Finity For Now

Oh hello there. How have you been? Yeah? That's really good to hear. Me too :)

Basic updates: moved out, switched job location, still not going to school, still happy about it... reading more, keeping my turtle alive, staying in touch with friends... keeping my room clean, writing on a desk calendar,


and other stuff, I guess. Other stuff that doesn't encapsulate the discrepancies between who I am now and who I used to be. I guess you really can grow up all at once. Well, no you can't. But big portions present themselves when allowed. I guess collective shock at my actual age doesn't determine that I'm as old as I should be.

One thing I've noticed is that the part of me that would challenge anybody and their mother to a Who Can Love Somebody the Best fight is fighting to get out. I miss being in love with the same ferocity that I use to keep people at a distance. If that isn't shooting yourself in the foot, I don't know what is.

I still get panic attacks. I still feel like I'm preemptively grieving something. I still don't talk to anybody face-to-face as much as I process on this screen. It's like I don't even care if you know; I just don't want to tell you. That must be the gap between considering myself transparent and being told I'm not.

I'm still not writing. I still talk to God. I'm still having a hard time answering the question "what do you want to do?" I'm still learning how to enjoy alone time.

Maybe I'm an X-men. X-man? X-woman if you're into that sort of anti-sexist crap. I don't know what my power is, but I feel internally conflicted on emotional and physical levels. Like something's fusing within me and will manifest as something that people talk about in either hushed tones or shameless exclamations.

I'm mad at myself for having every single part of a Happiness Equation and not being at peace. I'm mad at myself for "living in the moment" and recalling each moment as one devoted to wondering how to live in such a moment. I'm mad at myself for thinking myself into holes. I'm mad at myself for wondering if this blog is a detriment. Either it's the most honest portal I have, or I associate its posts with depression and angst and cannot post outside of either.

Hmmm

Who knows.

Don't worry, Murray. Each minute passes until there aren't any anymore, and that's a good thing.

***

I wrote that an hour ago. These are further thoughts:
-sure, sleep solves everything, but you can't sleep all day
-I try to care less about a lot of stuff. I really do. People who care less seem happier.
-It's quite possible that I refuse to let people love me. That's a really therapist-y thing to say, and maybe by my 21st birthday I won't come to therapist-y conclusions anymore, but the more likely fact is that I will.
-I need many, many more tattoos. I can't take them to heaven, and time is running out.