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lollytea · 6 years

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Make something.

"When life gives you lemons," is a fun phrase. It's go getter-y, endlessly optimistic.

But the frustrating part is when you're TRYING to make lemonade but it can only drip drop drip out into a few blops of watery dribble. And its a moldy green. Lemonade is not supposed to look like that.

When life gives you good emotions, its self explanatory. Its useful. Gets shit done. But when you're being leeched from the inside with the bad feelings, you can't produce lemonade. You try but it's never good lemonade.

The only good use for being slumped is making something out of it. Like those writers did in your old school poetry book. Scraping the barrel so you can mass produce words into flowing and "thought provoking" prose, inspired by that concept of a tortured artist's angst.

Its not like you're a tortured artist though. Not even close. You've always imagined their feelings as more....dynamic than yours.

You see the Great herself who somehow never struggles to find her vocabulary as she weaves the words together to describe what her turmoil is in a way that sways your insides like a cradle.

You see a man hunched with curled fingertips over a bleeding canvas. He's screaming for some unfathomable reason. Probably a part of his process. You really don't understand.

But you can't find those words like they can. You're not nearly as cinematic either. You don’t exist to be considered complex or to be fixed into artistic poses. You exist in order to walk the dog in the mornings, the cold air making you feel sick but only mildly so.

Your fat little face isn't wrung in any kind of angst right now. Its barely focused on the world at all, zonked out and gormless looking as usual, unresponsive to the way life blurs. The moderate amount of dizziness.Your brain is some kind of faulty digital camera. You can't capture anything that's not through a fuzzy lens.

It's quiet and it's anti-climactic and you can't word it in a way that sounds poetic. Because there's nothing poetic about it. It's not inspiration, it's a nuisance.

You can't make something out of this.

You like to think you don't feel anything. But that's not necessarily true. You're 70% numb but there are still those feelings that gnaw persistently until they break through the core and then you break apart.

You're anxious, that's usually what it is. It's an urgent kind of indecisiveness that hops between a crossroads, deciding whether or not you want isolation or to hear a friend say your name again. Its awful when you decide on both, becoming a floating head with a transparent disconnect.

You're no fun when you're like that.

You don't know to handle friends in a way that's both affectionate and indifferent. You can't risk getting upset if you get cut off. You've been left without warning before and you will be left without warning in future. You've decided you need to be mentally secure if that happens again. You need to be ready to convince yourself it wasn't that big a deal in the first place.

But even as batshit bizarre as you are, you know that's no way to live. You can't keep them fully at arm's length and you shouldn't and you WON'T. You need to love them for the sake of your own happiness. And theirs too. Because even in the indeterminate time they're in your life, they matter.

And you're anxious BECAUSE they matter.

You talk too much. You talk not enough. You can never figure out the right amount to talk and either way, it feels like you're doing it wrong. You like to let them do most of the talking but maybe that's not what you're meant to do either. Maybe that just sucks away at what little of a person you already are. You don't like to accidentally talk over anyone. It's never anything important you have to say.

You hope that you'll talk more when you're older. Or at least speak and not bother anyone.

You hope you'll have friends when you're older too.

But you own uncertainty just plays across as a riot inside your own head. It's messy. It's complicated. And it's so, so tired.

You can't make something out of that either.

You're bad at eating. Which is hilarious in its own right. One of the most basic tasks a human can possibly do in order to function and you're bad at it.

When you were a kid, being hungry was the worst way to feel. You couldn't cope with it. You would whine and whinge to be fed and then you were fed. And you would eat.

You ate too frequently, actually. In fact, you can't help thinking about what sixteen year old you would think of your current weight. She'd be ecstatic.

You probably wouldn't even have the patience to deal with her. You'd be too pissed that she was talking about your weight in the first place.

You'd tell her to shut up. It wasn't the way you wanted her to accomplish this. Because even if you reached it, you feel gross and guilty for what you do in your slumps. The idea that she'd be so happy about it makes your skin crawl.

Black Market Dieting.

The stomach groan lasts for days sometimes until it subsides when it realizes its plead is being ignored. You hate it. And you don't hate the way it feels, you hate that it's become an addicting way to feel.

And now you're afraid of weighing scales. You don't like that they know so much about you. You don't like hearing what they have to say. They're not alive, sure, but during this point in your life, no living person can give you worse news.

The eating problem is a stale situation, at best. It's not intense nor interesting nor can it be viewed from any alternative angles or metaphors. Because it's just a problem of yours. It's just uncomfortable to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

Can't make something out of that.

You use "Unlovable" a lot easier now. You say it in your head a lot. Which is a big development, considering that word used to scare you. You don't use it in an overtly anguished sense but in a resigned sort of way. Childishly bitter though.

Its a thought that has set itself permanently into your subconscious. You don't slink away from it anymore. Though you're still beyond terrified, you sit still in it and accept.

You haven't decided on your final excuse just yet but by god, you have a plethora of them. What is it today, huh? Too sad? Too shy? Too boring? Too mean?

Sometimes it's that you're not smart enough or funny enough or SOMETHING enough. There's some kind of barrier and while you haven't pinpointed the exact flaw yet(maybe it's all of them.) something is certainly stopping you from trying.

You can't connect easily either. A fucking puzzle piece with some weird shaped grooves. Not a lot of people can attach themselves to it. You can barely make FRIENDS so how in the name of FUCK are you supposed to find-.....

And maybe, above all else, you're just afraid of them realizing their mistake. You hate being someone's mistake.

And of course, there's the obvious thing as to why you refuse to get anywhere in that regard. Another aspect in which you're "faulty."

You don't really like the word "Broken." It feels overdone. A little deviantart diary-esque for your own liking. Using faulty makes it sound like less of a problem. Like it's just a few glitches that won't cause any major inconveniences.

Though you're not really sure if it's only just that.

You don't even know if you're proud of it like you try to pretend you are.

Like a bicycle with one training wheel. It's not necessarily a big problem to you. You can ride just fine on your own. It's them that aren't a big fan and would prefer if you were a little less wonky. Not that there's anything WRONG with you per say, they just can't imagine themselves with...you know.

And you understand. And you CAN do that. Obviously if you loved them, you would screw on the extra wheel for them. You'd try to fix whatever they wanted. You can adapt.

But what kind of delusional idiot goes around advertising a faulty bicycle that only CAN be repaired, if there's so many shiny, perfectly four wheeled bikes down the line.

They're not expected to screw the extra wheel in. It's already there and ready to go at a moment's notice. They can just as easily be purchased with zero of the hassle that comes with you.

So why bother exactly?

That's why you use Unlovable a lot now. Or at least why you're more accustomed to using it. You're all puberty-ed out so i guess you know some stuff for certain now. You've had a lot of time to think about it.

You're in a slump now. Another one. You forget when you got out of the last one and slipped into this one. You know there's a word for it but it's one you prefer not to use. At least when referring to yourself.

It's just slumps. Slumps are like being made of molasses. You do nothing, feel either too little or too much, drone like a librarian and the clock fingers whirl like pinwheels.

Sometimes you worry about slumps. What if they're not slumps at all. They happen too frequently that you could potentially call them your default state. Maybe the real "slumps" are the happier times in-between.

You don't do much of what you're good at when you're in slumps. Which is unfortunate considering you're only good at one thing.

And sometimes you're not good at what you're good at. Honestly, you don't know who decided you were good in the first place. It was probably you. You, saying you were going to be a writer and your family took your word for it that you were talented.

They always say you're good but you've never let them read anything of yours. It baffles you why they continue to say it. Support, you suppose.

But if you're really only good at what you're good at 1/8th of the time, can you really say you're good at all? It's such a small fraction of your time and energy. It can't be done most of the time. Sometimes, you just get lucky.

You can't even make something now. Despite the fact that you know you have to try.

But even with all that, you're still so much of an insufferable writer that there are some terms you refuse to say, even when writing closure vomit like this.

"I hate myself." Tired.

"Useless," Old.

"Worthless." No. No, that just doesn't work either. When you go yelling into the void, you're trying to not use the overused words. You want to acknowledge that you can at least see it from a logical standpoint instead of an old chicken scratch diary one.

You're obviously not above that but you're pretentious and like to believe you are.

You want to be taken seriously. Even when you're so obviously losing your mind, you want it to seem like your head is still on your shoulders.

You've incited multiple eye rolls already and you can live with that. It's what happens when you put an essay this long and this rambly on a public platform. An attention seeking post if you ever saw one.

But all you wanted was to write something. And during a time like this, its all you can write. All you can think about. Your objective is not to be told everything will be alright. If that was the case, you wouldn't be writing it all out to clear your head and fix it on your own.

It is solely to have your current headspace read, self dissected and understood and then it can all be ignored.

Like writing letters in paper airplanes. Throwing them to the wind and hoping someone out there hears you.

Because attempting to write about why you can't write is the most productive thing you can do in that scenario. You made some shitty lemonade but it's better than nothing.

And for the love of fucking God, let's hope that you will eventually make something.

#yknow i think some stuff in here is triggering so do not recommend #but im sorry man i just needed to fuckin write something #anything #to like empty my system #and like. reboot hopefully

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