Uh oh. Unease. Life and its beat are wearing thin lately. Manic doesn't even begin to describe my frame of mind. My soundtrack is off, my steps are faltering. I feel as if I'm trudging up stadium steps, ankle weights making my every step heavier. The closer to the top I get, the more impossible the journey becomes.
The weights are made of doubts. Doubts are the heaviest substance known to man. They have this terrible habit of becoming even heavier in groups of 2 or more. Which means right now, I'm basically carrying out Satan's plan for me in Hell. The motherfucker obviously has designs for an eternity of carrying a shit ton of doubts up and down the stairs of my high school's bleachers. I'm guessing he'll make the chains extra long. Because he's Satan.
On paper - hell, in my head even, life is fairly okay. Mostly, everything is a varying degree of good. Some parts are even better than good. Much better. Nearly perfect. And there's the problem. Nearly perfect isn't supposed to apply to me. Nearly perfect is supposed to remain just out of reach - I'm supposed to know what it looks like in the window, but not on my body in the dressing room. But I'm not just trying the shit on. I bought it and took it home. Now I'm staring at it, wondering how I'm supposed to make it a part of my everyday wardrobe.
Life has been so much of the same for so long. And even when it changed drastically, like I took an eraser to it and drew a bunch of new stuff in - even then, it still felt like the same life. And now? WHERE THE FUCK AM I? I feel like a part of me I had all but eliminated is back with a vengeance, but I'm feeling panicked because I'm missing other parts I've grown accustomed to. Defining parts. I don't know if I should be calling this an identity crisis, but it's certainly the closest thing I've ever had to one.
How is it even possible to be so happy with so much and still be so manicpanickednervousextraspecialcaffeinatedtothemotherfuckinghilt?
S.O.S.
