Lately, I’ve been so bound that I don’t even know if I can peel my skin off the back of the couch. It’ll glue itself to it like cheap paste, and fall off my body in strips. It’s easy to lose yourself in things other people want. It’s also easy to lose yourself in your own selfishness. That balance between the right and the selfish - I don’t think it’s entirely possible.
I’ve never been one to document my day-to-day very well. Perhaps it’s because my day-to-day seems so stickily mundane that even I get bored in the process of retelling it.
Sometimes, I lose myself in the spiraling paralysis of fear. The kind that starts in the pit of your stomach and doesn’t stop until your retinas freeze in place. Oddly enough, I think I’ve come to master the art of suppressing negative feelings. Of losing that very fear in the numbing mediocre of my every day. Because feelings, when they paralyze you, are worthless.
But I allow myself to forget.
I allow myself to forget and nothing will ever get fixed. I’ll be sitting at the sickly glow of my monitor and feel that tickle at the bottom of my stomach, like a build-up of acid. And I’ll be paralyzed again. And I’ll forget again. Again, again, again.
What it means to be truly living…
Imported from my brain and tongue just met