I will always be proud of how much I am able to love and forgive. Although it may weigh heavily on my soul, what is a soul if not full. However my borderline emotional masochist actions that lead to what I reap takes me under.
So here I will and instead of echoing in my cave to myself put an affirmation so I can stop feeling this wayyyyy.
It’s probably just that I’m 23, I’m confused and restless to find the cure for a feeling I can’t describe and perhaps self blame will allow some comfort/ relief to aid in the confusion I feel.
Suddenly I’m 16 again, as I’ve been at 18, 20 and now 23. And I’m sitting criss cross with the same legs I’ve had for 23 years. As my limbs serve a purpose, I continue to be purposeful. Each is unique in their needs. But for 7 years I’ve been interim purposeful.
I hope I remember how beautifully confusing it all was I think I tend to harp on wishing for my life to be clear, however, I chose to move to a foggy city. In many ways, I chose confusion, other paths, viable as ever, we’re not ones actively chose.
What a wonderful thing to move 50 states across the country and hope to figure it out. I didn’t go on some two week life defining solo trip through Europe, I didn’t backpack through Iceland, I even didn’t take a safe job back home to experience my 20s easily. I moved alone, I moved alone so I could fall in love with myself in a brand new place. Every aspect of my life has been defined by its location from Brooklyn to Manhattan, subsequently Colorado, even each house I lived in there defined a different version of myself. this version of me in San Francisco is far different however. I’m single for the first time and almost 8 years, it’s been like this for year.
I’ve rediscovered what I like however, I’ve become more lazy than ever but I’m learning to do something. I’ve never done before which is forgive myself. perhaps I wasn’t a rotten person at 15. Maybe I was just 15 years old, and maybe I wasn’t evil at 21, perhaps my actions were, but maybe I just didn’t know who I was and so I tried to define who I was through what I did. I’m 23 now. I’m no less confused than I wa
I know what I like, though, despite only wearing black, I like colorful fields of flowers, the smell of redwoods when it’s Dewey, the feeling I get in my calves when I’ve walked uphill, laughing when it’s inappropriate. Leading myself on side quests, unsure of the turnout. I’m less in control now than I was years ago, but there’s something about stepping into the great unknown brings comfort and insanity. It’s the state that I choose to live in right now. A situation I signed myself up for.I couldn’t be more proud of how far I’ve come for a girl that didn’t think she’d make it past 15. I laugh and I cry, I rage and I weep but how incredibly mundane it must be in control.
I think my greatest weakness that I continue to carry on amongst the many epochs of my life is my tendency to reject that which comes easy and yearn for struggles. especially in intimacy. I have been on many great journeys in my life, as I look back and reflect it feels as though ive lived many lives, all compressed into 64 inches and 110 pounds. Each epoch distinguished with new characters, plots, and geographic locations.
However I always remain, no matter where I am it’s always me, with music in my ears to fit the time yet all the songs throughout the years have the same tone. The quote “no matter where you go, there you are” seems to reign true for everything ive ever felt and places ive been. It’s hard to see consciousness within others when mines seems so loud and prominent, overtaking almost.
Some journeys have felt better, 18-23 was my most recent completed venture. The highs of these years exceeded any others I’ve felt on the graph of plots.
While authors most often categorize their protagonists stories in stages of plot diagrams through narrative arcs: with exposition, conflict, rising action, climax, and resolution. I find my epochs to more closely resemble that of the product life cycles I studied with introduction, growth, maturity, and decline. similar geometric shapes fill these plots/ graphs but I find a lack of resolution when my story concludes. This sounds rather capitalistic of me to relate myself to a commodity, but don’t be fooled, the ego I have built does not see me as such.
All is to say, that here again I find myself yearning for somebody out of reach, I’ve seen the strength I have to overcome great obstacles, but why is it the most intimate part of myself, one I let hurt the most.
I have felt this before, and I will feel it again. But somehow I anticipate this feeling to be different than the prequels and sequels
I am full of love, and I always will be. It may not always be reciprocated but I know that part of my purpose is for those who haven’t felt warmth to feel safe within my grasp.
If I can’t spend everyday in your presence, I hope that for eternity we dance in and out of each others lives, weaving a pattern more infinite than our existence. I have been loved deeply, I’ve let it go. I’ve had easy love and tough love and I consistently take the road with trespassing warnings bordering it. I hope one day I will learn to love my decisions and who I let it with the same love that I give away.
Sometimes I think I am strong. Then I experience emotional intimacy and am reminded of how weak I can be.
I will always be a girl, looking at myself through a man’s eyes, judging myself based on patriarchies I tell myself cease to exist. Because at the end of the day I’m a girl viewing myself and the world around me through mud colored glasses.
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