even on a good day, the question is still festering in my mind, what am i doing here? three months in to my fourth year living in the same house in the same town, watching the same shows, working the same job. and i am half ashamed to say it when there are other people with far less. not one single extraordinary second stands out. even on a good day, i am accomplishing not one substantial act, not creating any masterpiece. i’m not starting any movements, not causing any wars.
i haven’t been covered in paint in i don’t know how long. i haven’t stopped thinking and just soaked in the sunlight in forever. i often wish i knew more people, made more friends, tried harder. but honestly, if i think about it more carefully, i truly prefer to be alone. suffering in silence until the sunrise, and i forget all about it. i’ve never enjoyed explaining my emotions, i get off track and then fifteen minutes go by and i’m talking about my coworkers for no reason, because what else is there to relate to anymore. what have i done, but blend in for all this time?
i miss silence. i miss music without words. i miss being lost and finding my way home.
The mistake in thinking there can be an antidote to the uncertainty.”
― David Levithan, The Lover’s Dictionary
gypsy sexuality: romani and outsider perspectives on intimacy.
sex, murder and the meaning of life.
psychology and social sanity.
schizophrenia: cognitive theory, research, and therapy.
the great gatsby.
my mind is all over the place. trying to absorb all forms of knowledge. it’s the same basic concept as when your body craves specific foods when you’re lacking specific nutrients. i’m trying to get a grasp of legends and fantasy and how the mind that creates such magnificent fairy tales and records such detailed accounts in history, can so easily break apart and lose touch of all things real.
i want to get inside my head and twist it around, open it up. remember the way i was as a child, how it connects to this action and that reaction. there has to be a reason for how it sparks and blows its fuses.
the dream catchers never worked above my bed. the potions and spells never made anyone love me, never gave me any luck. maybe i was doing it all wrong, or maybe it was my mind convincing me it hadn’t worked. maybe all those prayers were being answered, i just wasn’t paying attention. i never said i’ve given up on a god, i just don’t want to think about it anymore. eighteen years of the wrong answers to every single question. a, b, c or d what does it matter when you’re just guessing anyway.
what is faith without a little doubt? you can’t tell a lion he’s a kitten and expect him to just go on eating out of your hand forever. you shouldn’t love a wild thing. you shouldn’t keep it caged. it always knows, somehow, it always remembers.