I told myself recently that I would write everyday. And not write in my private journal but publicly post on this blog or some form in which people across the world could read it. Regardless of how good or bad or embarrassed I felt, I told myself that I would write. At least once daily. I said this a week or so ago and felt so amped about it until I didn’t anymore. I, being my usual self, talked myself out of it because I was scared of being too open.
Why do I do that? As much as I say that I’m not worried about being vulnerable or exposed or all out there, I am. I care about what people think. I know that I shouldn’t but I do. I don’t like to talk about how I had about two and a half hours of sleep last night because I was up thinking about what the fuck I should do with my life. It makes me feel all out of whack and even though I know many people doing the same, I feel stupid because they are hiding and I am not. They are covered and I am sitting here on slaynewyork.com venting my frustrations because I… well. I don’t know why I do this.
I have so many ideas. I have so many things I want to do. I’ve always been the type to say that I wanted to do something, build up enough speed to jump, and right when I get to the ledge – decide to chicken out.
That says something.
For the longest I haven’t been paying attention to exactly what, but I think I know now. I’m scared to trust myself.
That is all so strikingly awkward to me too, considering I just wrote a post yesterday stating how I understood how believing in God meant believing in myself. I meant that yesterday too. Am I crazy because I’m not even 24 hours later spazzing out? Trusting in self and God should work the same way as believing in self and God, right? I don’t know.
We live in a world where individuality is highly sought after but no one even knows what that means. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t even know what it means. Obviously, considering I’m clearly too busy comparing my life to the life of other people.
I’m tired of faking perfect or faking like I’m not struggling to find my footing. Too proud to say I’m hurting and transitioning all the same time, for the sake of public opinion. I don’t care anymore.
This is random as all fucks too, but I totally need to go back to the dentist. I want a smile that will make me drop my drawls when I look into the mirror. Kanye has this little book of idioms that I got a long time ago and on one page he states “never become satisfied with something changeable.” I don’t know why I just had that moment but anyway.
I’m not content. I’m not content. I’m not content. And instead of trying to make really big moves all at once I have to start planning out the little things. Planning those little things out (not too much to over think and discourage myself) and then perusing whatever them. I can’t focus when there is so much traffic going on in my brain. Like now. That’s why I wanted to write because I like my thoughts when I’m able to read them back to myself. It’s like I’m putting myself into the short bus. Slowly and cautiously entering and switching lanes because the thoughts in my head are precious cargo and I have to get them safely to their destination. Wherever the hell that is.
I miss my mom. And my dad. And my brother. And my grandmothers. And my sisters. And my aunts. And my cousins. Anddddd I miss not having to be an adult. Sucky part about life is there are a lot of roads and no maps.
Cheers to Brandy.
- A.
