I am going through a shift, or I want to be, anyways.
Something I've romanticized internally will reveal itself to be what it is and always was. Then I struggle to accept the truth and beat myself up for not realizing it earlier on.
I don't know how to appropriate my feelings. Constantly questioning whether it is important. Whether what I'm pining for is what I should really be pining for or if I am just an idiot.
I see things through these rose tinted glasses and only hear what I want to hear. What I want to hear is that people are inherently good but that notion, as always, subsides. People can't see past their own noses, it isn't their fault, but I desperately want to believe that I can. It's so disconcerting that I find so little worth liking in people. I try to understand or give them the benefit of the doubt but everyone has their own agenda, maybe I'm just angry that I have no say in it. I don't want to think this way about people, as though I'm not included in this generalization. I have this air about me that fuels unhealthy and destructive relationships.
Lo, I am a coward. Somewhere along the line my backbone slowly started to give way and I am a passive little shit with nothing to show for myself.
I can barely muster the courage to act on my own free will without obsessing over stepping on someone's toes.
There is this overwhelming resentment I feel every day that I don't know how to get rid of. People say that creating will be therapeutic and help relieve stress and I keep waiting for this lightness where pressure ruled. Where I won't feel habitually defeated. I should probably just find a shrink and start abusing prescription drugs, then maybe I will stop abusing recreational ones.. I am so unshakably put off by other people, myself at the front of that line.
I've been entertaining the idea of giving myself an allotment of words per day. Doing my best with what few things I may say. Everyone talks too much about meaningless shit. Silence is golden, as I've heard. I waste so much time in my head deliberating & planning out what I should or should not say. My friend Sam told me that's a sign of Schizophrenia, which made me a little nervous. Though putting a limit on my words would probably not quell that habit, only exacerbate it.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to use this as my soap box.
Love,
Samantha
