Last Seen Blogs
Text
i think there’s a lot about myself i don’t understand. i think they are things i can comprehend and rationalise and explain to myself easily; i do this because of this, i do that because of that. but i still don’t feel i understand them. i feel like i’m out of reach even to myself, and what a weird way to feel. because i’m here, i’m in my body and in my mind; i am my body and my mind, and yet i can’t comprehend myself. that i’m a person who can do things and be someone, and who i am is made up of so many different parts of the people and world around me. and that i exist. but sometimes i feel like i don’t exist, despite the irrefutable proof that i do.
i know i exist because of the pit in my stomach. because of the way that my consciousness fleets to the feeling of my heart beating and it instantly begins to beat faster, as if my own organs are so afraid of being perceived they clamber to work harder once they are acknowledged.
and everything i do is to perform. every word i say and write is always being judged by myself and some other unknown audience who doesn’t truly exist, and i don’t know if i want them to. i want my words to be read and praised and there is a constant battle within me that screams i don’t deserve it and whispers but what if you do.
i want to be something great. or good, i think i would settle for good. to be a source of light in the world, that would be good. but i think i’m just a source of nothing. i exist, and i live, and i have friends and relationships and connections. but it’s all nothing isn’t it. but it’s everything. my world can be so small and i think i can make an impact in that world; i can make my friends laugh and smile and feel heard. but they can get that from each other as well, they can get that from everywhere else.
how can i feel so nothing and so everything all at once. some narcissistic animal claws at my throat, tells me that i deserve to be heard and loved and looked at and listened to. but it’s my biggest fear; to be seen and heard and thought about. i hate going outside, i hate answering questions about myself but i yearn for the opportunity to discuss the ideas and emotions that run constantly through my brain. i hate that every time i come home from spending time with anyone, anyone, i feel sick with regret and worry and i panic at the mistakes i made and the missteps i took. i feel disgusted and i loathe my need for attention; why would i think that i should deserve to go out there and take up space and air and peoples time? how incredibly self centred of me, how childish.
because i think there’s always something better for someone to do. to go anywhere or do anything with me? such a waste of time. and i mean that. because there are better friends and better strangers and better family than me, how mortifying that they should have to spend time with me, and waste conversation with me. i feel guilty. i always always feel guilty. i don’t know what for. i don’t know if i was born with this guilt and this grief, but it feels like it. i feel like i’ve always been this way. there was no day during my childhood where i was suddenly overcome with this feeling like sort of right of passage or stepping stone in my coming of age. nothing like that. i was put here, placed here with this sick untameable beast stuck in the cages of my belly and i feel raw with the energy it takes me some days to try and subdue it. it’s grief. and it’s guilt. and i can’t escape either of them. can i?
and where did it all come from.
0 notes
Text
growing up is weird. it’s like one day you have your whole life ahead of you; literally nothing but choices and options, always something that you’re tied to, something forcing you to choose and decide. you lose that when you grow up. you get older and suddenly you’re leaving a place and people that you’ve been tethered to your entire life and the choices you have to make both expand and dwindle right before your eyes. you’re untethered now, you’re free, and yet you feel the path before you thinning rapidly. how can it be that the sea has both risen in an epic tsunami and dwindled down to a puddle all at once?
i feel lost, unmoored, overwhelmed by the expanse of my choices and crushed under the pressing weight of them. it feels contradictory, my current existence. somehow my best years are both behind me and only just starting. i’m in a weird place, a sort of purgatory between childhood and adulthood, it’s cliche, but i’m standing on the cliff face staring down at my far off new beginning and also plummeting so rapidly towards it that i can feel the tickle of the ground against the tip of my nose.
i have so many things to do, and yet i want so badly to not have to do any of them. i want to live forever in my memories, bathe in the warmth of nostalgia and live in a world with the filter of almost-forgotten over it. i reminisce constantly, and despite always telling myself to, i can never seem to live in the present.
only a few years ago i wanted so badly for freedom, for distance from my past, and for the opportunities i thought would be served to me in the future. i’m holding those opportunities now, they stay gripped in my hands, held onto so tightly by a past version of myself that they are now branded into the skin of my palms and i can’t seem to rid myself of them no matter my efforts to shake them off.
i think about my future and am so overwhelmed with a grief of all the “could be’s” and all the “has been’s” in the same moment. so so many different paths, none clearer than the other, so i walk the path of obligation. i dislike having a choice. i want to be instructed on what to do, and then to do it begrudgingly. i want the ability to complain about my existence because i didn’t choose it, i want no responsibility and no weight on my shoulders if i am unhappy or discontent. i don’t want to be the ring leader in my own circus, i want to be a dissatisfied audience member who attended only because they had bought the tickets a month earlier, watching on in horror as the lion eats the tamers face.
i could go to england. i was a child with a weird obsession with the union jack, so wouldn’t it be full circle to move to the dreary UK and live out my life there? wouldn’t that be fulfilling some prophecy? following a dream made shakily in my youth seems reasonable, if i can do something and have everyone around me look at it and agree that it makes sense or was somehow predetermined in a way, that would take away some of my guilt over my own future and however miserable it is.
i don’t want to do the things that i want to do mainly because i don’t know what those things are. i don’t feel fully formed yet, and i’m beginning to think i never will be. i feel lost in an ocean of opportunity, and would swim to shore, only i don’t know which shore to swim to, and there’s a voice in my head telling me it’s better to dive down as deep as possible and discover the secrets that lie below rather than return to safety.
i think in a way i do speak things into existence, but only in the way that once i say something to someone else, i now feel as though i have their eyes constantly on my back and i am terrified to make any unexpected movements or subvert their expectations in any way. i said i was contemplating doing something, so now to not do so would be a disappointment. i think on a logical level i can recognise the falsehood and absurdity of that notion, and yet it’s remains my unwavering truth.
i don’t think i know my own feelings. i hear and read things that resonate strongly, and the ideas that i absorb are ones i try to spew out to my friends and myself, but i don’t know if i believe them. i believe that there are endless opportunities ahead of me and that i should gobble them all up like a greedy child with a plate of lollies; i believe that there are endless opportunities ahead of me and that very idea strikes a fear so deep within me it feels almost primal. i am excited about my future and the unknown; i am horribly depressed by the idea of making new memories when i’m still holding on so desperately to the old ones. change is inevitable and wonderful; change is inevitable and unstoppable and overwhelmingly horrific. i think life is love and love is life and yet so much of me and my existence centres around feelings that feel so distant from love they shouldnt be described in the same language. i think i’m a good person; i know i’m a rotten person.
i don’t know if you can be washed up at my age, but i feel it. i think i’ve experienced everything and yet i know that in even a weeks time i will look back on my own naive self and laugh at my ridiculousness and propensity for angst and the dramatics.
#ramblings#diary#random#writing#growing up#idek if i used half these words right i’m tired#this feels pretentious
0 notes