I dreamt that he held my hand and it was easy.
We were watching a movie of some sort.
On a couch, looking forward, surrounded by young kids
He gently embraced my hand with his
Under the blanket
And though I hadn't known him for long
I hoped we could stay that way forever.
It was her last day and she didn't know it yet.
She had been quite unhappy for a long while, lost in the overwhelming blur of the future and feeling incredibly finite by the past.
It was her last day, and had she known, maybe she would have been happier in her ending moments: no future to run from and a past that would be rendered inconsequential.
A brief, weightless present she could truly feel and maybe enjoy.
It was the end of hinted potential but also a sigh of relief for the suffering always felt more real than any fading hope.
this cyclical routine of hope and heartbreak is starting to sink in as a reality in which i am neither the cause nor the victim
i was listening to a John Green podcast ep about the game of rock paper scissors, and he summed up life as inevitably having some dependency on luck, chance- the idea that we don't necessarily deserve everything that comes our way
it's comforting to think that my past failures might not have been avoidable and that my past successes aren't necessarily replicable. it's weird that relinquishing the correlation between hard work and results makes me feel better. because the idea that i can always do more eats at me every single second. because i rarely think i am good enough. but if it isn't true that the more i put in, the more i get out, then i can breathe a little pretending that my energy might go wasted either way.
it's so fucking tough for me to feel that i am ok, to be content with wherever i am at any given moment. i keep looking towards the future as some sort of salvation. that i can distance myself so far from where i am currently that anything i am doing now won't matter.
but i don't want to be depressed and i don't want to give up
i recently ordered a book titled "The Joy of Missing Out." i've been saying "yes" a lot more recently, just working on not putting things off. buying the book is one of them. Adi posted an article about it on fb and i think it's all about not being greedy for success/satisfaction/validation to the point where every new win only leaves you emptier and hungrier for the next. i guess it ties in to the idea that the more you know the more you are aware of what you don't know, so the more you have the more you are aware of what you lack. i want every new win to leave me content, not inadequate.
i do admit i grew up daydreaming about granduer, assuming that when i grew up i was entitled to so much because i had a feeling that i was special. my little girl aspirations are looking increasingly naive because all i want now is to get to a point of normalcy. i just want to be enough for myself, that's all
when will it ever stop being hard being me?
I feel like I'm putting so much effort in half of the day only to ruin it the other half
it's exhausting trying to contain myself and predicting all my vices but not knowing how to overcome them
i'm so jealous of those who know how to love themselves
i really wouldn't mind if i melted out of existence and my life paused here
It's been so incredibly difficult and tearstained but I'm really fighting for myself this time. I don't even know where my hope is coming from anymore: it's small but it's there and I'm hanging on to it because it's all I got. I'm really trying to focus on things not being my fault. I have faith that things will turn around eventually.
I feel so suffocated
I feel constant pressure to be what I'm not but what I so desperately want
I feel wasted potential
I can't breathe
I need space
I don't know how to find it
this all hurts so bad
I’m trying so hard but I feel myself giving in to all my vices.
Focusing on self-improvement makes it that much harder.
Every victory feels minute and transient.
I get frustrated and want so badly to lash out.
I know I’ve been in this position before but somehow the familiarity makes it more discouraging than comforting; as if I already know that even if I do get out of this low, I’ll eventually fall back in.
Have you ever despised yourself so much that you can’t foresee yourself ever being happy again? That’s what I’ve been feeling lately and it hurts so much. I’m jaded and desperate for hope.
“Shoot me to the moon, I never figured out earth”
I thrive, shine when I feel independent. It’s easy. But then it always stops being so easy.
When I’m low and need help, it conflicts with my ideal self identity, the Sabrina that I try so hard to curate. That’s why I always say I feel like 2 separate personalities. Every time I reach a good place, when I finally feel like I’m enough, it feels like I’ve surpassed, erased all the bad that preceded it. But that’s not true. I have yet to fully come to terms with my weaknesses, with all of me. I’m always shoving the flawed, scared bits deep down, trying so hard to hide and forget they exist. But it’s all a part of me, and people don’t come in compartmentalized parts. As long as there’s a glossy happy side of me, there will always exist a depressed messy side. And I’m slowly realizing that it’s not my fault when the bad parts resurface.
I don’t know how to handle myself when I’m a mess; I keep thinking “this isn’t me.” I’ll be the first to open up because I crave understanding, but I’m terrible at accepting help. I have a hard time with the concept of trust even in myself. I don’t like to rely on others. It makes me feel weak, vulnerable, desperate, pathetic, and so incredibly uncomfortable. I think the premeditation of these feelings only intensify them when they come. To mitigate, my conversations are littered with defensive disclaimers and “I know’s.” I’ll be the first to bring up everything that’s wrong with me, because God forbid someone assume I need their assessment, that I’m not self-contained enough to figure it out myself. I’m tired of micromanaging my feelings, my life. It’s exhausting. I don’t know who I’m trying more desperately to maintain this pretense for: them or me?
I get so fixated on self-improvement that I often find myself frustrated with anything that reflects all the traits I hate in myself. I guess I’m unable to separate my identity from my context. I often feel like a product of my environment, lacking any real agency. In these situations I feel bitter and mean. You’d think that I’d be empathetic, but instead I react in the same way I’d react to myself. The anger comes from embarrassment and the inability to “fix” what makes me uncomfortable whether it be the situation or the feeling.
I struggle so much with my perception of independence that I have yet to actually attain it. I think true independence has to be predicated on self-love and the capacity to accept my flaws instead of reject them. I need so badly to be able to tell myself that I’m going to be ok and to actually believe it. I am not there yet, and this realization makes me feel paralyzed, stuck.
I’m working on being better, coping better, instead of just imagining what “better” should be. I’m stubborn and impatient. I hate that it has to take time, but I have to just let it happen or else I will continue to float in this limbo. Reality isn’t romantic or sensational. I’m just trying to grow up.
"I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are."