, it can and will hurt me, whether or not it means to.  And though this anger and fear has been accompanied by helplessness and grief, the very most latter hasn’t had its turn to speak until today.

All day, I’ve been mourning something I haven’t lost yet -- not officially, at least.  And not so much lost as placed firmly behind a wall a mile high and a mile thick; a self imposed distance.  For safety.

I used to think this wall, before it became THIS wall, was a fear of being vulnerable, but am now thinking it was something deeper; something which knew that what has happened was going to happen, though maybe not when or how.

And somewhere in this twilight of the past week, the lyrics to Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine took on a new meaning for me.  Was it love or depression that had the song end with them both in the darkness?

For me, the song is about poor timing.  And now it’s about the toxicity of love, though that is its own running theme in her works.  Maybe that was supposed to be the story all along for this song.

For me, he loved, I didn’t.  I loved, he didn’t, not until the last and darkest moment, at least, and not without giving me any sort of head’s up - he left me in the dark.  And here I am, in the end, having pulled the stars from my eyes and made a map, knowing I can find my way back, but I’ve heard his heart beating, he’s in the darkness, too.

Do I stay in the dark with him or leave him in it?

Neither seems optimal to me.  I would rather help him out of it, but I don’t think he wants help.

I don’t think he hears me when I speak, not what I’m actually saying, not any wisdom in it, only some distorted jumble twisted by some unseen force between he and I, so that, for him, it creates a beautifully maudlin landscape for him to wallow in.  Maybe that’s more comfortable for him than the truth.

And so, with this extra time to fill once more, I somehow found myself searching Florence + The Machine on youtube.  I don’t know why youtube.  I have her music.  Must have been a recommended video of a recommended video that sparked it.

I found her performance of Cosmic Love, Live on KEXP, and as I was settling in and she began singing, I found myself compelled to sing along.  I began to pull a bud from my ear, so I could hear both myself and her, and then I stopped myself.

What I enjoy most about this particular version of Cosmic Love is that it’s so stripped down, even in how she sings.  So little of it is similar to the album track, that me singing along drowns out the nuances, the experience, of this particular recording.  It does it an injustice.

And I found myself wondering is that’s what this distortion is between he and I.  Is he singing along to my song, believing he knows the words and the tune because he thinks he’s heard it somewhere else before, so that he’s not actually listening to me?

How often do I do this?

The most painful part of all of this for me is that I truly believed believe we were supposed to meet.  The universe threw us together, gave us an opportunity, and it’s been spoiled.

How does one let go of that?

[daily-apocalypse]

The Loop

And being thrown for it.

Again.

My inner narrative voice is broken and I don’t know how to feel about anything, or what to do, or when to do it.  I think my life is finally starting, but boy is it starting in some kind of chaotic mess of surprise, anxiety, and emotion.

And that’s where I’ve been - I’ve been following my curiosity and feelings down a rabbit hole.  It’s nothing depressing.  It’s just a lot. As if the deadline wasn’t weighing heavily enough on me, one more variable was added to the mix, like the universe itself is cornering me and pressuring me into a decision.  I keep trying to tell myself I still have some time, that everything will turn out, but it’s weighing on me endlessly.  That and so much more now.

Hooray vagaries.

Alone is definitely so much easier, but I was sick of being alone.  I’ve never needed to be with anyone, but even I knew this extensive aloneness wasn’t healthy.  And I swear the cosmos was pushing me toward this, pushing us toward each other.

So, here I am, feeling things.  Feeling pressures.  Carefully holding the feelings of someone else as well, while craving stability... for everything to already be settled so I can get on with life and not be struggling blindly forward with no real goal other than to survive and hopefully not tear anything apart in the process.

Because, in all of this, I can see a future again.  Little glimpses of adventure and a good, healthy love, and supporting hopes and dreams.  A house.  The outdoors.

None of that is guaranteed, though.

I’m trying so hard not to let old injuries carry over into this, to provoke me into fears I shouldn’t be having, but it’s there at times.  And it upsets me that it’s bubbled up so early.  I don’t really have anywhere to turn, but I’m willing to try.

And then I end up on tumblr at 2am puzzling and contemplative, insecurity knocking at my door.  Doubt.  Fear.  And a behemoth of the Unknown.  All of them screaming at me that something’s wrong.

Alone is definitely so much easier.

[daily-apocalypse]

Excuse me, I’ve been drinking.

Personal growth-wise, this week kind of sucked.  I was weak.  I was distracted.  I let things come between me and my learnin’ stuffs, like socialization and shopping for necessities.  I’m losing sight of the end game, and I know it.  I need that, though, the idea of being something greater than I am now, if I’m going to get through this.

I did finally get a hair cut and no one noticed, so that’s upsetting in its own right, but I also got different colored pens and post its and notebooks and, despite no sleep going from Wednesday into Thursday, leaving me, at 9am, telling my dependents to do what they like in regard to working out so I could sleep since someone decided ‘sweltering’ was a good temperature for the thermostat, I ended this week on a strong note.

Come Friday afternoon, after diligently working out and dedicating more time than usual to understanding wtf code was being thrown at me, I wasn’t a floppy Spock come 4pm.

Due to this, I’ve come to learn that exhaustion isn’t the sole reason I don’t log into game anymore.  Perfectly energized, there’s this restlessness inside of me once I stop working out or coding that just can’t be filled by throwing myself at useless pixel challenges.

In matters of my heart, however, I was settled.  That may not seem like a big thing to some people, but it’s a pretty big thing, I promise.  I don’t tend to have heart issues, so when they happen, it may as well be declared some kind of miracle.  The TLDR is that I’m better off and happier without them.

In fact, the moment my life faced upheaval and my bestie suggested alternatives to despair, he also sent me pics of this guy... this guy I was pleasantly surprised I remembered from 2 halloweens ago.

And I panicked at the prospect of being set up on a date with a stranger.

I’m in no state to devote myself to a relationship where heartbits are involved.  Not that I ever am, but most especially right now.  I lack funds, I lack energy (for the most part), I lack courage, and relationships take time and attention and courage and energy, above all else.

I’d be a wreck.  I’d barely have those qualities, at the best of times, but now...?

And I’m obviously saving myself for Antoni from Queer Eye, so I’m clearly not into relationships that can possibly happen or work.  Please, remove all sensible nonsense and prospects from my sight asap.

And my heart is still broke.  Settled, but broke.

It was a break I learned from.  A break where I had to face the guy daily afterwards.  How to cope?  My MO has been to run, in the past, but not this time.  So, instead, I cut him out of everything.  I simply stopped acknowledging his existence for my own survival.

Outside of tonight.

Long before I began drinking for the evening, I made out a list of all the things I aspire to be, for future reference and general guidance when I forget myself:

1.) Fit 2.) Generous 3.) Compassionate 4.) Kind 5.) Courageous 6.) To look for what I have in common with another person, rather than how I’m different from that person.

And the night ended with this person talking to me and messaging me, leaving me feeling like I’ve legitimately been missed, asking for a second chance.

It seemed unreal, them asking for another chance.  They hadn’t really done anything wrong, and yet, here they were.  And I felt missed.  It’s been a couple of months since we’ve spoken.  He believed I hated him.  I didn’t hate him.  I just couldn’t cope with him.

It only seemed right to say that, yeah, being friends again would be nice... given what I’d only a few hours ago carved into a post-it note and adhered to my desk as a reminder of just what sort of person I wanted to be.  Acquiescing to this request for friendship seemed to fit with 2-5, and maybe 6.

To be clear, I don’t want anything from him.  But I enjoyed him so much, and life is just easier without him in it because I don’t have to daily lament what I can’t have.  It was a rare joy to feel like myself with someone.  There’s been a few times since we stopped talking to each other, even tonight, where we either say or laugh at the same thing, because we’re saying or feeling or enjoying something the same way, and it’s like, “get out of my head.  You’re not welcome here.”  But that was the beauty of our friendship... the absolute nonsense that we could revel in together.

And sharing stupid parts of our lives.

Him getting the wrong couscous in a vain attempt to prove a point and failing miserably in unforeseen ways.  Sharing his blizzard.  Him having avocado toast for breakfast while I try out some pancakes in some completely unplanned and undiscussed freaky friday exchanging of lifestyles.

I made banana pancakes the other day and couldn’t get his voice out of my head, taunting me about it.  I wanted so badly to tell him, to take pics and show him... this after he admitted some sort of netherlands waffle cookie was good to our group.  I’d never made pancakes of any sort before, and these were beauties to the eye and to the tastebuds.

We were very very anti each other’s preferred breakfast pastry, you see.  I was team waffles, he was team pancakes.  We argued for at least two weeks straight over which was superior.  I’m not even exaggerating.

It’s insane and a little unfair how people can follow you around without even being there; how the stupidest things can remind you of them, or what they might think, feel, or say... so that, in these few months we haven’t been speaking, he’s been gone, but still somewhere in my head, there’s occasionally this little voice giving its unwanted opinion.

In a way, it’s a relief -- of course it is -- that he said anything, that the alcohol left him brave or sleepy or *whatever* enough to address our silence and how it came to be.  I wonder if he’s heard some version of me in his head, too, commenting on food or the weather or some other random thing.  Surely, he must have. If so, this must be why he said something.  If not, he missed it and this must be why he said something.  Right?  Maybe?  Maybe, though I’ve been alone, I haven’t been alone.  Or maybe it was him extending an olive branch, making amends and reparations for some completely unrelated resolution, some list to be a better person, like I have posted to my desk now.

In another way, it’s utterly the worst ever.  It’s dangerous finding someone like him, because then I want someone like him, so I can be me in every way I am with him, and the abject sadness of that not existing is too much for me to deal with.  Because of the proximity.  Because it’s right there.  It’s so easy to want.  Even when it’s not something I should want.  And then I fear it can’t be found anywhere else.

It’s also a bit of a relief that I’m drawn to the food and wine guy on Queer Eye. We were passionate about food, this guy and I.  Don’t get me wrong, it sucks that neither are available, but at least I’m pointed in a direction and kind of know it’s not just him.  It’s me.  I’m DTF: down to food.

And I appreciate ridiculous shit.

I used to own that shower cap.  Not even lying.  Pack of 3: leopard print, green, and white.  The print flaked off the leopard and the elastic bands went gummy on all three.  Sad. Face.  Regardless, I was always that kid at lunch who’d eat whatever exotically awful combination of foods and condiments others could come up with.

I’ve never owned a sweat band, car shirt, or questionable doll person, but I’d be so about that life if it were suddenly presented to me.

1.) I don’t know how to upload my own gifs to tumblr.  2.) I actually have a photo of myself from a few years ago, in Target, wearing that same unicorn bike helmet while holding up my soon-to-be Ninja Turtle panties.

I originally enjoyed Queer Eye for its message and the feels and didn’t think too much of Antoni until I noticed he was usually the one exploring the unknown while others were helping out the hero, and then the show was elevated to a whole new level and worth watching again just to see wtf was going on in the background.

How hard can it possibly be to find a person with these qualities who can also worship me as hard as I’d worship them?  That’s my night.  That’s my life.  That’s why it’s so hard to cope with this guy, because he’s so close to my vision of perfect.

[daily-apocalypse]

My Depression

I’ve been staring at the screen for a good 10 minutes, uncertain of where to start.  Do I talk about why I was depressed?  My lifelong struggle with depression?  How this last time was different, not necessarily in cause but in effect?  How I snapped back?  My fears that this lucidity is only temporary, that my efforts may well amount to nothing?  A disclaimer that I haven’t been officially diagnosed with anything because I can’t afford to see anyone about it?

I was an intensely unhappy and angry child.  I was a turbulent teen.  There was no sense of “WOOO MY LIFE IS BEGINNING!” as I stepped into adulthood, where depression has to be functional.  I’m not sure I truly understand what happy is.  This isn’t me waxing poetic.  I legitimately have no clue.  Everything scares me.  Every moment, the good and the bad, is typically saturated with some kind of fear and anxiety to hold me back.  Naturally, I don’t do well in relationships, because I have 0 sense of security when it comes to other people.

And I get depressed.

But I get depressed enough, that I know what I need to do to help me get back on track, so there’s that.  Yay tools for coping.

This last time, however, was different.

One year, for Christmas or my birthday, my bestie got me Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosh.

A book by this girl.

More or less, it was like reading my life.  With exception of the obsession with cake.  And the point where she didn’t just hit rock bottom, she crashed through to the other side.  The part where you feel nothing.

For the first time ever, I got to that part.  You’d think -- I’m so sorry, *I’d* think -- that feeling nothing would be ideal, that a vortex of chaos and sadness being removed would leave me free to do what I need to do, but it’s not ideal at all.  As it turns out, I have to care about something to do something about it.

At one point during the depression, before the nothing, I told myself I’m sick of crying and I wasn’t going to cry anymore.

It worked.

It worked too fucking well.  It was like I cast a spell on myself, only instead of not crying, I was not anything-ing.

As if I’d flipped my humanity switch off like an emo teenage vampire.

When all else fails, set your dead relative and your house on fire.

I wasn’t sad.  But I wasn’t happy.  I could laugh at things, but I felt no joy.  The trippiest and perhaps saddest part to me, looking back, was that I could dress, look, and act like a normal human when I needed to for other people; and to such a convincing degree that my bestie had no clue I was suffering when I told him what was going on with me.

“But you just laughed.”

“And I felt nothing.”

I tried to explain how there’s this numb shell and deep down inside I can feel myself screaming.  Sort of like having my wisdom teeth pulled.  I didn’t feel the tooth being pulled, but I could feel something inside of me that was very acutely aware of what was happening to my body, made evident by the tears I could feel sliding down the sides of my face during the procedure.

Even food had. no. taste.

I didn’t honestly think that was a thing.

On my own, it was like sitting in a waiting room with nothing to do and, as is typical with my depression, taking care of myself was extremely difficult.  I knew I needed to get back into working out, needed to open my curtains, needed to drink more water, keep my body healthy, but I couldn’t do that.  I couldn’t even make myself meditate.

I was sleeping for forever.

I cut off 8 inches of hair, and I think that somehow made things worse.  On top of the nothingness, I lost a piece of my identity.  But it was a gamble, and I sort of knew it.  The hope was that I would feel better, that looking different meant feeling different.  Instead, I ended up more blank.

I was still doing things with friends, but the more I had to do, the more I didn’t want to do those things -- things I would really have enjoyed if I were okay.  I just wanted to be alone.

I was managing to shower regularly and stay clean, but probably because a decent chunk of my depression was coming from our house guests and how legitimately disgusting they are and how bad they smell.  The smells were really, really bringing me down.  In the nothingness, I would occasionally smell them and be affected both physically and emotionally.  I had no idea one could physically feel sadness in such a way.  Even now, I’ll get a whiff and am just upset.

I knew I was in trouble, so in all that alone time I had in the hours where I managed to be conscious, I would look for inspiration in movies, shows, and music.  It was in this time that I found My Chemical Romance (for the second time, but more in depth) and Panic! At The Disco (for the first time), and compiled a playlist of songs that either had great energy to them or a good message, so I’d either 1.) want to get up and move and/or 2.) the things I’d be singing to myself would hopefully reach my brain and help dig it out of its hibernation.

MCR: Na Na Na SING The Sharpest Lives Planetary (GO!) Famous Last Words Welcome To The Black Parade Helena The Light Behind Your Eyes The World Is Ugly P!ATD: King of the Clouds Say Amen High Hopes Emperor’s New Clothes

and

Nine Inch Nails v Taylor Swift - Shake It Off (The Perfect Drug)

It didn’t work.

What did work is why I’m leery of where my depression went.  What worked was being told that my roommates wanted to move into the city proper, and be moved in by this time next year.  Fully aware that this would mean an increase in rent if I stayed with them, I panicked.  And out of the panic came a goal.  And from this goal has come a sense of accomplishment and a reprieve from the nothingness.

I feel good.

Even a little excited, sometimes.

And my bestie is being the best cheerleader he can be.  The best cheerleader he can be is a little too good, to be honest.  I feel like he’s applauding me for, like, walking and chewing gum at the same time, and it brings out a part of me that insists on bringing him back to reality: that my problem doesn’t have a solution yet, that this is all a distraction from what’s coming, I just happen to be learning stuff in the process that will, hopefully, be useful.

And then I have to tell myself it’ll be okay when I feel the world starting to end, that if I don’t have everything perfect in a year, I won’t blink out of existence, I’ll have a place to land for better or worse, and that I’m really in a good place to change up my life, so focus on right now.

And right now is pretty okay, aside from this hair.

[daily-apocalypse]

Not being me: A week in

Getting out of bed has just not been easy, but once up, I am at ‘em.  This week, I was especially productive.  I’m not just working out, I have a work out buddy.  I’ve designed workouts.  I’ve done math.  And then I did more math after that.

My life is math.  And to be clear here, my life has never been math, despite learning in Algebra that everything is math.  The prophecy has been fulfilled.

This gif is so relevant on multiple levels.  Thanks, Gabriel.

I’ve had a couple of out of body experiences - moments where I watched this alter-me do the things that me-me either didn’t want to do or didn’t have the strength to do.

I didn’t want a workout buddy.  I like goofing around listening to my music, going at my own pace, making weird faces and noises, and crapping out when I need to crap out with no one there to judge me for any of these things. This is why I don’t go to an actual gym.

But I made an exception because this person wanted my help.  And now we have an app and goals and, to my surprise, I enjoyed setting everything up and executing it and correcting form and being encouraging and shit.  But this is where the separation happened.  As soon as I walked into the room, I kind of floated up out of my body and watched this alter-me be a friendly, outgoing, confident being, full of knowledge and positivity.

That’s not disturbing at all.

Unfortunately, I didn’t stay out of my body long enough to miss the actual physical exertion.

And then there’s the code learning, where I occasionally have moments of “lookit me go...”  I’m not confident here at all, but I am very deeply committed to it, to every little detail, and find myself wanting to do more to ensure I know what I need to know effortlessly.

But this requires supplies and supplies require money I’m not sure I should spend, blah blah blah.

And so as I reached the end of my studying today, aware that this would begin my weekend, I contemplated, briefly, my “Saturday Night.”  Just how I would spend this time for me and me alone!

But as I was released from all responsibility and obligation to bettering myself or my future and into the open arms of the start of the weekend, my mind kept going back to buying supplies, and what kind, and what all I needed, and maybe going to get a hair cut, then getting supplies.

Alter-me didn’t seem to realize it was now off the clock.

And so Me-me argued I could go get stuff done in game.  There’s stuff to do in there.  Stuff I want to get done.

In the end, I did neither.  I did nothing.  Because I’m exhausted.

Absolutely me as of 4pm.

My body hurt.  My brain was mush.

These are still true.

I was half tempted to write that in python script in an effort to be clever, but I don’t have the energy.  Save me, Brendan Urie!

And so I end my day, this week, a Spock on the ground. 

Time to hit the reset button and hope I spawn into a bright, new world tomorrow as a bright, new me.

[daily-apocalypse]

And then I got disgustingly sick.

I’ve eased back into things today, though I forsook working out in favor of hogging a little more sleep to make up for the deficit of the day before, yay insomnia!  And then I went to lunch with my roommate.

And that was my OMG THE WORLD IS ENDING moment for yesterday.  For today as well, if we’re being perfectly honest.  Anxiety is a terrible thing, she said, making the most obvious of statements somehow more gratingly obvious.

When the whole moving thing was brought up, she kept insisting she wanted to go to lunch to talk about it.  She also wanted to go to lunch once before to discuss some life changing event.  Naturally, this filled me with dread.  The prospect of completely changing my life is weighing pretty heavily on me, though I’m doing a decent job at keeping the craziness at bay and can enjoy my day to day life, even when experiencing some random summer throat disease and life essence depleter.

I even have moments of “I’m going to kick life’s ass and make it my bitch” kind of excitement.  Not blackflip-worthy excitement, but excitement.  Encouragement.  Other things that aren’t characteristically me.  Hooray for some tiny thing inside of me standing up to my fears and just being like, “you got this, buddo!” every now and then.

But being asked to lunch came with the sort of feeling I might imagine crossing the mind of some very old dog that’s about to be put down.  Like why are we doing all of my favorite things all of sudden?

I mean... lunch isn’t one of my favorite things... but it’s A thing.  Friendship time is a nice thing.  We do it so rarely, and with so much still being so up in the air, I thought it could only be to have some kind of serious talk.

Turns out, lunch was just lunch.  I got to try out the new pho place.  It was just okay.  Sorry for cheating on you, old pho place.

And then I came home and reset my Codeacademy progress and am starting my week fresh and clean, minus one day of working out.  Not the shabbiest.  Not too late to work out, either.  Maybe grunting my way through some squats will get out some of the rage my python lessons have riled up in me.

FINE.  I’LL GO EXERCISE.

[daily-apocalypse]

Ever have one of those days or nights or whatever that are just so terrible, but then you fall asleep and legitimately forget everything?  And then you wake up and there’s a moment where you’re disoriented, as if what you’re waking into is the actual dream and nothing makes sense for a moment?

And then the dread sets in?

Just this little, hard pit aching in that space between your heart and your stomach that leaves you feeling a little sick and devastated?

No?

Just me?

I’m stressed about what my life is going to be in a year and all of the changes I know I need to make, and it’s surprisingly difficult to let everything in a single day truly be annihilated and left in the apocalyptic nothingness so that this new day can genuinely be new.

I took a small piece over with me into today.

But.

I did every. single. thing. I had laid out for myself today.

If every night I go to sleep knowing That I gave everything that I had to give Then it’s all I could have asked for

Feels good, man.

I mean, all of life’s mysteries and problems weren’t solved in a day, I’m having some doubts about what I’m choosing to invest a lot of my time in, and I’m not a new person.  Though I did have this moment while brushing my teeth, the briefest out of body experience, as if I were watching someone else live my life.  Probably because somewhere, deep down not even that deep down, all I really wanted to do was melt into my chair and Netflix til sleep.  But I did it.  Yay!

Anyway, time to set it on fire and see if I can do it all again tomorrow.

[daily-apocalypse]

Should I be me or someone else?

The past couple of years, I’ve been binging on things that I wasn’t apart of at the time; things like TV shows and music.  Friends.  The Office.  Even The Vampire Diaries.  Lately, it’s My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco. Today’s unexpected but actually totally expected P!ATD spiral led me to an acoustic performance of Say Amen (It’s Saturday Night), which has left me in some sort of existential crisis.

I mean, I realize I’m doing life all wrong.  That’s ever-present.  That’s not the crisis.  But in the past week or so, I’ve had a lot of deep (for me) thoughts and find myself asking questions like “Why am I not like this or that?”  “How does one become like that?”

At this point, I’m pretty much convinced that the reason I have no drive or energy is that my ration of both was accidentally handed out to other people.  Brendan Urie does backflips on stage to get out extra nervous energy and I can think of exactly 2 times in my entire life that I was so legitimately excited about something that I ran around like a freak because I had so much EEEEEEEEEEEEEE! inside of me that I couldn’t contain it; both over in a matter of minutes.  Meanwhile, Brendan Urie is living in some alien reality where excited backflips are a thing.

So it’s occurred to me that maybe I should try living like someone else for a month, going along with the belief that you can create a new habit in as little as 28 days if you keep at it, and telling my brain every night (or day) before I go to sleep that it can figure out this whole life thing.

And so back to the point -- I was listening to this acoustic version of Say Amen and there’s something in his voice that makes the song make sense to me in a way it hadn’t before... mostly because I’d never paid attention to the lyrics before, the video being as goddamned distracting as it is. 

Anyway, it gives me this idea, reminds me of a friend I didn’t quite understand before.

This friend is afraid of becoming a drone due to his line of work.  So he’ll go off on adventures, out to festivals, every now and then and just let it all out.  Are those his Saturday Nights? Is that what I should do?  Buckle down and focus on this vague idea of what I need to do to be a useful human being and then come Saturday night, I let it all out?  Right now, my every day is Saturday Night, if it just didn’t end, so you’ve run out of everything that made it fun to begin with and now you’re just watching Netflix to pass the time while you wait for it to stop so everything can be rebuilt and restocked and maybe bleached.

I used to be the most disciplined person I knew.  Stuck to my beliefs a little too hard.  Had a willpower of iron.  With my childhood, it took every ounce of strength to stay on the right side of things and I sometimes wonder if that wore me out rather than made me stronger, which should have been obvious to me my senior year of high school when I missed so many days due to sickness or exhaustion that the school wasn’t going to let me graduate, despite my 4.34 GPA.  I had no idea what that was at the time.  Turns out, it was my level of doneness.

So of course, when life happened, I ran and hid and evaporated.  I’m not sure I ever knew who I wanted to be, what version of me I wanted to be, what I wanted out of life other than to just survive.  Even survival wasn’t necessarily a priority back then.  And I wasn’t one of those girls who fantasized about her wedding day - not because I didn’t think I’d ever have one, I just didn’t think about it at all.  And I’m thinking right now that I should have thought about it just a little.  It, or any future.

Always when I’ve looked forward, though, I’ve seen nothing (with one brief exception).  What do you do with that?  I mean, I’ve gone through transformations before - spiritual, physical - without a vision in my head of how I should turn out, so I know I can grow, change.  But this is life, right?  How can I go anywhere if I don’t know what I want or where I want to go?  I’ll just drift and land some place.

Been traveling in packs that I can't carry anymore Been waiting for somebody else to carry me There's nothing else there for me at my door

Can I get another amen?  That is the sad reality of my life.

Some of the obnoxiousness of me is, if I ruminate too long on being a better and more functional version of myself, I may never do anything, because I won’t be able to decide on what that is.  Meanwhile, I could copy someone else and maybe get somewhere, but would I be me?  WHAT EVEN IS ME?

And every morning when I wake up I wanna be who I couldn't say I'd ever been 

That’s so me.  I want that.  But then I inevitably let myself down.  Like right now, I’m doing this instead of whatever scraps of plans I’d had put together in my head last night for today.  Though, still, part of me is saying I need this, so it’s something.

If every night I go to sleep knowing That I gave everything that I had to give Then it's all I could've asked for 

I’ll take a heaping syringe full of that outlook injected directly into the vein, kthx.  I don’t know why the thought of it alone isn’t enough.  I don’t know why nothing makes me feel like I better do a backflip before I explode.  I can’t even wrap my mind around what it must be like to live with so much energy.  I don’t know why I’m not a morning person.  I don’t know why I’m not more driven by my beliefs to do what I feel needs to be done to save the world.

Why can’t I just download an update and restart?