Alright.
It’s taken me a few minutes to just figure out what to title this post.
It seems impossible to think I’m writing this, but if I don’t seek the clarity I need to right now. I’ll fuck some shit up REALLY BAD.
Over the past 5 or 6 days, since Thursday night. I’ve been speaking to a ghost. I understand that many of you that read this, at this point know me privately. Know who I am, why I write, who I’m trying to be.
I’m so fucking confused as I write this, a part of me wants to write that I feel empty again. That none of it makes sense, that the person I thought would take away all the emptiness, the one that created the void, is unable to? A part of me wants to write that I’m depressed, that I’m tired, that I’m fucking exhausted and emotionally disconnected.
Another part of me wants to write that fuck all that. I’m so conflicted as I write this, it’s like writing on this blog makes me want to write that I’m empty and I don’t know if that’s something that the blog brings out, that I’m supposed to write on this page. Or if it’s honesty, and that’s what this blog brings out.
It’s so fucking confusing, it’s as if two parts of me are conflicting with each other, not allowing any semblance of congruency. I’m not sure any of this makes sense, I haven’t gotten the feeling of liberation yet so I assume I have to keep writing until I get somewhere.
Yesterday morning, after spending the entire night catching up yet again, I collapsed. Around 9AM I sat down on my bed and realised exactly how deep the wound was. Every part of me collapsed. If I knew how to fucking cry, I would. I think that might actually help clear a lot out. Though it is nearly 7 AM my migraine could just be a headache. I really need to work, I haven’t done anything in nearly 5 days.
THIS IS SO HARD TO SAY, but I WANT TO STOP THIS DAILY INTOXICATION, mind you it’s been a bit since I last have. I’ve promised myself that I’ll only smoke once a month when I go back to uni. Now that day could be one hell of a day, but ONCE A MONTH. I have to do this calculus shit, I have to write this book, I have a job to make sure I don’t lose. There’s so much shit, esp since I’ll have 7 courses this semester. It will be an insanely heavy year. FUCK IT THE NEXT 3 ARE INSANELY HEAVY.
I just need to make it through.
Yesterday morning, I realised the reality of cancer. I realised that if I kept on continuing with my lifestyle, the next time swallowing becomes hard it might be one of the last times I’m able to breathe. That’s a pretty intense realisation. It came through because of someone’s return to my life, though in a different dynamic. One neither of us fully understand yet. I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like after all these years, but to be honest I’m not that worried.
I’m realising that I have an opportunity, to make it out. To get through this shit, to achieve it all. I don’t think I’m someone that ‘deserves’ to make it, but I do feel like I have the ability to, to be honest we all do. If I start today, I get closer tomorrow. That’s how it works.
I wrote in my diary after so long yesterday, I wrote things I can’t share on this blog. I wrote about how this person brings out every insecurity I may have. Not because they degrade or hurt me, but because in front of them, in front of their shine I feel dull, almost like a spec of sand staring at the radiance of a star.
Youtube has constantly been suggesting fallingforyou and honestly it would be easy to write that all that song speaks of is the truth, but maturity is not always talking things out, sometimes it’s about staying silent. So for the next few months until I gain some clarity, some understanding of everything I won’t say anything. I won’t talk about it anymore.
Though I finally feel there is reason, reason to write and make something of myself, reason to become self-sustainable enough to disappear into the world and leave no trace, reason to be enough – to be better, reason to live. NOT ONCE has the thought of dying worried me, but now the thought of not living the way I want to presses down on me.
I find myself wanting to work harder, wanting to make more of myself, wanting to not die – anymore. I understand that this sounds insanely dependent and insanely toxic. Though, I don’t think it is. I don’t think just being alive justifies wanting to be alive, I think it’s about finding purpose and reason. Who the fuck am I to say another person is not allowed to be this reason? Am I supposed to discard all reason just because it is not innately present within myself.
I’m not told to do things, told to live, I don’t live for anyone, I don’t want to be better because someone wants me, I find myself wanting to be better because I don’t think I can I’m the wick of a candle in comparison to that all encompassing flame. I don’t want to say something contradictory like I always do, I don’t want to leave things ambigious.
I want to be more, do more, get out of this cycle we live in. I don’t want to work till I die – not in the way it seems. I have no issue having a simple job, there’s beauty in all walks of life. I want to travel now, I want to see the world, I want to witness things that are beyond my greatest imagination. I’ve never been good at doing things alone, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t do them.
After all I’ve made it here all by myself, but does that mean I’m not allowed to not want to keep going all on my own, or am I supposed to romanticize being alone and productive. After all if the goal is to be happy, and I don’t hurt another, or myself. If I keep growing, do I have to do it all by my lonesome.
A Sane Undertaking 