#will i ever not be obsessed with taking random bathroom mirror selfies? probably not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

staymoarmyzen · 4 years

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aesthetic tag

tagged by: @theleemark (sorry for taking so long btw)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add 20 of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold :)

tagging: @mona-devilthatdraws @give-seconds @ovelha-colorida-v @hwanunjin (if you were already tagged I am sorry and if you don’t want to do this is ok)

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nicolesqueloquence · 7 years

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Recommended auditory pleasure:

As I lay on my back watching a random Youtube video on the refugee situation and a proposed solution, it suddenly hit me how much grounding I’m in need of. The sun, perpetually streaming through my bedroom window onto my catatonic body covered in the usual loose shirt and boxer shorts, is not enough to quell the thirst of my soul as a desire for the unknown, the stimulating possesses me to look up when the next Oneness meditation session will be held at the center down the street.

Not this week, but next. Not soon enough. But where could I go? I look at my face, still pale despite countless attempts at tanning in the 108-degree sun and barren from any make-up, and cringe at the thought of leaving my room. ‘As I get older…’ a thought begins and is interrupted by another, ‘Am I really getting older? I’m 25..’

The newfound relief at realizing how young that is going to sound later on in life, as many of my older counterparts at work have remarked to me upon learning my age, sets in and I am happy to be this young but I am just so restless. Almost as if I’m not enjoying it, I’m simply not active anymore. I want to get out there, see things, and taste things that my tongue has yet to be blessed with besides the cursed vitriol of strong liquor, medication, and Fiber with B-Vitamin gummies that I’ve elected to aid me in the process of reaching my annual goal weight that seems to be much of an afterthought when I crave chocolate and post-indulgent guilt.

It’s all a toxic process of seeking more from the mundane while simultaneously fearing mediocrity with a passion that rivals that of my hatred of standing still. On paper, my life doesn’t look too basic: school, work, gym schedule, some books here and there to escape the black and white frame of my daily life through the fictional mind of another’s. But it doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough.

Next to my fear of mediocrity is my phobia of complacency. That I will continue to feel the restless ache to constantly have something new and exciting happen to me in addition to every other endeavor I am on, and I will continue to wake up every year in the same bitter discontent. That I will get married and never fall in love. That I will have kids and it won’t satisfy this maternal urge to actualize my dreamed up image of Lili that I’ve had since I was 14.

The idealist in me still daydreams, still desires for more.. But when will it be enough? Will I ever find it?

Hurry up and wait, adulthood says. Wait to text him back. Wait for the next outing. Wait for next week to step on the scale to avoid any further disappointment. Wait for next semester to get further into my program. Wait for next year to feel more successful, more stable. Wait for my friends to have time for me and vice versa. Wait, wait, wait.

I’m terrible at waiting. If patience is a virtue, then I am simply immoral at best then.

I’ve always felt, even as a child, that I had this innate ability to perceive and even “feel” the atmosphere of other worlds. This strange feeling was further fulfilled by reading and diving through the portals of literature to explore these other worlds, see the novel happening in my mind’s eye as if it were a movie, and literally place myself so deeply into what was occurring that almost every single last past of every book I’ve read has been met with tears.

But here, in this life, I feel like I am in a bubble. I want to stretch out, abandon the protection of my mundane existence, and see what is truly out there for me. I want –

I want to see what’s out there for me. You’ve always gotten to date other people, and I haven’t.

Like a bullet, those words graze through my mind all over again. This was almost exactly three years ago.

And just like that my bubble becomes a prison. I’m a huge proponent of people fixing themselves if that is what they want, but they have to want that or it just won’t happen. But I’m also a huge hypocrite, because I have yet to do this for myself and reach out from this emotional jail cell that he kept me in for so long.

There’s more out there but I can’t keep saying that and not venturing out to find it. Of course there are obstacles like money, time, transportation- But if I hurry up and wait some more, I’ll have enough to finally go out and see some shit.

Because my life isn’t permanent. My time here is limited. I never once imagined when I was younger that I would make it to 26. I really didn’t want to, honestly. To me, it would have been blissful and better to die young. Even my own father voiced these words to me when I brought up all of the physical ailments I witness every single day by those who are either elderly or approaching old age.

The thing is, we take all of it for granted. The ability to walk, to talk, to sleep, to wake up and feel awake and alive for the most part. The ability to go to the bathroom without assistance, take a shower without someone to help, just basic functioning that we could never even imagine would be taken away from us by time.

And all at once, I felt ashamed of the years I tried to take all of this away from myself. But at the same time I felt an ambivalent gratitude because after all the damage I caused, none of it had lasting consequences, hence it took so long for me to learn to actually take care of myself and my body rather than constantly attempt to destroy it.

So many of us look in the mirror and think what we see isn’t good enough. And me, as I type a blogpost about complacency and the desire for moremoremore, I look around me and ask if this is really my life. Shouldn’t there be something more glamourous or exciting or spiritual for me? Aren’t there so many other places with that sleepy community feeling where chasing the US dollar and the American dream are not a 24/7 operation? There has to be people out there who ARE complacent, but they are comfortable and they are content living in a rural area with nothing more than an old radio and some dogs.

I don’t necessarily want the finer things in life, just because those places for me are something I want to taste. I want the diversity and the difference from this fish bowl of limited culture I’ve grown up in.

I can feel it from music. Especially the song I’ve linked for this post. I used to feel it the most in middle school and high school. This nostalgic, fuzzy feeling that there were so many more places linked to the one I was in. It’s transcendental really, and nothing that any amount of words would be adequate enough to describe.

So instead of keeping myself caged in this daily battle with anxiety over what may be happening or not in the confines of my PTSD-like mentality, it’s time to branch out. I’m going to try to make it a goal to see more things, go more places, and try something new for once. If my old lady preference of keeping everything the same can handle it, that is.

I wrote a poem yesterday to go with a selfie of mine in lieu of good lyrics because I am currently out of those:

She keeps her secrets close

Like the hidden thorns of a rose

The dark will always haunt her

But light will always find her

~Nicolesque, 6/24/2017

It’s honestly not my best, but it will do. And it is true, after all of the dark pathways in life I have taken, God had somehow always led me to the light that I could never foresee.

Trust is also not an easy thing for me to do.. But in His case, I think it’s essential. At this point in my life, if nothing else, the fact that I’m alive is more than enough evidence that His intervention has been more than enough. This is enough, I just have to know that and not question it so much while also making moves to explore other things around me.

Because nothing really is and everything really isn’t. Jhene Aiko lyrics that I live by.

There was a blog I was obsessed with in middle school, written by a young woman in Singapore called “infrarouge” and something like 1..2..3.. breathe. Or something like that. But the enormous amount of nostalgia I felt from reading her excerpts of traveling, drinking tea at 6 in the morning, and all of these things that seem super hipster now gave me this sense that I was traveling through her and into the experiences of another person.

That blog is now long gone but I saved most of the drawings she made and had uploaded. There are definitely not in good resolution as I believe I downloaded them from my Myspace but they inspired me to emulate it with my own style of SharpieArt.

I’m honestly unsure if these were the blogger’s drawings, but I’d like to think they were because I still have remnants of a world long forgotten in the vast dimensions of webpages that have vanished without explanation. I feel like so much of the world I had built for myself at that age is now missing in the pandemonium of speed of advancement surrounding the Internet and I’m grateful for absolutely everything I’ve digitally hoarded from then.

The only thing missing are my blogs from Freshman and Sophomore year of HS but part of me thinks it’s probably best that I didn’t save those because of the frazzled nature of my self-destructive spontaneity. Despite my blinding light of free spirited nature that lured so many innocent people into my web of catastrophe, I feel like my intentions back then were so pain-driven that they were practically nefarious at best.

This is different though. I’m a lot older now, I’m a lot more grounded in terms of sobriety and well-matured decisions, but I feel like I need even more. Something to bring me back to the ground from the irrational heights of my conditioned fear responses to imagined abandonment and anger towards me.

I know it will take time. I know it will take waiting, as much as I hate it. I want to be okay now. I always have been, for all of my life. I just wanted to be healed and after years of both studying and abusing medicine, there is just no quick fix to feeling this way. No amount of relationships or promises of young love will close the void either. It will take me and me alone to do so. And I like to think that is exactly what I am doing, even if it doesn’t feel like enough to keep me centered and focused sometimes.

My restless nature has always been prevalent, especially in my younger years when multiple teachers hypothesized and even attempted to diagnose me with ADHD. This was definitely not the case per my very skilled and competent pediatrician. “She is just bored,” he told my mother. “She is too intelligent to have nothing to do.”

Intelligence, creativity and bipolar disorder may share underlying genetics ~ The Guardian

This is also my mother’s consensus. When I asked her, as well as my father, if she thought a diagnosis of Bipolar II would fit most of my life’s treacherous and unstable periods, she replied no. She thinks I’m simply too smart to have idle hands, and couple that with what I’ve been through, they certainly make for a bad combination.

There is also cyclothymia, which is kind of a watered down Bipolar II with the same cycling between depression and euphoria. I’d be more akin to that simply because I’m a lot more functioning these days than ever before. But even now as I type this, the tears have already started and I couldn’t even tell you why. My appetite has suffered a bit, hardly existing except for when I wake up and when I take my medication.

She just wants to feel something, and I don’t think that’s asking for too much

~ The 1975 lyrics, “She Lays Down”

Because of my newfound professional aspirations and my educational path being much more clarified, I simply don’t have the urge to drown myself destructively right now. I’m able to have a good number of hard ciders and hard alka seltzers that just sit there and collect refrigerator dust unless I have one or two before losing interest in drinking alone in my bedroom. I consider it a social thing, especially when my social anxiety becomes an obstacle that I attempt to climb with excessive drinking. I haven’t done that in a while but in the last couple outings, I did really good in my opinion. It’s always good when it doesn’t result in some unwanted, negative encounter that I wake up regretting the next day.

So I would conclude things are simple. Things are stable. I just want a little more excitement, a little more exploring. And I fully intend on doing so, because my anxiety loves me too much when I’m laying around with nothing to do but suffer a panic attack or crying spell. The latter occurring in this present moment.

But everything is okay. I am okay. And I choose to stay.

When the soul thirsts for more, let yourself soar. Recommended auditory pleasure: As I lay on my back watching a random Youtube video on the refugee situation and a proposed solution, it suddenly hit me how much grounding I'm in need of.

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