All of my ramblings on one site ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jackanope I woke up strategizing. "If I shower by xx and leave by xx I can just miss Devin coming home and I'll pick up tje stuff then be on my way to Warwick for therapy. My body will feel exhilarated and fast and guilty and relieved." Well, I just worked 5 days in a row and I wanted to sleep in. Anxiety nestled up to me, whispered "times running out. We need to get going." "Why? I'm exhausted" "Because I wanna stay fucked up and you're ruining that" I don't necessarily enjoy the things I do. In the moment I feel uninterested and jaded maybe but as the memory marinates in my mind, I begin to replay it as a lovely, enlightening journey. When really it's feeling bored, uninterested, chasing some high, intensely tired from traveling and touching things in this biohazard of a world. The memory meat is too young to be any good. It's got to marinate in my daily dread as a thing to long for to take me away from the moment. I don't want to give up one dream for the other. I want to travel and live in a van as a form of vacation, not permanently. I want to be a mom and feel the challenge and the absolute joys of the female human experience. I need to stop comparing my relationship to others. Everyone loves Devin. I want to love him, too. I don't want my love to come from a place of hurt anymore though. When I'm sober and happy I want a baby. When I'm fucked up and happy I want to travel and do crazy, empty stuff. I am eternally empty. I am a bottomless pit. Is it something to be managed or is it a thing to be filled? It's no one's fault, I was born with it. It's why I am who I am and it doesn't have a name. Sobriety is pain relief for pain relief 10:32 a.m. - 2021-11-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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