Still no sunlight

Only 21 minutes until the time of day I started my last entry, 19 months ago. Middle of the night, beginning of the morning. All is quiet. No emails, no IMs, no text messages and even homework seems irrelevant. This is so very rare. I miss writing, I miss contemplation. But that's just residual romanticism or predictable human dissatisfaction. Where am I headed? What am I now? Is this what I want to be? I've charged forward as hard as I could muster and I haven't looked up for a long, long time.

A long moment of thinking and still all I can think of is to recite the facts, but facts won't fill the anxious void that keeps me awake. I'm certainly not who I was 19 months ago. I'm barely who I was a year ago, which is a good place to begin this current chapter. Do people recognize me? Do they even see me? Is it good or bad? I'm writing like a kindergartner.

"Rest" is what people recommend for me. "Time." I don't know what that is, and so I don't know how to get it. It's hard to even want it anymore. And "people" is mostly no one at all.

Do other people get "rest" and "time?" In the tiny moments I open the window of my lonely tower it seems the climate out there is nervous and starved. Am I nervous and starved? I believe I am. Is it a reflection or reality that I perceive?

I miss writing. I miss expression.

Barry sleeps. He always does. I can't believe how many months it took for me to look up to find that he doesn't see me -- again or anymore, hard to tell the difference. It's not entirely his fault. Still, I wish he were stronger. I wish he could lead me, and I wish I would then follow. I wish he wouldn't doubt us whenever I need him most. He is the footprints story, except he really is gone.

I wish I had God, or anything like it. I even wish I had something as simple as yoga. I'm void, I'm a shell, a cog in a machine, turning hard and perpetually. How did I get here? I was trying to do the right thing, trying what I hadn't or couldn't try before. It seems like people who don't have my worries do it this way, but I'm not them and what do I know? I will never be them. That's not just self-pity, it's a fact. That's also not entirely awful, but I'm at a loss.

Connie has not been an option for a very long time. I need to find my own way, but despite staying a very meticulously plotted course, I believe I'm pretty lost. I'm not hopeful. I struggle hard with optimism, but I manage to get up in the morning. All Barry has to do is scratch at the surface with his menacing negativity and I'm an insecure pretense. Reason has allowed me to stand, but I'm losing my soul. How can he possibly think I'm emotional or sensitive? It's all excuses and misfires with him. He rejects me when I bear vulnerability, but that's not supposed to make me crazy. I'm still expected to remain calm.

By the way, "crazy" is not an emotion.

What I "feel" isn't exactly loneliness, or even desperation. I used to be so passionate and driven by emotion. Now that I have a new set of learned tools, I can't even count on those constant passengers. It's all just anxiety now, complete and consuming.

Still no sunlight, no sign of sleepiness or calm, no inspiration or motivation. There are worse problems, they say, I say. But I know how to do those ones.

I don't want to do anything

It all seems so pointless.

Delusions of Grandeur

I worked so hard just to have a choice, and now it's sinking in that choice was just an illusion, a desert oasis. 'Round and 'round I spin my hamster wheel along with everyone else, complaining about the greener grass in the distance, waking up this morning and realizing that I really am 30 years old. And NO one actually much better off than me, not really. How do I get off this thing?!? I CAN'T WAKE UP!!!!

We all have paths that make us. Sometimes I get all congratulatory because it feels like I am right on mine. But it seems like most of the time I waste contemplating the paths of others, how they got on it, what it must be like, why it's their path. Wish, wish, wish. I busy myself with pain to gain. Ingrained is the idea that I don't get what I don't deserve...I must be too indulgent still. When it's quiet, I am still nobody to myself.

Plus, why does the negative seem more impactful than the positive?

I have no faith. I think I need to change and make everything on my own. I think...too much. Everything I do is just another means to another means. I don't plan in terms of final goals. They have always seemed too remote. So many dreams.

Also, I've totally isolated myself. Just how am I going to live any life like that?

I get so close. I leap across the finish line and totally glaze over it. Then I am so far away again.

You know what's messed up?

On Tuesday driving home from school, I had this fantastic concept for an art project/show whereby I make super realistic sculptures of objects and.... YEA! Because today is only FRIDAY AFTERNOON and I ALREADY FORGOT THE REST OF THE BRILLIANT CONCEPT! Obviously, I was never going to execute it (specially now) but I am so extremely disheartened by the incredible lack of permanence in my brain. If I can't even remember "brilliant" ideas, how am I ever going to...well, do anything?

Me against the brutes

Apparently I am a mean bitch. As hard as I've worked and constantly work on being self-aware, a small pattern has been made apparent to me that I am "mean." I have to comment that those who, by my judgement, since we're openly passing it, are chauvinistic, brute and uncultured at best. I admit I secretly never cared for them, or felt at odds with them from the start, and perhaps those kept attitudes affected my demeanor around them. Perhaps I was guarded and defensive, which could be misconstrued as "mean.' I also admit that I almost accused these idiots, sorry, *people* of being passive aggressive, or at least projecting their own self-loathing for being less than agreeable, since I only ever find out after they had taken it upon themselves to justify some ill-chosen way in which they acted. However, I suppose you could construe this blog and other gripes as equally passive aggressive, etc. I don't claim to know. I can almost guarantee, though, that it doesn't bother them that anyone could think they are worth being guarded or defensive around, and that the matter would not be easily open to discussion. So I remain irked, offended and hurt. Yes, hurt, because at the core I am a very compassionate person who let others dictate how I should be and was still was thought of as "mean."

Limbo

I'm not as excited as I once (very recently) was. For an unmeasurable, seemingly infinite moment, I was gifted a cloud of wondrous optimism. I existed always with a deep satisfaction, confident that my own endurance had earned me contentment, certain of the future's potential. Strangers literally and constantly stopped to ask me exactly why I was so happy. No joke.

I was warned not to overstay in this perfect life, was told to continue to focus on pinpointing what really meant something to me. But I let it get stale. This last chapter had ended up to be so great that I lingered when I ought to have turned the page.

I'm still here. I should have begun my new chapter with my trip to the Philippines. Instead, I think I robbed myself of the whole experience by refusing to let go of the last. While I was there, I never really felt that I was there. It was easy to blame jet lag, the time difference, the weather, the change in diet, the overwhelming emotions, culture shock....in the end, I think it was me.