Lauren. 24. On the fence about just about everything.
I try not to use this tumblr as an (emotional) journal because I feel like a lot of people follow me who don’t know me that well, and have no reason to give a fuck about whatever random feelings I’m having day to day. But. I actually started it with that function in mind, and I need to put some words somewhere to get them out of my head. So. Sorry in advance.
I am so tired of feeling this way.
I have absolutely no reason to be sad. I am so sad right now. It’s an emotion but it feels like a physical thing. Like I accidentally exhaled too much and now there’s low pressure in my chest pulling on me. It feels like my whole body is drooping.
God. Fuck. My head is so full of other people’s words that I can’t find my own. Though I don’t know why I am so set on this idea that I will feel better if I can just say what I am feeling, because I probably won’t. I have never in my life been happy with who I am as a person. Right now I’m upset at myself for how I’ve been living while I’ve been at college, and thinking about the person that I was during high school as some holy grail that I need to work my way back toward. The thing is, when I was that person, I was still miserable, and looking at all the people around me, trying to be them. Which is how I got here.
I don’t know. I’m not going to lie, between the last two sentences of that last paragraph, my brother smoked me out, and I’m not all that sad anymore. Actually, now that I’m back in my bed I can feel it seeping in around the edges, but it’s a nicer feeling. To be honest, I actually really like feeling “sad” most of the time, which is why I panic so badly when it starts to feel crushing: because I can’t ever see myself changing all that much. Not to speak in other people’s words, but I felt like I was drowning earlier. I’m starting to feel that again, but I’m safe and tucked up in my mind now, so it’s okay. I didn’t feel emo tonight until someone said I was- I was just thinking, not dramatically staring into the distance, just… staring into the distance.
But now I’m sad again. Because that’s what I was sad about earlier, I just forgot. I feel like I spend my life just looking at things. Looking at people. I feel like a visitor to a peculiar museum exhibit, at which I’m not particularly wanted.
Actually I feel sort of like a moth pinned to a board, with God looking in on me from an angle I can’t even comprehend. Only the place he’s looking from is in my gut. I feel like there is another dimension opening up inside my chest or in my stomach, and I know this is corny and stupid, but I can imagine it a like a line slicing through me, bursting out of me, and it’s bright white and like a door that’s bigger than anything, and it’s so completely empty. I mean, there’s a ringing in my ears that never goes away, okay? That’s ”normal.” We accept that. I think of it like brain-static and let that be, but what does that mean? Why don’t I care?
Or, more accurately, why don’t I care enough?
I care enough to make myself miserable, but not enough to make myself better.
I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. And I’m tired of it.