The mask I polish in the evening, by the morning looks like shit.
I have been keeping an almost obsessive/constant log for many many months. There's a thing that happens with me where I forget things and feelings. So I decided to keep track for my future self to learn and understand what goes on when I lose myself. And organize daily things like pictures of food I ate or the condition of my living situation. And writing. God, writing. I have been writing every day almost for....7? 8 months I think.
I said, "Watch me rise
yo, world, I’m comin for you"
I wish I could make a book. It would be cool. Maybe I will...I started a strange habit of collecting glasses in my room. Like massive amounts (for me). And tea. Coffee cups and glasses. A picture of my night stand with three glasses, my xbox controller, and a roll of tissue. I kept a roll in my bottom night stand drawer. Kept track of weight. I weighed 160 in January. ONE HUNDRED SIXTY. Buying books. Lots of books. Video games. Always video games. It's the only constant thing I know I'll love in my life. I also started getting messy. Would you believe me if I told you that? I don't constantly think about cleaning or organizing things. I'm not OCD about that anymore. It's a strange thing to think of that. When I think about it I feel like that tiny crazy part about me needing my things to be clean/organized made me myself. And that doesn't exist anymore. It was control. And I don't have or need control of anything anymore.
There is an event on February 2nd that says, "Hair cut appointment. Wut" LOL
I think I also started partying a lot. Except it wasn't partying. It was going to bremerton and staying at your best friends house every weekend and getting piss drunk and feeling sorry for yourself and then going home the next day with a shitty headache and going to work. And THEN I started partying, because, yolo. A couple of months are a blur. If you asked me then I'd say I loved the radio but honestly I hate the radio so don't listen to me.
I passed my driver's license test with 1% of the minimum to pass. I found the perfect jacket I had been picturing for months on clearance for $20. I chopped my hair off on a whim I had no idea where it was going and it was better than ok. On Valentine's Day I worked my ass off with a 12 hour shift and wished everyone I saw a "happy tuesday!" because fuck that other shit. Because yes, I did become cynical like I promised I wouldn't. I fell in love with music. In love. Because nothing ever made my blood stream feel alive like Ratatat. Avicci. And nothing made me cry like the Lumineers and Coldplay and Bright Eyes and Edward Sharpe and the list can go on. I had trouble writing the correct verb tenses with my streams of consciousness. Those writings don't exist on tumblr. I just remembered I was sick for like literally 3 months. Off and on. OH MY GOSH THAT SUCKED ASS WHAT THE FUCK it's because I didn't eat anything worth shit. My diet has improved.
I wrote, "my love is infinite when active" because it is. And I miss the furnace that burned inside of me because I was a human being alive as alive can be. But I am growing content with the cold and winter is coming, the bane of my existence, but I'll be okay once I tell myself enough. I am used to blankets and coats by now.
I stopped planning. Don't ask me to commit. I won't say yes. Some days I wake up normal and some days I wake up myself an introvert and I don't want to see your face even if we made plans. SO IF I SAY 'MAYBE' OR I 'DON'T KNOW' DON'T TAKE IT PERSONAL because I never know. That is one thing I always used to do. Plan. WHICH DAY? WHAT TIME? HOW LONG? Jesus Christ, I was annoying. That stresses me out. I can't and don't do that with things. I think I find comfort knowing I can leave / not commit at any time. That goes along with my neautral answer and feelings to everything.
I am strange in the sense that there are multiple times I have written or will say I felt myself diverging from the normal course my life would have (or is, in another universe) and that it's the strangest feeling. That is the change happening. But it is also me feeling something I call just diverging. The universes. Because something has felt a little askew to me but I know it must be okay over there in the other one.
And I wrote, "Some nights I feel heavy and strange with a fogged mind as if there are waves intercepting and interfering with my own personal receiver that I have since shut off. Most nights I forget I have one. " I forgot I always used this as an analogy. I also just forgot this existed in the schema of my mind. Receiver. I guess it only makes sense if you feel connected to people/someone. This is such a cool concept. I think of the coolest things and forget. See? And I thought about this for years, too.
I watched the ties within a family fall apart and retie and I learned that you can have a deep love for people even if you never feel it on the surface. Even if you don't feel it when you see them. You feel it when you're away. You feel it when you're alone at night and you find yourself writing about them. And I realized how deep my love is for my brother. Especially when I tried to express it and I accidentally started spontaneously crying a tiny bit when I don't ever cry in front of people and he had no idea what was happening OH GOD I'M SO AWKWARD. But he understood. Because he's my brother.
Change is amazing and the saddest thing in my life I have experienced. I have witnessed first hand not the loss of weight from my body but from my smile. It feels so good to smile all the way, my face feels like clay. Like it's molded. Like it's deep when I smile. I can't describe it. I think there are different kinds of smiles. And my eyes don't know mine anymore. It is not a bad thing it's just strange. I'm not a sad horrible person, either. I am very energetic. It just takes a lot of anything to make me feel either way about something.
I write entirely too much. It's my only catharsis.
I can't tell you how many love poems I've written.
I have written some of the best things I've ever written in the past couple of months. This is not one. This is a stupid journal. And no one is reading but that is okay. This is not for you. For anyone. It's for me.