I routinely take on more than I can handle and with every “never again,” I’m really just taking a breath between my feats of odds-defying survival.
i’m tired of shouldering the weight of things i cannot control.
i’m a fucking wreck
everything’s a trigger
i feel like i’ve given up hope on myself
i want to just cry until things go away
this won’t solve anything
But where exactly is here?
I want to map out this geography of who I am and what I want.
I want to triangulate where I’ve been, where I want to be and where I am; to paint lines of desire and Identification. To put a name to every tiny crack of space in which I manifest.
Wherever I am shamed and glorified. Where you whisper me like you want me all to yourself. Where you sleep when I’m not home. Where you ignore the fact that I was, still am and always will be a part of you. Where you deny who I am for your own ego. Where you whisper me like you can’t stand the fact that you want me so much. Wherever I am remembered and forgotten.
After all that, I’m sure you still won’t be able to pin me down; no compass or atlas will ever get you here.
(via loveyourchaos)
As I’m going through this overhaul, these quiet moments of intense unrest pass. In the maelstrom pounding my mind against itself, I almost spit out the words: “I hate my life.” These words are more true than I realized.
This is stupid
I didn’t even care about this stupid cash cow of a faux holiday (I swear).
I didn’t even care that I got fucking sick this weekend, was stuck in bed all of Sunday, missed the Young Leaders for Empowerment and Advocacy planning committee meeting, didn’t do my Take Back the Night responsibilities, fell behind on my work. No big, another Berkeley weekend.
But god damn, why do I feel so alone when I see your shit? Why’d I click that shit? Honestly, I feel alone and I work so damn hard hoping someone will validate me, give me attention.
Or maybe I’m sick and will regret writing this later.
Fuck.
I hate where I am right now.
I feel lonely and stupid and helpless and small and weak and frail and could someone just hold me please?
When I hear this song, I feel a balmy, Berkeley summer.
I feel you when you tried to get into bed with me. When I said, “We can’t,” you and our friendship as we understood it jumped out of that bed. I ran downstairs and away.
This song is the sunlight through the window and the burnt red of the structural support beams that crossed over our building.
It’s the taste of milk and tea with which I tried to wash out the bitterness and confusion.
I wish it didn’t happen as much as I’m sure you do.
(Source: youtube.com)
I know I don’t want to be where I am. I know I want to be where you are. I know I can’t be where you are. I know I’m not going to stay where I am.
I don’t know where I’m going, exactly.
I change out of my pajamas and back into a pair of jeans, I grab my iPod and pack of Parliaments. My brisk walk to campus is a confused mix of whipping wind and surprise at the warmth of this particular Berkeley evening.
