Every day since about 3 weeks ago I have felt like an empty carcass... like a left over cicada body... wandering around. No purpose, no goals, no feeling. I don't feel pressured to do anything, I don't feel stressed out or motivated by stress or fear. Mostly, I feel medicated. I'm a cargo jet filled with victims in a holding pattern. I keep doing what I have to do, but there is no golden ring at the end. Just a pile of bullshit.
In the past year or so I've been told how there are so many things I do wrong. The way I talk, dress, have my hair, write, and smile (as in, not fakely holding it long enough I guess). I've altered a few things to get people to shut up and stop making me constantly on a day to day basis feel like a complete failure at life and work. Some of the things I altered because I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to polish it up a little. I haven't changed how I treat people, how I talk to people. That doesn't mean I'm a sweet littl e muffin to everyone. No, what it means is that I'm genuine. If I am irritated with someone, they know it. If someone is being an asshole, they don't deserve to be treated to smiles and favors. And it has worked. And it will continue working. I am able to hold my head up high and say that I have treated people in a way that I do not regret. But for a few instances, I wouldn't change my behavior or attitude towards anyone in the past year and a half. And I can say that because the people who support me, the people who are being honest with me and holding me up right now are quality. They are amazing, they are impressive, they are trustworthy, and most of all they are genuine.
In a tough spot right now I am wet in the eyes happy to say I am touched by my people. I am moved and honored to know them. I can trust and be trusted.
And I can pick and choose, and that feels magnificent.
LC from the Hills looks like she's about 35. And I'm pretty sure she's 21. And there's nothing wrong with being 35, that's not the point. There is something wrong with looking 35 when you're 21, though.
I discovered yesterday and basically all last week that what's upstairs in your noggin can harshly impact what's going on downstairs... and by downstairs I mean the whole body (including the evacuation routes). My life is about to change drastically. No, I am not converting genitals or getting engaged or haing 8 babies. It's more of a daily function sort of thing. I'm not sick, I'm not moving out of my beautiful life soaked NYC, so don't worry about me. I'm just going to be "forced to move in ways I [you] haven't moved in a while", as a good friend consoled me. I'm not sad. I'm just odd. I'm in limbo? Maybe pergatory?
Either way, I guess I'm not completely at ease about any of it because I feel like I've OD'd on Prozac - I don't feel intensely about it in either direction, which is completely abnormal for me. I'm fairly dramatic and I have a tendency to REALLY REACT in one way or the other. I'm emotional, I let myself feel my emotions, and I don't think that's bad. So of course, imagine my surprise at this latest major life change... when my emotions seem to have taken a hike. Maybe they're exploring something else right now and they just don't have the time to give this attention. But you know what DOES have the time to react? My fucking body.
Yesterday I think I had an anxiety attack. Wouldn't be my first. The first one I had was in freshman econ. That was a hoot. No, really, yesterday I couldn't catch my breath. My chest felt squeezed in a vice. I wanted to blubber. I wanted to cry as if someone had slaughtered my little sister and left her in a bag next to 422. I couldn't walk more than 2 steps without feeling lightheaded and in a complete panic about possibly honking in a public place. My walk to the subway (after spending a total of half an hour in a cold panic sweat at work) was more painful than labial piercing. Everyone around me was smoking cigarettes that must have been filled with manure. The woman in front of me had a walk on her that made my brain explode with anger. The garbage cans were filled with dead animals and molding fish eggs. The F train was late. The subway air was hot feet and puke saturated toe jam.
i got home and stood over the toilet for a good half hour, fighting the good fight. I won. I sat on the couch and stared at the TV, concentrating on keeping whatever was inside, IN. I worked a little, but didn't nap.
And last night? I woke up standing next to my bed. I got up at least 8 times before that and just sort of walked aimlessly around. I wasn't sleep walking, but I think my body thought I had somewhere to go.
I'm unbuttoning, aren't I? I am mentally unbuttoning.