I Don't Know Anymore

I don't know anything anymore, so I'm going to stop trying to figure things out and just float. I'm a mentally ill basket case so overthinking things is kind of my one and only skill, but I'll just have to work around that.

Y'all probably have no idea what I'm taking about, which is cool, because neither do I half the time. But lately I've been really stressed out. I've relapsed with self-harm, I've been basically having an emotional breakdown a day. I don't think I'm alone in that regard because everybody has been stressing the fuck out for...a long time, honestly.

Still, I'm at a point in my life where I never thought I'd be. I don't really recognize myself, know who I am or who I want to be, or where I'm going.

So, I guess...I'm in my early twenties?

I don't know. I didn't anticipate being this person. I can't say I hate myself, I understand certain reasons why I am the way I am, why it's so hard for me to connect with people or let anybody in, why I'm such an easier target for addiction and destructive behaviors, but understanding doesn't necessarily absolve me or make me feel any better, you know?

At the end of the day, all of the questions we ask ourselves - Am I a good person? Do I have a soul? Is there a God? Am I wasting my life? - are all in our heads, and they'll stay that way, like they always have, until we die. So it doesn't really matter.

But then again, knowing it doesn't matter also doesn't make me feel better. Or make me any less guilty for existing.

I read in this Grimes interview recently where she said something like, she's sorry she can't do anything more useful to society than sing or produce, and I can relate to that. I've never really felt useful/necessary. I never didn't feel useful or necessary growing up, but I hadn't fallen into a void of depression, apathy, and emotional trauma at that point, either, so I don't know.

This post isn't meant to sound as angsty and whiny as it does, but I find it really fucking crazy that there are people who wake up and go through their day and don't have to contend with the constant urge to end their own lives and/or do fucked up shit, that people get through a day without having an intrusive thought or purposely chasing down their own darkest memories even though they know it isn't a good idea.

I don't know what it is to not be in the middle of a crisis, because everything is a crisis for me. The fact that I exist, in this universe, in a physical human form, is a crisis. I am not equipped to deal with this shit.

I'm also not equipped to kill myself.

I mean, yeah, I want to on a daily basis (awkward lmao) but I'm not about to rush out and do it. I don't know what stops me, if it's just fear of physical pain or a natural survival drive, but something does. I'm not going to act like I don't self-harm, because I feel like hiding it does more harm than good and, honestly, I'd rather be open about the fact that if you want to even try and recover, you're going to fucking relapse a few times. I relapse. At least I'm trying to do better for myself. Which is all any of us are in a position to do, honestly.

All I'm saying is that a lot of people tell me I seem like I have things figured out, from an outside perspective. But I don't.

I'm stoned every day, I have literally one friend, who I rarely see, and 99% of my time is spent in one room, in the dark, writing or beating myself up for not writing.

I'm 21, I still live at home, I'm borderline and ocd as fuck, I'm not happy with my career, and I have zero close personal relationships.

But I'm still here. I'm counting that as a win even though I don't particularly like myself or my life, because I'm alive and I'm fighting and I'm pretty sure I'm going to look my demons in the eye and kick their asses, any day now.

I don't believe in happily ever after. I don't believe I'm going to wake up one day a month or a year or five years from now and magically be happy. But I do know that if I do wake up a year or five years from now, it's going to be the same way I do now - fighting. I know that I've been through some of my darkest moments and woken up the next morning even though ever fiber of my being was screaming that I wouldn't, or that I couldn't.

I want to be a better person, I'm fighting to be a better person, and I'm serving paranormal romance escapism realness along the way. That's all I know how to do, so I'll make it work.

The truth is I'm not writing this post for anybody else. I'm writing it for myself, to let myself know it's okay to keep moving.

Jessica Jones is a Masterpiece and I'm Really Tired

It's 3:51 am and I'm sitting in my room listening to this and dreading work tomorrow. I have a 2 to 10:30 shift, but I'll be at the mall by 12 because of my shitty bus route. I hate living outside of the city - I feel like I'm always mentioning that, but I really do. It's a half an hour walk to the bus stop, and at the halfway mark there's this dead raccoon with it's innards spilling out that I have to cross the road to avoid, and I'm tired of all my music but haven't had time to download anything new, so it's also boring as hell.

I guess I can take advantage of being early tomorrow by doing some more Christmas shopping. I still need gifts for my brother and cousin, and the gifts I got for my parents and best friend are incomplete. I also might buy lunch. But maybe not. Because I always feel guilty spending money.

My dad paid for this new laptop, so I owe him about 600 dollars, and I should be saving my money for that, on top of gas money. I don't know. It's really hard being poor. I'm sure most of you already know that. And it's not like I'm destitute or anything. At all. But I make 10 bucks an hour and I'm only working seasonal and gas is expensive and I need so many things that now that I have money it's pulling me in different directions - I need to pay my dad back. I also need new clothes. I also need stuff like medication and hygienic products I haven't been able to afford for a long time now, and I'm also supposed to be saving up for my passport, and for a phone, and it's so hard to try to balance everything I need to do on this budget.

So that's where I'm at this week. I got some work done on SOSAS, and two short chapters drafted on A Darkness So Divine, and that was fun. I wish I could write more. I wish I wasn't near-dead every time I came home at night.

For now I'm fitting anything in anywhere I can. It's hard, and it's making me feel guilty that I can't make more time for it, but on top of work and my commute and generally being a human (eating/sleeping/fighting mental illness) it's harder than it should be. But I'm going to do this. Because I have to do this. Because I've wanted it since I was ten years old and I don't think I'll ever want anything more. I don't think I'll ever love anything more than I love words, and the way they twist together on the page until I'm lost and everything else that I'm worried about doesn't matter, because at least I have this escape.

When seasonal is over, and my last semester of school is over, I'll be able to devote the time to this that it deserves. Until then, I'll have to keep scrapping by writing whenever I can squeeze it in, for an hour here or thirty minutes there, between shifts of working and sleeping.

And trying not to slap customers in the face when they snap at me for shit that isn't under my control.

Ah, the joys of retail.

Anyway, when I'm not working, writing, or sleeping, I've been watching Jessica Jones. I just got Netflix, and I was so excited to get to start watching this show - it hasn't disappointed me. I'm only on episode 7 or 8, but it's amazing, and it's making me appreciate David Tenant even though I hated him in Dr. Who. To be fair, the only one I actually enjoyed was Christopher Eccleston. I mean, Matt Smith is really handsome and sweet, but I can take or leave his Dr. And I hate the current one almost as much as I did Tenant.

But he's brilliant as Kilgrave. I mean, this show scares me. It's been pretty disturbing at times, and I've even teared up at a couple of points (to be fair, everything makes me tear up these days- movie trailers, good songs, book endings . . . maybe I'm turning into a softy) but still, I'm addicted.

I also ran down to the book store on my break and bought a copy of Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo. I'm sixty-eight pages in and loving it, and me and the clerk had a nice chat about the Darkling, which was fun. I'm always blown away when I meet a book lover I share favourite series with in person, because that never happens.

Also, hmm - Kilgrave and the Darkling. Can you tell I'm fascinated by amorality?

My obsession for dangerous sociopaths aside, my obsession with herbal tea just made me spend 10 dollars on a pack of 12 gourmet tea bags from David's Teas. I grabbed a 12-pack of Buddha's Blend - it's a mix of white and green tea, and it's fucking delicious - but still and hour of work for 12 tea bags. Ugh. I have a problem. My excuse for buying both the tea and the book is, basically, yolo. I'm gonna die someday, so I might as well take pleasure in the small things while I'm here.

Because on some level I know that no matter if I become a famous author, or a pilot, or a marketing guru, or end up homeless and forgotten, no matter what happens to me, if - when - I die some day, these small moments will be all that's left of me that really matter. Having fun with my friends, shopping for gifts for the people I love, taking the first bite of a takeout lunch I probably didn't need, buying a new book just because I crave the words in it that much - those small moments are more important than anything else. And I appreciate my end-goals and I want them more than anything, but I also need to be willing that life is long and short and awful and we don't always get what we want. If I get hit by a bus or die in an unexpected fire tomorrow without ever writing all the books I want, I need to know that I can be happy with the life I've lived. So I'm not trying to forget about my goals, or forget to live while I'm alive, but I'm also not going to forget that sometime it's okay to enjoy the moment and stop worrying about the future for a bit. I have a lot of guilt to work past when it comes to doing things for myself and my mental health and happiness, and I need to remember that it's okay to do things and invest in them just because I enjoy them.

I take comfort in the fact that I'm living with my parents until after I've been out of school for a year, so I have plenty of time to make money and save up, but I still get nervous thinking about the future. Like, what if writing doesn't pan out? What if you're stuck on the same daily grind of day-job, home, write, sleep, wake up, work, write, sleep, repeat, repeat, repeat, for years? What if it's always this much of a struggle to live?

And I understand that that's my anxiety talking, but it's still hard to fight sometimes. So I also take comfort in the fact that no matter what happens, it's all life, it's all experience, and it's all valuable in the long run.

Even now, looking back, some of the memories I value the most from my life are from the times it was most difficult. Because even though I'm struggling, I'm also expanding.

So yeah. That's my mind lately. Tomorrow morning I will wake up and go to work. I'll finish up some Christmas shopping and come home and work some more, and I'll put all of this worrying out of my mind and do what I have to, but at least for tonight, I'm letting myself be anxious. I have to feel it to move past it, so that's what I'll do.