The title of my memoirs.
Can't write my novel, won't read my history books, watching Vanilla Sky with one eye and scrolling through the inter-webs with the other.
I was looking through my hidden draft entries on here last night and through today which stretch back to 2010. So many are depressed anxious ramblings. I did a heartbreaking poem about how disconnected I felt. I think it counts as a poem anyways, I edited a grammar error out of habit.
There is a lot of Vanilla Sky happening right now which has completely washed over me. Apart from the obvious bunch of well knowns I feel pleased to have correctly identified Michael Shannon in a minor role of the prison guard and W Earl Brown as the barman sinking tequila with Cruisey. Noah Taylor is also there and looking suave.
Thinking about W Earl Brown reminded me of The Last of Us (he mo-capped Bill and is a busy working actor) and that led me into a search for info about Part II which will likely be out in 2019. Then to Troy Baker singing existing songs which were pleasant and sorrowful songs he had written himself which weren't so good. There is an earnestness he presents that I feel a connection to but is that because he's a really good actor and is selling me a potent ideal of reality?
My feelings are all so familiar, so similar. I figure I'm confused but I'm certain these sensations are emulated in other people with different lives and circumstances. This isn't unique. I am not alone, but I feel isolated and desperate to distract myself from this cavern of aching emptiness which, on occasion, can threaten to overwhelm my carefully constructed distractions.
My efforts to take action, to continue, to breathe. If I pause, that's when the creeping realisations inch forward and remind me that all my daily efforts are in vain. I haven't changed, I haven't grown. I am still a lonely confused teenager. I am still waiting to be more, to learn more, to understand more, but it's not enough when I feel the void of emptiness gnawing away at my insides. When I can't hold on to the people around me apart from one person who can see something I cannot fathom, or there are familial ties.
Am I feeling when I'm experiencing things I have told myself to engage in? Is it real? When I'm joking and laughing and engaging with people and somewhat enjoying myself why do I feel so much shame afterwards? Why do I feel like I'm lying to them and myself. In the moment I'm so happy and confident and delighted that I'm making a connection. Then I'm aware that my excitement and delight isn't shared by others and in fact I'm a nuisance. I'm not important or even worth having around. Then I feel like I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have tried. At the end of the day, I don't matter.
Why can't this hopelessness disappear? Why is it still here festering inside, undermining my efforts every day of every month of every year endlessly?
Some blessed days I barely acknowledge it's existence but then it appears. I've stopped crying about it because... well nothing ever changes. It's just a fact of my life. It doesn't matter what I do or far I go. It's a part of me. Sometimes it's enough to acknowledge it and move on. I hope at least. I can't get sad about something which as much a part of me as my eye colour (still debating that though...) well maybe my hair colour (that is also a debate sometimes...) my weight? (inconsistent). I guess it's like everything else then... a part of me but as evolving and changing and debatable as anything else.
I've spent so long trying to grow out of it. To change and fix what it is. Maybe it'll never go and finally accepting that there is nothing wrong with it and just getting on is fine. These concerns will forever cycle through my brain but it doesn't mean I should be ashamed. Perhaps, shame is something I fall back on when I'm uncertain about how to move forward. I shouldn't feel guilt or shame for something which is a part of me.
Maybe some day I'll find a way of accepting who I am. Maybe some day I'll be okay with this loneliness and just be happy with myself. Happy seems like a stretch but maybe I'll accept it and spend less time worrying. One day I might see clear skies ahead and an open sea of possibilities. The fog of fear that something terrible is going to happen might lift and I might just be okay... I can be sad and optimist.
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