the short title for this is scamily. tags beneath the cut (if you wanna be tagged just lmk) as well as a snippet for something else I started today. ID in alt.
@cavaleriesix :3
Here's the other snippet for the completely new work: cw for body detachment(? I think that's the term to use for it)
i know where the emotion is coming from, and yet i cannot stop it
though i think the question really is: why is an emotional high almost always followed by an emotional low? why can i not go to sleep happy and awake the same way? why can’t i ever get to the point of falling asleep perfectly content? why do i expect every happy moment to last forever and why does it feel like doom that inevitably, the joy rubs off?
and i’ve forgotten the line that comes after this, and what’s to come after that, so perhaps i should rephrase, regroup: i feel like i’m folding in on myself. i fold in on myself and break in doing so and when i remember to be a human being, i break again in an attempt to fix myself.
or perhaps it’s better stated like this: i started college in the fall last year and it’s been quite a time and i see the stars more than i did back at home. i almost get hit by bikes walking back to the dorms because my eyes are too busy looking up. i don’t know if i haven’t noticed them as much at home or if it’s because this new place is so flat that you can see everything along the horizon, including the future you’re supposed to be reaching.
i guess i better simplify: i feel like i can’t catch a breath. like there’s never any moment to relax and i always need to keep searching and moving and striving and i would very much desire to scream. plan every moment of your day and just be confused when the plan seems off—why are the lights in the room not on? why does it look like my roommates are not home?—when it turns out in the end, that you keep rushing and rushing so much that your conception of time is ahead and behind.
so, to put it in the barest of turns, to carve out the way to the core: i feel like i am changing. like i am molting. like i am rotting. and from the mess perhaps mushrooms will grow or a vulture may feast, and maybe the new me will not be what remains, but what feasts on the remains.
in some ways i am kinder than i was before but i think i am becoming, on the whole, meaner. i don’t want to become cruel. i don’t want to be tired to the point of disinterest, or use apathy as a defense. and the old adage that no one will remember this other than me is not true, at least not in the short run.
but i try, if not always being so kind to others than at least trying to instill kindness in me. it feels selfish to treat myself with kindness when i can easily recall moments i treated others with pettiness, but i’m trying to stop the growth from spreading in at least one direction, if i can’t stop all of it.
i know where the emotion is coming from, and yet i cannot stop it. and so instead, i do not talk. i do not think. don’t let it grow, don’t let it spread, and perhaps it won’t expand its reaches further though not doing anything won’t free the territory it currently holds.
… i want to return home constantly, but home isn’t a place, not really. even there, i am adrift. even there, i cannot escape.
there is no fleeing, no fighting, so perhaps if i bunker down and weather the storm, it will leave for now. and maybe, once it leaves, i won’t be the ever dutiful attendant waiting for its return, like the wolf awaits the moon, like the earth draws close to the sun.
