Driving Away.

I haven’t been writing.

And what little non-academic related writing that’s been going on have been so succinct and short or old recycled ideas that I decided to pick up from the ground and edited the shit out of just isn’t like me. It’s been a bit of a dry spell of late. In the creative juices department that is. An absolute terrifying horrible dry ass draught.

I guess I’m having a crisis of faith of sort.

I know. How about that? 20 and having a crisis of faith. I sound like some 105 year old granny that‘s been doing that ONE thing too long that it’s made me this big ball of cynical and jaded and unsure of anything or anyone anymore. But the fact just is, I’m in a funk. I got myself somehow into this deep shithole of a funk that I just can’t get myself out of.

Because I think my problem is that I put so much of my time and energy and effort into these people that eventually there’s this piece of me that’s imbedded into them that when they leave, they take a that part of me that’s grown into them and I’m left with this big gaping hole in my chest and it hurts so much that I’m crippled entirely.

I’ve just spent so much time of my life being this loner extraordinaire buried in my own angst and warped view of the world and little things I pick and choose to define me that when I started letting people in, sharing, exploring, roaming into unchartered territory and plainly just living, it’s like gorging on cake after a being rendered desertless all your life and you just can’t get enough.

Except now I have become sick. Because the inevitable always happens. You get sick of these imaginary cake that you realize what a lie it is and that the cake is not as fantastic as you thought it was. Because inevitably they leave, life disappoints and all you’re left with is this big bullet hole through your body and a part of you’s just taken away and just gone. Just like that.

And when it happens, as it always does, I go and try to fill these torn wide open holes with other stuff, cause I’m just not done exploring, I try other more stuff, invest into more other people, and eventually along the way, I stopped writing.

In short, writing’s just become this unfinished project shelved up at the back of my closet gathering dust and never seeing sunlight again, leaving me dumbfounded and wondering what, where and when did I just, stop? And who am I now?

I recall once upon a not so long ago that me and words? We used to be quite a tag team.

Everything’s just changed so earth shatteringly and ground shakingly that it just contributes more to my confusion and uncertainty.

I’m just not sure of anything anymore.

“I’m still driving away. And I’m sorry everyday”
Jimmy Eat World, 23.

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One Response

  1. To be a good human being is to have a kind of openness to the world, an ability to trust uncertain things beyond your own control, that can lead you to be shattered in very extreme circumstances for which you were not to blame. That says something very important about the condition of the ethical life: that it is based on a trust in the uncertain and on a willingness to be exposed; it’s based on being more like a plant than like a jewel, something rather fragile, but whose very particular beauty is inseparable from that fragility.

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