it is so hard, so hard to understand emotions without applying reason, because reason sprouts, and any reason could be true, it just depends on which one i believe. it’s one feeling after the next, one perspective change after the next. i get so tired of this. why do i do this. i know better. or at least that’s what i tell myself. what is real, and why am i bothered by what’s real in the long term. i know that one perspective eliminates the other. and i want the perspective that matches my long term. but why don’t i just enjoy the present. it’s so easy, so easy to enjoy the present when an array of emotions of this shade aren’t involved. i don’t want to erase them i just want to put them on the backburner and hope they don’t smoke up the kitchen overnight. what if my fears are true. why do i have them. why do my loves and fears taste the same and how do i differentiate between either? why do i make this so difficult. why can i not see either love as individual from each other, but interdependent. why am i so lost. why can’t i cry about this. am i numb to this now. am i numb to love. feeling, in general? have i been? for a while? but what do you do when two people occupy your heart and there’s only supposed to be one. what do you when the consistency of who occupies your heart is, in fact, unstable. do i love him. or do i love the other. do i love both. or do i love neither. do i even love myself.
I fear that the waiting place will always be a waiting place.
i fear that what I see is beautiful is just a process of convincing myself.
I fear that one day people won’t be enough to protect me from me.
I fear that the world will not become that meaningful again,
that I begin to tell myself, “you’ve grown used to it.”
I fear this isn’t a phase.
i fear the lack of proper self-care, but still
some form of self-care nonetheless, is what escalates this madness.
Is that . .. possible?
I fear that the moment I do not self-identify with myself, that
I won’t self-identify with anything, because it’s already
starting to happen.
If I fear apathy, is it just waiting to take its course?
Or is this tamed apathy?
Do I need to fully fall apart to come back together?
I do not know how to piece these fragments anymore.
When everything seems too real and unreal and too much and
too less, and too alone and too lonely, at what point do you
cut the bullshit and give up?
Why has everything turned into an escape?
I’m not concerned with the truth, I’m just concerned with
if this matters, because I’ve started to see it for myself that
it doesn’t. If I’m tired of crying and if I’m tired of smiling,
if everything is too fleeting to try and capture,
am I becoming more myself or am I
disappearing? Tell me, are the two distinguishable?
What if they become inseparable?
What if everything centers around reassurance?
Telling myself this over…and over…and over…
again that I will be fine, it could be worse.
What am I trying so hard to prevent?
What if there isn’t a past that pushes me,
What if there isn’t a future that inspires me,
What if it isn’t depression, what if it isn’t anger.
What if it isn’t even…insanity.
What if you’re past relishing in some
mental rut, some emotional fixation, some physical crave.
What do you do?
What if you don’t care to live?
The only difference between inner madness and outward madness is if you decide to show it.
Everybody tells me I’m fine.
I feel fine when I’m with others.
But that’s because I care about my image.
That’s because I’m afraid of people caring.
I’m afraid that people caring won’t bring me back.
What do you do?
I remind myself I’m just in a funk.
I remind myself to do what I love, but what I love
no longer holds the meaning it did, if at
They tell me I’m just overthinking it all.
But i’m already very much aware of this, I have been for…
What if you always come back to this, to this
How do you define “this”?
Self-control always keeps me
in tack. Nothing will happen
to me. In a moment’s spare, this will be
irrelevant. This is the worst part. Instability.
What would you do if money did not matter? my best friend asks.
“I would travel and I would write.”
That’s perfect, she says.
“But it isn’t, because what I want to do for the rest of my doesn’t pay and I need to find something that does.”
My ultimate goal is to live, to love, to understand, to know less as I see more. I don’t have materialistic goals. I don’t dream of getting married, I don’t dream of having children and owning a house, I never really have. I don’t have a career goal – the idea of psychology just seems nice.
“Life has just become so dismally meaningless. There are moments of happiness and I think back to the hour before and think, Lucie you were silly for being sad but then the sadness always comes back. I don’t know what to do, everything comes and goes in drastic waves”
What things will make you sad? she asks
“Working at a job that doesn’t contribute to my happiness. I don’t think I like to get paid for what I do, for anything, really. I love kids until I get paid to watch them…for 8 hours a day. I don’t have people I feel close to. I’ve become less connected to myself, so as a result I’ve become disconnected to everything around me”
What would do if money did not matter? she asks.
I would drive down to Los Angeles come evening because I wanted to, because I grew tired of San Jose and I wanted to see the sunrise from Southern California. I would go see the aurora lights in Norway. I would see the enchanting autumn of Alaska, the cherry blossoms of Taiwan, the animal footsteps in Africa. I would visit my penpal best friend in Serbia, and we would drink wine and she’d introduce me to all her kind friends. I would have enough time and desire in the day to bake enough cookies and muffins, pack them into little containers or ziploc bags, print out inspiration quotes taped on the front, and hand them to homeless people. I would fly back home so I could hug my brother and ask him to please not grow up too fast, to always remember me when he’s an adult. I would find a vocal coach. I would take time to resolve these performance anxiety issues I have so that I could sing in front of people at the top of my lungs, so that I could play the piano in front of others. I would paint with my fingers and I would buy all the books that capture my interest. I would befriend strangers who would be willing to sit with me at the empty bench just right over there. I would wipe away all the tears that are shed. I would greet the shadows in dark alleys. I would run through the forest and laugh, and laugh, and keep laughing. I would sleep in the backseat of my car. I would take the time to muster up enough courage to tell my parents what I stand for so that I could finally feel loved, even though I know they love me, but a fact is different from an emotion. I would go to the ocean and splash through waves and learn how to swim, or at least be fearless enough to embrace it.
I would be a gypsy. I’d be the little Indigo Child that I am.
I wouldn’t feel like this.
And what have you become because money does matter? I ask myself.
I’ve grown sad. i’ve grown sad that I mimic the posture of willow trees and my heartbeat resonates with raindrops falling. That’s the thing about people who know exactly what they stand for – you then recognize everything that isn’t part of what you stand for and you see that these obstacles stunt your true path. Awareness and intelligence are both double-edged swords. Adding a stubborn attitude to the situation amplifies the loneliness. You become stuck in the present, You lose sight of the broader picture. They say you need to suffer through the thunderstorm to see the rainbow, but I imagine a world where I am happy, loving, inspired, and it’s not impossible, it’s damn not, because I was that girl.
“I don’t know where this childlike free Lucie went.”
I miss her too, she solemnly responds.
I cry. I cry.
It’s just one of those days. It’s just one of those weeks. It’s just one of those months. It’s just a phase, it’s just a phase, you’ll grow out of it.
You can look like you have everything on the outside, but that’s not what you want. Nothing matters on the outside if you don’t feel anything on the inside.
I tell my best friend I feel as if I unknowingly was dropped in a forest, and I look up searching for rays of sunshine, but I see none. The forest isn’t dark, you see, there is nothing to be frightened of. But it isn’t light.
“So lost” she says.