I thought about how you’re shaped so much by the people who surround you, and how careful you have to be in choosing them for this exact reason, and then I thought, despite all that, in the end maybe you have to lose them all in order to truly find yourself.

I don't need my therapist to tell me that I actually do have anxiety and depression, because i've known that. i've felt and still feel that. but the validation of it coupled with my determination to live best life for self, has made it clear that some things have to change for this to work. the importance of being consistent with my self-care has magnified too, and not just the indulgent kind that i've always been good at. now I'm thinking more of tomorrow, and putting things in place so it'll be just a bit easier for myself. i have to take into account that i'm not always okay. some days i avoid and procrastinate and try to keep to myself. sometimes i'm far along in a project, but then catch myself getting overwhelmed and shifting onto something else entirely. i always come back, and i know that some days i need to flow between different mediums and projects to get context and perspective. but it isn't always that... sometimes the overwhelm feels so big that i'd rather not deal, and sometimes something happens that shakes the rug under my feet and pushes me into seeking comfort and quiet. as much as i support indulgence in our precious lives, there's a difference between expanding because growth is needed, and jumping into new things for the sake of avoiding the discomfort that comes in growing an idea, and seeing it through its many parts. seeing how much i've done that, and knowing that there are extra players is pushing me a bit. just knowing that i am predisposed depression, anxiety, and overthinking makes me want to support myself more. i have many creative visions to grow, and i really don't want my fear of the unknown to slow me down. especially when i don't know what i don't know. whatever happens, i want to go down fighting, because my depression and anxiety cannot get the best of me.

I keep dreaming of coming home to you, but the process seems to be tainted every time. My story is an endless cycle of thunder and beautiful skies that I don’t know whether tomorrow will hold an old beginning or a new ending.

everything continues to move around me, even when my whole world feels like its ending. even when my whole heart feels like its dying. i’m standing here and all i can feel is how fast my chest is pounding.. how slow my mind is pacing.. and even though i’ve got a list of unsaid things, i only wish you can feel exactly what i’m feeling.

i can’t seem to pick between pain or pleasure anymore. I’ll always want to feel good but pain seems to do more of that for me than any temporariness of lust. Because what lust does is it takes me to a place where my imagination is the only sense of vision that seems to be real... just so I can end up losing a sense of what actually is real. And the more vivid my imagination gets from one tiny satisfaction, like the way your aesthetics look when you dress in all black, the more agony I feel when I come back down from my high. Yes my thoughts take me to you here and you there but reality lets me know that you’re not. This is what I do In order to save myself because why let you hurt me when I can hurt myself? When I can be in control of my own suffering..... isolation is my defense, defense is my only pain.

the sun watches what i do... but you... you know all my secrets.

you don’t look at me the same way I look at you. I know because I can see the ending in your eyes every time I come around. The ending that’s already made up in your mind about who I am and who I will be for eternity. About how I will never break your heart and how we’ll spend every Sunday morning fucking the shit out of eachother and call it passionately making love because your favorite jazz song is playing in the back. You gaze at me the way every girl wants to be gazed at. Every girl but me. And maybe because I’m fucked up from fucked up experiences. Or maybe I’m just free in my own sense of diligence. Or maybe... maybe I’m just me. Just here to experience fucking you on Sunday mornings... wanting you to grow a weakness for me... wanting you to want me like you’ve never wanted anything else... wanting you to tell me things I want to hear... wanting you to want me wanting you the same way you want me... just to find yourself forgotten about on a Sunday afternoon. 

learning to know myself more... learning to love myself more...

when things aren't going right, i'm a brighter person. a more active person. a more optimistic person. when everything is going as it should, i'm a darker person. a content person. a confused person. a human being on pause. and right now, i don't know who she is. i try to.... but every time i end up with nothing but a knot.

Me and you haven’t spoken much. And I know you’re waiting for me to open up. Or maybe you can see right through me when I’m at these parties and wonder why I’m standing there, keeping to myself. Maybe you stare and wonder who I really am under this mask I put on every time I step outside of my sanctuary. I bet you make up these theories about me in your mind. maybe even fantasies. Fantasies that are also in my head as I’m standing here watching you and observing how you move through the crowd. I imagine you to be as lost as I am. As deep as i am. As disturbed as I am. Wanting something meaningful but not waiting for it. Or at least, telling yourself that you’re not waiting for it but hoping it is it every single time it shows up in front of your face. Just to learn that it’s not what you want. To be careful with what you want. Questioning if you even know what you want. Maybe we’re the same. Maybe we’re different. But illusions are illusions and reality is reality. And The truth will ruin my own theory of you... your own theory of me... so I’ll just be here, admiring from afar.

I’m not quite sure if I’m her yet.

In the rare moments when I’m not living in my head, I feel myself in my actual body and wonder how I got here. Who am I? Who are all these people? What’s going on? It feels... like I can’t feel anything at all. I’m just here. Here being the result of every decision I’ve made and every feeling I’ve felt.. every feeling I’ve denied. Then I start to drift off and question if you would recognize me today. How would you feel? Would you be disappointed? Or shocked? Would you come closer? Or would you watch from afar? I don’t know. Lately, reality has caught itself up to me. Pain has caught up to me. I just wish you were here to be caught up with me.

there's a lot i don't know, i'm only mortal. and still, you look at me like i'm the answer.. the answer to your imbalance. the answer to your being. yet i go along with it as if i'm perplexed to your immersion of me. and then i play along with it as if we're both eternal. But when can i let you know that its all temporary? that there were others before you and there will be more after you? That what you feel with me, you’ll feel with someone else? or do i continue to entertain a tragedy that itself is a process to your own mastery of non-attachment? severely the way that i had to.. severely the way that i adapted to. adapted to the enlightenment that any form of commitment outside of myself is set up to always be....... broken. but i'm too selfish to tell you.. too selfish to let you in. So I sit and let you think we’re immortal. so i sit and enjoy your company. enjoy your company until another comes that'll fill the void better than you. until another comes to be enlightened. 

Sometimes it feels like I misplaced something and can’t find it anywhere. So I retrace my steps. So I make a mess of everything just to find it again. Just to find you again. but no matter how much I go backwards.. no matter how big of a mess I make.. no matter how hard I wish.. nothing won’t bring you back. I know because I’ve tried.

I’ve got my heads in the clouds and all I can see are the dark twisted things I want to experience. I’ve got my heads in the clouds and all I can see is myself. Myself and no one else. I’m sorry I let you in.. let you in just enough that I still have my sanity. Let you in just enough for you to crave more. And Maybe home for me is different from yours. maybe home for me is an empty one. Empty but occupied. occupied with all my thoughts, insecurities, and sins. Empty with space for them to roam free as they please. So can’t you see? Can’t you see that i’d rather be alone to feel whole than be with company and feel alone? ......You don’t. Because you and I aren’t cut the same. You run away from yourself to someone else just to hide yourself. Hoping you’d find yourself being away from yourself. But I’ve got my heads in the clouds and all I can see is myself. All I can see is me, and just me alone. I can’t give you all of me, I can only give you a little piece. Just enough for me to have my sanity. Just enough for you to crave more. So leave and let me be.. let me be so I can be all that is whole. All that I know.

They tell us to be selfish with our time. Selfish because life’s too short. But they didn’t mention about the people we’d end up hurting. What about them? What happens to them? Do they end up selfish too? Selfish from fear of experiencing the pain again? Do we become monsters from the ones that turned into monsters? then..... in turn... create them?

What if nostalgia is my happily ever after? I mean, nothing else seems to make me smile the way it does.. nothing else holds the comfort I crave the way it does.. truthfully, I’m starting to live in the moment less and less everyday as everything, everywhere triggers my hippocampus. So it plays around like a damaged puzzle to fuck with me. It loves fucking with me. Probably because it knows I keep falling for it. Funny how falling feels like flying. Like I’m not hurting my own self by shutting everyone out and living in a cosmo full of distorted memories masking itself to make me feel.... empty and whole at the same time. But this is what makes me happy. This is what I want. This is my reality. But you... you don’t think I’m actually happy do you? After all, how could someone living in the past truly be happy? But can I ask you, what the fuck do you know about happiness? 

being together isn’t our fate... but we are destined for grateness

I’m constantly trying to understand the art of my own unbalanced mind. Like how my favorite color is grey yet I perceive everything as either black or white. White usually wins. But then white often fades quickly to black. I avoid reliving my darker days but it seems to recycle itself like all the past lovers I can’t let go of. Maybe one day I will. But for now, I belong to myself and they all belong to me too. My twelve year old soul wouldn’t like that concept. She’d be lost in confusion and translation of who I’ve shifted into. Everything was simple..... and everything should be simple. But she hasn’t seen the things I’ve seen. She hasn’t felt the things I felt. And still through all the gloomy days I try to keep her alive. She’s still in here somewhere... lost and waiting to circle back. It’s funny how i forget who I am just to fully become myself again. Just to resurrect. Just to wake up something in me. And through all the smoke, I enjoy being lost. All the scenery.. all the people.. all the lessons.. I’ll be fully myself soon. Maybe a few more pains. Maybe a few more wins.

take deep breaths.. think good thoughts.. think deep breaths.. take good thoughts.......