Stream of Consciousness

I haven’t been so good at this blog thing. I tend to put too much expectation on what I’m going to do, and then it doesn’t happen (because of course nothing is ever as I picture it, or wish it, or maybe I’m just consumed by idealism) and I’m riddled with shame or guilt or both for not following through.

So I don’t write. I don’t say the thing. I am afraid. After all this time, still. Maybe I should just accept that fact. And move through it anyway. I’ve said things before. The world did not end. Not really. Relationships did. Moments did. Chapters did. But the world kept going. It always does. Even if it feels very different.

It is odd knowing that what you say is of so little consequence in the grand scheme of things. And at the same time, it is monumental. It echoes through time. But mostly just my memory. maybe no one else cares. Maybe one person does. Maybe that’s enough.

I’d be lying if I said I don’t know how to do this. I do know. But I just want to be seen as humble and precarious. And whatever else interests people these days. In the end though, the truth is: I want to be interesting. I want to be seen.

It’s something to discuss with my therapist, the issue of feeling real. Because sometimes I don’t. That’s why I write, to feel real. To be seen, heard. To prove my own existence. To not go crazy.

And I think I have been crazy for awhile. Not in the literal sense (although that is certainly true also). I mean in the “wow existence is really unsettling and I don’t know what to do with my hands most of the time and everyone else seems to know what they’re doing except that I know they don’t because adulthood is a scam and I can’t believe no one is talking about how fucked up everything is all the time because everything is so fucked up but I don’t know what to do about it because we live in a hellscape that makes it so hard to do anything of real value without fucking up some other aspect of the world and I just want to sleep but also do all the things because you only live once and your life is so short in comparison to the universe so really why bother with what people say you “should” do, eat the damn brownie, nothing really matters but also everything matters and that’s why we’re all so fucked” sense of the word.

So who knows if this becomes a habit. Maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll go viral. I probably won’t. And that’s okay. But I’m gonna keep paying the website fees (the internet is so weird) just in case I want to say something, to release a thought so it doesn’t eat me up inside. I need to feel real. I need to feel like I matter, even when I know nothing matters.

For now though, I do have to get some work done. Because we live in a society where productivity is valued more than rest (but that’s a rant for another time).

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