My
fingers are stuck to the keyboard, motionless. I don’t know how I feel, so that
would mean that I could not even begin to express how I feel. With an
emotionless, apathetic state of mind I think to myself. No one knows the true
me. No one knows what goes through my head. No one knows who I am. They all
know who I want them to know. I’m vindictive. I’m a liar. But who am I really
lying to? Am I lying to myself in saying that I know who I am? Or am I lying to
them in saying that the person that they see is the person that I truly am?
Fuck this. This is what hurts my head. I am who I am, whoever that may be. I don’t
need to question anything I do, or anything I say. I am who I am. Most of the
time I have in thought, I spend it thinking about the purpose of my existence.
Who wouldn’t want to know the true meaning of their life? However, I do think
that I think about it too much. I just need to calm down and let it flow.
I have
a love hate relationship with the memories tied with certain songs. I can be
having a nice time relaxing with Perth by Bon Iver and then some random shit
comes on from three years ago and takes me back to when I traumatically moved
away to Iowa and then I involuntarily go into a depression because I feel like
I’m in that time period. But then again, sometimes it’s nice to be able to
reflect on how I was feeling at that stage of my life. The raw, deep emotions I
automatically feel with the downbeat of that first note remind me that I wasn’t
weak for feeling the way I felt.
Everyone
is freaking out about leaving high school and going to college, leaving all of
their friends. If everyone just pushed aside the sadness, then it wouldn’t be
sad! I’m excited, I’m ready to leave. I have so much to do with my life. I want
to travel. I want to write forever. I want share this joy with others. But then
people have to make it sad, everything has to be sad.
I feel like that’s the same thing
with funerals. When someone dies, why do we make this big ceremony and set aside
weeks for mourning? Why can’t we still pretend like they went on a trip and
they’ll be back later? Eventually you’ll get used to them being gone and you’d
be okay. But, when everyone makes it a big deal, and everyone wants to mourn,
that’s when people go under. As I sit here, typing this I’m realizing what a
heartless bitch I sound like. What is so wrong with me that I would be okay
with pretending that my grandmother, or friend, or whomever it may be, has just
gone away for a bit, instead of honoring their life.
But my thought process is, eventually
you’ll forget, I know I will. I am capable of pushing pain aside and pretending
like it never happened, what used to be a distant memory seems like only a
vaguely familiar dream. With little thought comes little emotion. And then
again, I’m the girl who could stare at the final statements given by the people
on death row just before their execution and cry my eyes out because I’m so
devastated that they died. Everyone cries for the jack ass that pissed off the
wrong guy, but no one cries for the guy that was in the wrong place at the
wrong time in a confused time in a young life.
I say I
want happiness instead of mournfulness, and yet all I write about is morbid,
depressing things. But I don’t write them in a way because I’m sad about them,
I write about them because they are powerful emotions to work with. It makes
the piece I’m working with more life-like because, well, life is full of all of
that sullen shit. I’d rather be dark and surprised by days of happiness and
joy, than happy and constantly disappointed with the darkness of the world.
However, I can be content and serene with the realization of the way the world
is. I can make it okay and I can overcome it. I just also know how to embrace
the feelings that everyone hates to have. I like writing about them because they
relate to more people, whether they like it or not, than happy stories. Happy
stories set people up for dissatisfaction because reality will never be romance
novel.
Honestly, I have no clue what I’m
saying right now. The words you are reading are raw and real, with absolutely
no thoughts behind them. I’m just writing to clear my head. I don’t know how to
feel anymore. I feel torn. I feel frustrated, overwhelmed, stressed, sad (I think),
excited, anxious, nervous. What awaits me after this? Am I ready for it? Will I
achieve what I dream to? Will I make something of myself? Or will I end up like
everyone else in this damn place. Unhappily married, buckled down with
children, and a job they can barely wake up for. I can’t let the one life I have
go to waste. I won’t get trapped like the ones before me. I will live my dream.
I am a realist. I do know it will be hard, but I also know that I can’t just
give up. I won’t give up. I will find out who I am. I will know how to feel.
And if I don’t I’ll go with the flow. I can make this life worth living. Am I capable
of loving? Am I capable of feeling things I should feel at appropriate times?
Will I forever be fucked in the head? I will grow to accept this. I am okay. I
like who I am. And I like a challenge. So let me figure myself out as my new
task in life. I am my own life puzzle.
I am content with myself. I love who
I am. I love writing. I love passion. I love adventure. Does that mean I love
life? Or does that mean that I love what I can make of life?
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