There’s nothing quite like waking up to text messages from three thirst ass dudes to make getting out of bed in the morning that much easier. Which is saying something, because I usually have a really difficult time getting out of bed, and spending thirty minutes swiping left on Tinder is, for the most part, more stimulating than a cup of coffee. What can I say – judging other people first thing in the morning on a sexual level really gets me going. And it’s something that I do all day long, scrolling endlessly through Instagram, fully immune to the fact that people are trying to induce jealousy in their followers by posting artlessly staged pictures of their so-called beautiful lives. Happiness isn’t something that can be quantified by the number of likes you get on your selfies, but, hey, I don’t take selfies, so maybe I’m wrong about that one. Although, as life goes on, and I walk down the street, maybe there is something distinctly relevant about other people in this world and their need for attention. Which is something I refuse to indulge in, but, if for just one minute, I could take the time out of my day to respond to that text message. To swipe right. To double tap on that photo. Maybe this will truly improve the quality of the lives of those around me, although, in the digital era, I’m not the one to blame for training people to tie their self worth to cell phone notifications, so why should I be the one who has to put in all the dirty work? Maybe modern technology should have stopped at the iPod, patted itself on the back and not fallen into the trap of wasting time inventing online gadgets intended to cull advertising dollars while doing little to help this world truly be a better place.
If I stopped writing right now, then maybe I could be beautiful. But, instead, it’s a compulsion, and I am choking. I am being choked by these words, while they stroke my face and tell me it’s going to be okay.
My life would have been okay, but here I am, bent over on this keyboard like a needle in my arm. And I am shooting up gerunds and clauses like heroin, and I am so fucking high. On words.
But – what if? What if I didn’t do that? What if I didn’t waste my days on the clickety clack of nails on this QWERTY and had instead submitted myself to a more noble pursuit? What if I had gotten married? Gone to college and had children? Working at some office with designer shoes and a nice, healthy plant. What would my life be then? But instead I am broken in these moments with nothing left to comfort me except my words. They are the only thing I have left in this world, and I am deserted to my feeble existing. Tending to these words like poison I am about to ingest.
I shake in my boots. They are going to fucking kill me one day. But, until then, I will love them like the lover I’ll never have.
All I do is sit and write, well the rest of the world crumbles around me. Me and these words – that’s the only constant I have in my life. It’s the only thing that I can rely on. Words. Sentences. Vowels and verbs. They exist today, they existed yesterday, and they’ll still be here tomorrow. But everything else in my life? It could be burning to the ground this very moment, and I wouldn’t even notice. I am suffocating myself in words while my money slips out my pockets. While my friends abandon me to my vices. While I slither into various permutations of repulsive addictions. My face is falling off and shattering on the floor, but I have failed to notice how ugly I’ve become because these words. These fucking words. They are strangling me. They have monopolized me and my attention. And everything I do – it’s all words. It’s only words. It’s 200 word count short stories that end in no beautiful conclusion, but I am controlled. I am shackled to this keyboard. A prisoner of the page, and all these words that are demanding to trickle from my mind to yours. While everything else is spinning out of control, and one day I’ll just be dumb and drunk and old and alone. I won’t know what’s happened, but I’ll still be here, decaying and writing like I always have been. Abandoned to words.
I’m going to lose everything I have. I sacrifice the golden calf of everything wonderful in my life to these words. It’s just me, and it’s just these words, and there’s absolutely nothing left except the promise of my future destitution.
Whenever things feel too real, I run away. It’s a defense mechanism I’ve learned over the years after being burned over and over again. Any of my friends will tell you I love them so openly, so fully, but when it comes to romance I shut off completely. I can’t tell you exactly when I put up the wall, but I can tell you about the times I tried to let it down. There have only been two boys I let see me at my most vulnerable and they both died within a year of each other. If I didn’t already feel like a crazy person, this certainly helped me over the edge. They were the only ones I ever felt comfortable even remotely expressing feelings to. But the both of them, regardless of how much I know they loved me, still put me through hell. No matter how open I thought I was being, I was still told that they didn’t realize how much I cared or some other bullshit line. But honestly, doesn’t that seem like a cop out on their part? I mean, I’m not trying to pass blame completely because I know I was at fault in some instances, but just because I’m a strong woman doesn’t mean I don’re want to be loved. I’ve spent so many years wondering what it is about me that isn’t loveable. I’m funny, I’m smart, I’m independent, I’m caring, I’m a babe, and I’m adventurous in various different ways. So what is it exactly that stops boys from wanting to pursue something further? And furthermore, always choosing a girl that is nearly the opposite of me? At almost 28, I still have no answer. These two boys that I was able to be so honest with seemed to get frustrated when I asked. They both, no joke, told me I was “perfect”, yet neither of them wanted to be with me. And now they’re both gone forever. I’ll never be able to show them that I’m not closed off, I’m just confused. Cause really, it just doesn’t seem fair, how can one be both perfect and yet still not enough? I feel like I’ve been fighting this battle for far too long, but how am I supposed to let my guard down when I tried for the only two people I thought really understood me and that still wasn’t enough for either of them? When I was young I spent years questioning what was wrong with me, asking what it was I was doing wrong. But then I found confidence within myself and realized I didn’t need anyone to validate my own self worth. Unfortunately though it seems that confidence began to come off as coldness. It seems as though no matter what I do, I can’t win. My heart ends up broken every time. I either protect myself too much or not enough. Is there a balance?
No, but that’s not it. I’m just losing my fucking mind. As I’m sitting here reeling, feeling completely separated from the decisions that are emanating from my mouth. And from my hands, and instead of feeling absolutely in control of everything I’m doing, I am subjected to this slightly spinning, slightly dizzying sensation of being three feet away from everything that’s happening in my life right now. Pushing through the molasses of my mind to try to regain some semblance of control while some automatic monster sits at the steering wheel and directs me down a path of irreconcilable violence and destruction. Things are getting messy again. I’m making more horrible decisions, and my friendships are slipping through my fingers like sand. My friends are leaving me, and I’m not sure what my master plan is here. I’d like to keep my job. I’d like to have friends. I’d like to look at myself in the mirror and feel like the person looking back is me, but I don’t feel that way. I have been possessed. There is a demon inside me, and why is my life such a mess? And by the time the demon gets bored of ruining my life, and when this demon leaves, what pit of despair will I be clawing out of then? Jesus, help me.