Twisted Dendrites
An excerpt from a chapter in the book I am writing; this piece is written like a journal or record of first person thought.
I'm afraid to try and do and be.. I'm afraid of anyone knowing the real me.. I'm not even sure I know.. I'm fucking confused and frustrated daily, I feel as though I'm in the wrong universe.. which of these things does not belong? Me, I don't belong here.. I don't mean that in a suicidal expression of woe.. I mean that I sense something strong enough to create the questions and notions and perceptions, these attributes we have for a fucking reason and that alone should encourage us, yet.. this world is convinced of it's inabilities and has stunted it's own evolution by doing so... Do they wish to correct that detrimental mistake.. Mistake?! How dare you!? -they'd respond with such overblown ego and inescapable fear.. Yes, fear of the unknown.. All afraid to be something more than they are, because to do so means admitting they - all the billions are regarded universally speaking, as a cosmic level mistake. How dare they?.. Oh, but I hope and wait for the day it happens.. You know, sitting idly by and acting as though I have taken any action.. I am just a voice, unheard and unimportant.. I'm not needed. I am not special. Aren't I though? Just due to the absolute awareness of it all.. Am I not then, one of the others.. can I evolve and assist in creating something better.. Less voice and more action, trust me, I know that I talk too much.. I think, I think so so so much and in so many confusing fucking directions.. To be able to grip my thoughts here in text, is the only way for me to be present.. By writing the fiction that plays out in my mind.. I also ironically do this in order to avoid the complex intensity of my thoughts- I focus on others, I think of the others- when I should be doing and thinking of and for myself.. these intentions and purpose of ability are wasted on paranoia and obsession, it's insulting and I am ashamed.. There is so much capability and such a devastating wall of insecurities blocking and destroying what could be and is there.. Sadly aware of my own life and future, as having absolutely no purpose beyond this twisted half assed display that I have been acting out and upon.. I'm the ignorant one, the one who knows fucking nothing, I am the problem. I am the wall of insecurity and obsession.. Luckily, I have a tiny voice that won't stop reminding me, it could and can be different.. there is a future, as well as, a present where I have my fucking shit together and I'm happy and not alone.. I can make connections with other people.. I can remember, other people exist in my bubble whether I want them there or not and I need to work with, not against them.. I need intention and determination, I have to create it.. somewhere along the line, the path, this twisted dendrite, somewhere is what I need, but first I have to stop questioning myself, I have to leave the conversation long enough to let action through.. to let action replace inaction and happy replace sad.. to allow for change.. I have to stop talking so much, when everything I'm saying is an endless misdirection of wasted time, in the present.. I need a refuge of numbed physical awareness that allows me to simply be a mind, because where I prefer to be, is me.. analyzing everything and nothing all at once, a cosmic collision of thoughts that I don't ever get the time to understand or even take part in the conversation of, the others get these bits that I am missing.. I get left out and mocked at for my failure to make the connections.. these doors and bridges I've never found, not for lack of looking.. I know they are there and I can't make it work, I can't make the connection that I need to and was intended to.. So, I feel down and defeated, let down by myself because there truly is no one else left to blame. I will remain this way, a constant painful mess of walking DNA cluster.
Elle Avery
Wicked Butterfly, Chapter - Flutter