Brat Sized

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Vali-Dating

Hanging out with your ex can go in a number of directions. It can be terrifying and it can be eye opening and it can even be motivational. When I hung out with mine this past weekend it had been a year since we had seen each other last. He flew out to surprise me on my birthday last year from Los Angeles and I was pissed about it because it was right when I was moving and I had to entertain him. Ungrateful is the least you could say. Now I see him and he is perfect, everything going for him. Happiness, a job he loves, somewhat of a steady and comfortable income, good friends, a beautiful home and all only after two years since he moved. I’m so fucking proud of him and then I reflect on what I would have to offer. It’s funny because when I define myself alone in my room and what I’ve accomplished since moving myself I feel really small, weak, weird and insecure. But when I’m with him, when the knowledge that the person choose to love loves me back I am confident in all my skills. I am beautiful. I have clear goals and a strong opinion. I have a future. I don’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion and that confidence makes me connect with the world around me. Needing to be validated is obviously a weak characteristic but can it be denied completely? 

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Depression is narcissism. Is depression narcissist? At a time of new beginnings we need to be our strongest. Without a support system are we stronger? Can we be stronger alone because there are no hands to hold. Or fall with no palms to grip. become more appreciative of the tree branches we have to reach on the way down. become less afraid of heights. without a network, we are alone with only ourselves to talk to. how can that not create narcissism? What breaks the cycle once we entered the track? Isolation is not the answer. 

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All is not evil

As organs shift and brain swell and contract (do they do that?) every day we grow or we stay roughly the same. Until about five months ago I wrote poetry everyday. I did this for over a year or two. Wake up, stretch, write a poem. Granted an hour before that I popped a magic little pill that would turn my brain on at 7 am and keep it buzzing all day. In my quest to have an organic and honest life I’ve let myself get lazy insisting that an organic happy life isn’t filled with tasks to cross off and isn’t feeding the ego. From that desire to balance organic will and break out of the medically driven routine I was so familiar with I let go of all the habits I associated with the mechanical life. But those habits were things I loved. Writing poems, going on long solo hikes, waking up for the sunrise, reading and drawing and painting. I’m scared my only motivations stem from anger or medication. Paranoid that distractions and opinions have overwhelmed my original identity, or maybe not original but at least authentic.

Tonight I read the feminist blogs and culture rags I’ve neglected in exchange for summer sun, rotting away with netflix, a cynical view of uniform identification, isolation and the vote that ignorance is bliss. Like many of the American population I’ve stopped reading, watching and listening to politics because of the repetition, physical nausea and shock entailed. But removing my boat from the societal wave will just leave me stranded on an island. An island that doesn’t care about the rest of the world and community at ends.

I want to ride the wave.

I want to be free of medication, paranoia and fear. 

I want to wake up, stretch and write poetry.

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lil tings

It’s the little things. Like the way wet dirt smells. or finding a really soft sweatshirt for a steal. or cooking something that actually has flavor. staying sober on purpose for awhile because your not that girl anymore but peer pressure is a bitch. or reading in the presunset light. or having a super smooth interaction with the grocery cashier. making a joke that lands. feeling confident wearing you hair up. feeling confident in a potentially poor housing decision that will have a serious roles in one of your.... or not letting yourself get too carried away with functional anxiety. 

I think I know what I want but no way to really know until it’s done. 

I know what I don’t want.

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If that’s not

Just wrote a really tasty piece about the irony of life and impulse control and benedryl vs. bee stings but then my internet crashed.

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E for Effort

Not sure what I’m failing to get across but certainly constantly frustrated. Maybe that’s all that is getting across: frustration. No one wants to deal with frustration. Why would anyone want to deal with someone else’s frustration. When I took the oath to believe that everything is nothing (taken yesterday) I imagined that giant shift would have happened in my overall approach to life. That I would be touching clairvoyency. Light and bright like a hilarious fairy. All I managed to do was break my diet, make noticeably forced small talk, be visibly frustrated and send a weird facebook message to my former coworker. I’d like to think that all of these failures will lead to something because I genuinely put myself out there but in the religion of nothing matters there is nothing to be lead to. In which case I’m just the not chill asshole with too high expectations of social interactions. 

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Hello syberworld

This could be it. My big chance at creating that original content we all crave. an anonymous fountain of insight from the very important view of the outlier. Or the try-hard to not try-hard. I recently read a thinkpiece about the status of society’s importance on importance. The need for community approval. The resistance to washing in with crashing tides. Each our own moon. With caffeinated fingers and ten lbs to loose. 

With no journal in hand I walk, hot into the world that I both pray to avoid and long to gain love. As my roommate has loud sex next with her door open in the room next to mine I know that everything is just leading up to the next thing and then the thing after that. All we can hope for anymore is just too look good in the pictures that we will forever be reinventing into the peak. 8th grade, 12th grade, sophmore year, 2015. When we learn that all grass is usually brown we can atleast equate essentially that all grass is green. However with the beauty of technology those fleeting memories of inside jokes, haunting smells, and worldly discoveries are organized into how well we wore our place in life. What our qualifications are and how well do our headshots hold up. Don’t be fooled by your own mirror, certainly not your own hands. As you sit awkwardly on the couch with your roommate, the one who says nothing but expects you to talk more, you feel those palms melt in to the couch. Melt into the idea of coping with a routine where you cope with other people who all cope with unjustified robbery of time.