September 12, 2012

I wrote this when I was 21. It was a Wednesday. I was sitting outside of the HCB building on campus at FSU, waiting for my Documentary Film class to start and furiously writing down these thoughts on paper that was meant to take notes on. It was my senior year and four days before my 22nd birthday.

Sometimes, I still feel like this.

Do you ever feel like you know people? Like there was never any space between you and this other person? No gap to fill. It’s like they were always “there” somehow. Like you could look at and speak to one another and no matter what, your words would still stretch to infinity. A never-ending conversation.

I hate when the world goes sideways. Like everything is tilting and off kilter but really everything is still and fine. But my vision goes haywire for a split second and I get panicky because there’s nowhere to sit down and nothing to hold onto. 

And then just as soon it was there, it’s gone. Things are still again. Still, but still moving. Bustling. I realize the noise is still there and the same chaos of the world, the chaos that both propels and destroys, it is still happening all around me. Only, the only one that seems to notice is me. And the only one that’s falling apart is me.

It's so frustrating. It makes me want to escape myself. To fly out of my own head for a bit. Like I want to watch the world for a little instead of being a part of it. I wouldn't need to think so much. My head would just be clear and free and unpolluted and light. Like the sky and breeze, and feel of beautiful days. When the weather is so close to anything that could ever be perfect that it almost hurts, and your head and eyes and heart might explode.

We're all chained to our feelings. To our emotions. It's scary. That's just the way things are...

Sometimes, I wish I was a fraction of the person I pretend to be. Sometimes I believe I am this person. Maybe sometimes I am. Maybe sometimes we all are. But no one is completely authentic, right? We all have expectations and agendas. Even and especially for ourselves. The person we lie to the most is probably ourselves. And we save the worst lies for our self-destruction -

“I’m happy.”
“I’m fine.”
“I'm not hungry."
"I don't love him/her."
This is what I want...”

At the end of the day, I think we’re all so tired from the effort it takes to try to be the way we want ourselves to be. Not from work or school or the long drive home. We’re tired from exerting so much effort to FEEL a certain way...maybe to feel anything at all.

And then all we feel is tired. And we get to close our eyes and turn it off. Until the next day when the machine starts again. The machine of monotony. Eventually, even adventures become monotonous. 

I fear monotony. I think everyone does. Why is it that what we fear most is usually inevitable in life? Probably because we can’t change any of it. Maybe that’s the defeatist in me. I’d like to think it’s the realist in me.