I am completely lost. I hate that so many sentences I write begin with the letter “I”. I don’t feel I am committing energy into the relationship. I felt almost a feeling of betrayal when she made it seem so easy to fall back. 

She said, “I wonder if you tell every girl you love her.” Or, “I wonder if you’re like this in all of your relationships.” 

What is it that makes me enamored with a perfect stranger? Seeking to place the love that I hide from myself into another passing vessel, as long as they’re cute, as long as they’re interesting.

When I said I love you, did I mean it? If you have any form of doubt now, that means you didn’t. Love is a game that everyone else seems to know the rules to, except me. I wanted to make this blog so that it could move me to becoming a happy person, still I am unhappy, and not closer. Although some days I really feel like I am. 

Today I woke up feeling terrible. I don’t even want to look in the mirror. Energy, so precious, so necessarily protected because the chemical imbalance is like water boiling. I am unsteady. I am just going, and going, and going. Sometimes without a question as to where. 

I notice I don’t say a lot when I am in crowds. An eight person dinner and I barely said a word, instead I looked distantly toward the waitress, the bike messengers, toward the inside of my mind again. 

Animosity, the need to prove you are who you are, my trusting nature gets exploited or ridiculed. I am an idealist, and the negative spiral starts. Hurting yourself, emotionally, because maybe you are not the good. But you knew that. And you knew that you were not the bad, and Grandma has had a surgery and you have not called, and you have not wondered. Your mom hasn’t called you, but neither you her. Your sister doesn’t answer your calls. She says she is going through something in her texts. You don’t answer her messages, you wanted to say you were going through something in your calls. But we will leave the words unsaid. 

The angst of if this flight goes down as we rumble and tumble due to turbulence. You are the turbulence. You are the unsettled. You are struggling! AND you need help. 

For some reason your friend blocked you on instagram and you were just going to show your other friend that you thought it was cool how they were into cycling as well, but then you found out. And your page is private now, and you’re slowly removing people that you follow because why did I follow them? And why am I unfollowing them? And why am I spending so much time on this phone doing absolutely nothing. I am not inspired. I am more depressed.

I read 20 pages from a book yesterday, and all I could think about was how inconsistent I am as a reader. And I hate it, and I don’t know where I am going to be, and I don’t want to be here. I want to be distant, alone, and I need that for a while. 

Why am I writing this? To who am I writing this? Its for me, I think, it’s for me – like all of these decisions are a fight for myself, and suddenly I am a victim, but a hero, and this divided identity is what is breaking me apart. Living in New York, but also in Gulfport, but also in the past, and in the future, and away and here, and never in ONE PLACE. 

It’s spilled everywhere, my self, and I am just moving it around, and as I grab it to collect it back, so that I can have myself to me again, it slips right through my fingers. 

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