The whole world is moving, but I’m standing still.
Thinking always gets me in to trouble. The more my thoughts compound on top of one another the more encased my ponderous feet become in the rapidly multiplying molasses–thick with consternation and uncertainty. It does me no good whatsoever to dedicate so many of my hours to the process of contemplation. When the investigation is over my results never waver…never vary. I am fucked up. I’ll find the bad in the good and the good in the bad. My already topsy turvy life becomes even more incomprehensible and complicated.
It has become a nightly ritual for me. Instead of welcoming this eight hour selfless indulgence of peace and suspended meditation with open arms– I inexplicably choose to shun it. My incessantly active brain pushes away visions of sheep and fences and instead provides me with those of demons and destruction. Fair trade? Most likely not.
On the bright side, I do typically come out of these ruminative states with fresh outlooks and ideas. That’s always a plus. It’s just that more often than not what I feel in the evening…my convictions, my concrete beliefs, my willingness to change almost instantly dissolve the moment my eyes allow in the first sliver of morning light. It ofttimes seems as though I am two different people–and perhaps even more. It literally makes no sense for me to be so contradictory…and so consistently paradoxical.
An entire day will trickle by–opportunities wasted, yet the tender love that exists between two people is openly embraced. I shirk the responsibilities of a traditional American adult, but am quick to tighten my grip around the girl who stole my heart. Our connection is impossible to ignore–yet despite this, almost every night I reject our relationship and want nothing more than to run the other direction. I doubt her intentions. I abhor her past. And her touch feels lethal and contrived. But, as the colors creep up from beyond the horizon the next morning, all of these doubts dissolve with the night.
It is beyond infuriating. This is not only harmful to me, which I believe would be far more tolerable. But, those around me, those who love and adore the person they know exists inside. They inexplicably continue to steadfastly stand beside this empty shell of an individual. This girl who failed to ever meet any expectation set for her–who neglected to utilize any of the endless reservoirs of potential that reside in her soul–they stay here and wait for me to climb out of the clutches of darkness that have dug their nails into my fragile frame.
I wish I could change for them. I wish I could even provide them with a time line dictating when I’ll be better. Just to give them some sign that I’ll be alright. But, in all honesty I can see no light at the end of the tunnel. What I see when I try to focus on the days ahead of me is nothing more than fog and haze. I like to believe that I have complete control over my future. However, it sometimes appears that my capacity to pull the strings on the path my life takes is limited at best–that the reins are held tightly by a puppeteers hands. And I am once again relegated to surviving each day–my every breath controlled by another’s whims and wants.
Even right now as I sit here, wrapped up in a blanket, hoodie tied tightly around my face, music blaring in my ears, a puppy at my feet… I feel as though I am not all here. That this life I lead is not all mine. I’m pulled in a million directions, but am unable to grasp on to a train heading in any of them. I just remain stuck in neutral. It’s not my heart that’s lacking motivation. It’s not my brain. It’s something deeper and more intricate in its complexities. It’s something I am incapable of unveiling. There is this nagging burden that continues to weigh me down day after day. I can only surmise that if this black cloud is ever dislodged from my entrails and exposed to the air we so frequently inhale… I will be freed from this extended period of servitude and subjugation.
I anticipate this moment with such trepidation.
But, at some point I will either be homeless slash dead or thriving as a productive member of society. I continue to believe I am destined for some type of greatness. No, these are not delusions of grandeur. But, rather an acknowledgment of my obvious abilities, my apparent abundance of creativity, my vivid imagination, my aptitude to slave away like a workhorse, my intense dedication, my desire to please and hopefully with a heavy helping of good karma thrown my way.
That fork in the road is quickly heading my way. I’m spending the majority of my time on my knees praying to the powers that be to prevent any major derailing or head on collisions. I am trying to mentally prepare myself for what is to come. I need to step up and make my family proud. I need to shift my focal point from merely existing to truly stretching my wings and seeing just how far I can fly. I need to be a woman and be the rock my girlfriend deserves.
I need to be the phoenix that I continuously preach myself to be. I need to, well, man up. And the love for my family and my one friend… my soul mate might just be what it takes to step up. I need to learn to not fear the night.