flow, creep, drip, crash

“I’m 28 now — do I  wish  I had a husband and kids? Yes, of course, but I don’t. It does bother me, because I really want it, but I also realize that I have a lot of talents and things I’m doing right now and that I travel a lot and that maybe, I’ve got some things I still need to accomplish before we meet each other…” shrug.

 

I wanted to stand up, on the other side of the class room, and wave both arms at her, this visiting poet. “HEY! Hey, lady —  me too!  I just turned 27 and I’m in the  same  freakin boat as you!” Instead, I nodded my head up and down, very enthusiastically, like: Yeah… yeah. Exactly.

 

I talk about loneliness a lot because I am lonely, and I talk about missing people because I do. I try to keep myself busy (like the guy pictured below), and I’m successful with this to such an extent that it’s probably unhealthy.

 

never stop parks and rec

 

I eat a lot and then don’t eat enough; get tattoos as a socially-acceptable way of replacing bad habits but still miss seeing the blood; buy old scarves and dying plants to feel a little warmer, inside and out; drink a latte seventeen days in a row and then get off of them for a while; give a Chipotle gift card to the homeless man I see so often he feels like a friend and then worry over whether or not the bar code will malfunction when he goes to use it; still praise the boy who used my body for doing better with his finances; and try wearing sandals so that the fresh, flowing air can somehow invigorate me — change me,  transform me,  from the feet up…

But I’m not changing the way I want to… and what I mean by that is, the great depression isn’t relenting. You can’t blow it away, sweat it out, fill it up or dig past it. I’ve tried. It’s deeply embedded in me — tall, taller than me, and seemingly bottomless. I can’t bike fast enough for it to do anything other than trail behind me for a little while and then catch up quickly. It’s insane.

And it makes me feel insane, because I watch other people watching TV and dining out and playing on their phones and they seem happy enough, but those things don’t make me happy. I feel I’m missing something extremely important that I can’t place, although I call it companionship, and I say it’s love.

My mom’s going to text me after reading this and say that I need god, and she could be right, but I don’t (and won’t) have one. I think it’s great that some people do, but at my core, the capacity for belief just isn’t there. Fairy tales are lovely to read and think about, but they aren’t real. God and eternal life and perfect health and reunion with the dead souls we loved sound a lot (too much) like fairy tale components to me — nice, but unreal.

Honestly (and I’ve said this before), the whole “hope of heaven” thing sounds like a grand coping mechanism; the supreme delusion. I’m not trying to be mean, or rude; this is just how it is for me, and for me,  that’s just how it is. 

My mom likes to think this will change someday — that things will “click” back into place. I’m really sorry, mom. My lack of belief is fundamental — living inside of me, manifesting as me, tangible as a bone. It’s not a phase or an election so I can “live however I want” (btw, living “however I want” isn’t very crazy: I’m hyper-productive, go to bed at 8, drink coffee, and write stories).

 

IMG_4586

 

There are so many days where I just want to end this — you lose a brother, husband, dog and your old god and it happens. Shit happens. You’re only 27 but you’re already ready to go, but the thing is that you know your mom’s already lost a child and you’ve got two dogs at home who are still alive and they like you,  they depend on you,  so you can’t – with a good conscience – leave while all of them are still around…

One consoling thing is that you can still sense the magic out there — you’re still getting some sparks: you feel them inside the cafe, down at the river, when you taste avocado; they just don’t stay with you.

You feel like throwing up, you’re so anxious; you feel terrible about yourself because you can sense the way other people (you believe this) look down on you for your instability, your wildcardness. Like: You’re here, we see you, but we don’t care for you very much. We’d really rather you not be around. I get these vibes, some places. Distinct vibes.

It’s the way they do, or don’t, look at me; the things they will, or won’t, say. People have this incredible ability of making you feel absolutely worthless without saying a damn thing, and then, you feel indescribably shitty but don’t know how to fix it, because you don’t know  exactly why  you’re shitty — you simply believe them and their crock of shit (perceived or real) instead of trusting yourself. You want so much to be at peace with everyone and to be accepted by the world and you feel like everything you say and do indicates this, but they’re just not having it…

I say I’m shaking it off (like Taylor); I say I’m trying to be like water (like Bruce); but the judgment of others (again, real or imagined — it still feels the same) seems to flow with me like leaves that fall and flow with the river. I love leaves, and I generally love people, but sometimes, they REALLY suck.

 

I told my best friend I was doing better this morning (mentally and emotionally). We were sitting at the table, talking; our other roommate padded softly down the stairs and then leaned back against the kitchen counter, facing us and combing his long hair with his fingers.

mmmmmbullshit, my best friend coughed into his hand. Our roommate smirked at the floor, and even I smiled. We’re all missing someone right now, so we all get it.

Ha-ha, I said. I really am, though — compared to the last three years, I AM doing better. I’m dropping the name, doubling my class load next semester, baking a casserole later today… I felt like crying until I couldn’t breathe, like when I was a child. I felt like not breathing for so long that I passed out. I just wanted to not carry all of this weight for a little while, however long, I don’t care anymore.

 

I played music at the University of Montevallo last night; a short four-song set. I had turned some reverb on, the mic was set-up really well, and the stage lighting was great. They’d let me pick the color: rose. One of the AV guys had even snuck a fake plant out of the nearby post office, placing it onto the stage as a prop. It was cute.

I heard someone counting down from 5 and then saw one of the floor cameras creeping toward me… rolling. I placed my fingers on my fret-board, barely feeling the nickel underneath my callouses, and then looked over to my right, because I couldn’t help it; still no keyboard. I sang a song, and another, and another, and another.

I don’t know what to do. Anyone reading this work with magic? Know how to set a person,  some heartbroken-loser-girl,  free?

 

IMG_4591

 

Thoughts we both might like:

  • “I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.” Carl Gustav Jung
  • “How can you change when you think who you are is what you think and what you think is what others made you think?” Sangram Lama
  • “If you can’t climb it, why not go through it?” Lifehack.org 
  • “Don’t make a plan of fighting. That is a very good way to lose your teeth. If you try to remember, you will lose. Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless, like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup; you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle; you put water into a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow, or creep, or drip, or crash… be water, my friend.” Bruce Lee

 

 

Still here,

Aun Aqui

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