Sunday, February 16, 2014

Processing

I am being swarmed.

I am being swarmed by decisions, and consequences, made years, even decades prior.

And I can't deal.


I'm living three different lives, and they are battling for me, and I can't face them, I can't fight them, and I can't beat them.

I'm sinking in the mystery of me.  I don't know who I am or what I am.  I thought I was a designer.  I thought I was a writer.  I thought I was me, but my life is revealing that I'm not any of the things I thought that I was. 

My writing...my writing.  I want to grip myself by the shoulders and scream: where is it?  you promised me and promised me, so where is it?  Where are these words?  Where is the story?  You said you were a writer so write for me and prove it.

Nothing really comes.  

You know, if I could make it to June, in one piece.  If I could just make it to June in one piece, the way things are, everything would be fine.

But I can't.  Not the way things are.  You see I moved.  After living in one city for three years, I moved.  However my job is still there.  My friends are still there.  

My possessions, myself, and my possible future are here.

I need a new job.  I need a real income, my finances are also drowning me.  Overwhelming, swarming, and eradicating.  I need to win a writing competition.  Well I need to win several.  There's not much point in being a writer, if you're the only person reading your words.  There must be a point in all of this right?  The stories I have in my head, must have some use, other than swirling in my conscious.  Right?  

The real problem is that I made a prior commitment.

Yes.

I married myself to some bullshit I don't care for.  This sodding design course, which has mutated into a four year stint at uni, with one more year to go.  This bullshit marriage takes up my time, and my income, and we're stuck to each other.  It racks me with guilt, each time I get a poor grade.  It riles up my bravado my self worth, my inner confidence and it says, What's the matter girl?  Can't get a 2:1?  Come on.  Try a little harder, and you can get a 2:1.

And my real love, my writing begs, You don't need that bullshit marriage.  Commit to me, commit to us, and we can take the world by storm.  You left me once, don't do it again, don't betray what we have, for false impressions of glory.  Come here and write damnit.

Why can't I just do both? 

I'm lazy, I'm tired, I'm a coward.

I'm sorry.  I didn't want to start my first post for 2014 with ramblings, and frets.  But the only thing I ever said when I started this blog was that I would write truthfully.  I mean we spend our days telling everyone the bullshit they want to hear.  When people ask me how I am I tell them, yeah I'm fine, trying to do this to do that.  But the truth is --

fuck it I'm not fine

You know I haven't felt fine since I was 18.  I have been petrified, for seven years, and I may still be frightened but I'm not too scared to actually admit to it.  

I don't want to be this way anymore.  I want things to seriously change.  And I need help.  

The truth is that I'm in debt that is infringing my ability to be happy.
The truth is that I want to only take writing at university.
The truth is that I need a car.
The truth is that I need a holiday.
The truth is that I need some serious time to myself.
The truth is that I need my own apartment come June.
The truth is that I'm terrified of winding up alone.

The truth is that I am running out of time, to address all of these truths.  

My next post will be better.  This post had to be honest.  Till next time.  
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