Blog Entry 09/01/2023 – an exercise in free writing

It’s been 501 days since I published something to this blog. But I’m trying to be a little more authentic, vulnerable, and consistent with my content. So, here goes nothing. A little exercise in free writing: trying to understand my thoughts, mental health, life, and more. I want to apologize for the lack of cohesiveness, but you know what? Maybe this time, I won’t.

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written something. Things feel harder to understand and process. Almost as if growth requires a lot of hurdles and stepping over them. This last year I’ve recovered, slipped down the slope of depressive thinking, struggled to climb back, and do that again and again. Old mistakes were repeated, new vices emerged, and a whole lot was learnt in the process. However, sometimes, it feels as if I’m living the same year over and over again. The same pattern with just slightly different variables to ensure we’re not stuck in the exact same simulation. I began taking anti-depressants after three years of feeling stuck in a loop. But this new year has brought its own challenges and a new wave of self-loathing. Ironically, as I struggled to love myself, I think someone fell in love with me. But how does one fully commit to someone when they don’t know what they want themselves?

Tried to change things by working a little harder, gritting my teeth through the monotony, but somewhere I hit new lows. I came up short again. This one hurt because it made Maa cry. Had to stay away for a couple of days from Maa and Dad because I could almost see the disappointment written on their face. The year of self-critical thinking and introspection. Perhaps coming to the realization that deep down we’re all just a fuckball of flaws. Wanting to write for days, nay, weeks, but always wondering whether what I have to say is worth listening to. Unable to sift through this confusion, and unsure of where to start. Kendrick’s words ring true, “Am I worth it? Did I put enough work in?” Just want the world to sing about me when it’s my time to go. Perhaps coming to the epiphany that this blog isn’t just for others. It’s for me too.

Living in fear. Trying to impress people with my brevity, fluidity, verbose, complex, and intricate thoughts. But maybe it’s all quite simple. Felt imperfect to the extent that I wondered why people stayed. Do I cause more hurt than good? However, also thought that I can’t be ALL that bad. There’s a conscience in there. Somewhere. I’m sensitive, so everything I hear is all I hear. Everything that is said is doubly heard and doubled down upon. Year started with hope and light, took a dip, and I’m still looking to reignite that flame. Avoidance. Avoided working, avoided people, avoided feelings and emotions. Tired. Tired of fear and tired of thinking, not doing. See the pattern?

Saw her again. Shit hurt. Made a fool of myself in front of her and her father. Made a mess of myself in front of my family. Begged for forgiveness, but also somewhere begged for the pain to end. Didn’t speak to her in four months. Asked if I was done. I think I am, but our paths will cross again, I’m sure. Some people just don’t go away. Do I write about my feelings? Is my story interesting enough to be read? Or do I buckle down and write about ways to help? Why would anyone listen? Even now, as I free write, I feel the voice in my head saying this is gibberish, but I’m trying to push through it. Trying to build up some consistency. Taking it one day at a time. Said before, but never done. Perhaps, I’m living insanity.

A fuckball of flaws. Maybe I’ve got to be okay with that. Things are never black or white. We’ve all got gray matter. Hate that I think that’s clever. Sounds and smells took me back to places I longed to be in. Sights and sensations took me back to places I wish I’d never gone. Still feel the hurt, the regret. Will carry it all my life, but somewhere, I know that I’m not the only one to blame. This is us; we are human, and we are full of cracks and crevices.

We humans are nothing more than a collection of stories. We have our fairytales and our tragedies, and somewhere in all of it, we’re trying to find our happy ending.

One more year. Pangs of anxiety and stress waft over me; no, waves. Told myself I wouldn’t delete much. Want to build a legacy but unwilling to do the ugly. But recognition is a good step? Some compassion from the self would help. One day at a time, one moment at a time, one story at a time. Sense will prevail. Or maybe it won’t. Either way, I’ll be. Either way. I’ll be.