Creativity is God. And I've never been a believer. No wonder I'm not getting any sparks over here. I haven't felt 'brilliant' in so long. I feel dirty. Unwashed. Hungover from being sober and not having a piece of mind anywhere in my life. I dont have hobbies any more besides fucking up my muscles. I dont know why I ever thought I'd be good at interior design. I'd create chaos and red rum and animal porn out of balloons. My insides make as much sense as that image.
Most days, I dont even use my voice. At all. I'll sit in the living room with my father (on a rare, supermoon type day) and he'll be on his computer watching the games, while I'm on my computer watching some documentary on Buddhists in Afghanistan... and we wont say a damn thing to each other. Its comical on a certain level. In the same way hanging out with your friends and all you do is text other people the hole time is. I'd like to think I've moved out of that stage of my life. Maybe I have. I've turned off my phone because it became unnecessary and compulsively annoying to look at and notice I have no new texts or calls anymore. The only thing I do is write to express myself now. And I'm convinced that my dad is the definition for creature of habit anyway. He has so many walls up and motes around them that I stopped trying to conquer his inability to be an emotional human being around the time I figured out the only way to get past his obstacles was to be incarcerated or institutionalized.
I think the best conversations we've had have been during my times in the valleys. He would come visit me while I was locked up or in the loony bin or when my ex and I were having a explosive, end all fight. Those talks were the most in depth talks we've had. Ever. Its like he allows himself to be compassionate enough to bring me back up to sea level and make sure I'm not drowning but then, he'll just take off and leave me still needing cpr on the shoreline. At that point, its either I save myself or someone else has to save me. And I've kicked everyone out of my life by now that I have to hope that I still have enough life left in me to get up on my own. I promise I dont really need any help. I'm red cross certified. I'll be fine once I get this shit out of my lungs and come back to mindfulness.
I portray myself to be really pathetic. Maybe I am. I don't take any shame in my thoughts. Its me, and if I make you sick or sad or whatever, well- welcome to my brain. Theres clowns with tubas and frowny faces on little bicycles in there along with all these melancholy ideas. Its a party, I swear. Getting a little crazy in there. I try believing I'm happy for people and where their life is, and then I remember where I am and sadly enough... I tend to find myself missing having more depressed people than me in my life. It used to make me feel useful and more compassionate but now, everyone acts so content. All my inspirations have transformed into big balls of positivity that I can't relate to or connect with anymore and thats great for them. I'm noticing that I'm saying this all from a totally jealous place now. I hate to admit that I'd like to see more people unhappy around me to make me feel better... but I do. Thats honest. Once I'm eye level with you all, I will take this back. I'm sure.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to get up in time to go take this fucking test for the armed forces. If I dont, I'm pretty sure I'm closing my bank account and loading my car up this week and taking off. To somewhere. Manifest my destiny finally.
I'm gonna go hit a bag and walk in the rain for a while. Get my Tyler the Creator on and cut my fingers off.
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