i have spent the better part of this week in a state of confusion that borders on panic. life has never seemed so uncertain. i have never felt so unsure of myself. it’s been difficult for me to distinguish days. i couldn’t tell you what happened when, when i wrote what, what i wore on a certain days. days blend. weeks blend. i feel like time is running ahead of me, only turning around to spit in my face.
there was a time when i was so determined to find my purpose and then to live it to the fullest. there was a time when i could always feel God’s hand in mine. there was a time when i knew i’d always be okay, no matter what, i’d be okay. there was a time when God, life, the universe all offered me reassurance. but that’s not the case anymore. i have moments where i cannot breath and in a restless frenzy i don’t even know what to do to calm myself.
i’ve spent countless hours trying to figure out what it is that gives me joy. pure joy. the type of joy that lasts longer than a conversation, then a session with friends, then an episode of my favorite show. i’ve been searching for joy that lasts beyond the last word of a poem, the last note of a song. and i just don’t know.
i don’t know what motivates me, i don’t know what i really truly believe in. i don’t know where to get courage from. i don’t know how to make things better for myself, or for others.
i don’t know where to go or what to do, i have no clue what to choose, what to walk to or what to run away from. i feel trapped in an infinity of space, and i am suffocated by paradoxes. i am fighting and fighting and fighting, only to find that i keep losing. i don’t even know what i’m fighting for. i don’t even know what i’m fighting against.
these damn paradoxes. these damn paradoxes give me peace. at one point i came to the understand that accepting paradoxes makes for easier living. that seemingly conflicting forces could be side by side and somehow maintain balance. i don’t even know how to begin explaining myself.
i am sick of blogging. i am sick of vomiting thoughts and ideas, i’m sick of trying to convince myself of things through words i spill out from a courage i fake. i am so sick of the honesty that i push myself to put out here. and for what i don’t know. for friends? for strangers? for previous lovers? it doesn’t seem to be just for myself, anyone, or anything anymore.
i wish i had a cure, then there would be incentive, there would be direction. there would be hope. but i can’t even pinpoint what the problem is. all i know is that i’m bouncing around in a bipolar state of existence. extremities will be the death of me, and my exhaustion leaves me raccoon-faced wishing for some fatality to find me.
there was a time when all this openness and possibilities felt so freeing.