loudmouth

finally getting some rain here, & if all goes well, that will help break the heat. had become sick recently because of the high temps, & i'd vastly curtailed my normal activity, just to prevent a joyride to the local ER. anyway, i made the mistake of getting super-reflect-y, with the storm & piano music as background. as a consequence, i slipped into a mood. this is my best at digging out again.

 

it's been an odd two days. polished off two from the Ender series--Ender's Shadow & Shadow of the Hegemon in less than 36 hours. i haven't read that voraciously in quite some time, but i could not put the books down. i needed them. as much as i despise card's personal beliefs & his promotion of hateful speech & action toward the LGBT community, i am in love with his work. separation of author & text is another discussion entirely, i know. but back to my point. there's something about what he does that enchants me, & i cannot figure out what it is. to be honest, the whiny novice in me is partially maddened by a nebulous jealousy of a quality i cannot even name. silly & childish, i know. i'll get over it.

 

perhaps it has nothing to do with him at all. perhaps it's more frustration at my own inability to sit down & clear my mind of distractions & simply write. i read those books that i love, & i am fully aware of the quality that lies within me, but i struggle to simply pen anything, even the most vile words i could ever put on paper. just the other day, my mom told me that i need to write more. she's seen firsthand what my mind has been doing to me & how i try to fight it & how, for the past two years, i've been losing. as my emotions go, so too does my capacity to focus on any given task. i haven't been able to establish any equilibrium, & it's hellishly difficult for me to get anything down without it; i can't see through the haze.

 

this is going to sound juvenile as well, but there are times when i wish i wasn't possessed of this brain. there's no sense in saying "if only;" i get that. but it truly is a damnable thing. sometimes, it feels as though my mind will explode, for all that races inside it, the pressure that builds, & the escape it denies. i almost want to laugh at how helpless i suppose i make myself sound. when all else fails, resort to the victim mentality, right? & yet i can't change the chemistry. i could put forth a herculean effort toward self-care, & i'll still have these difficulties. always. i sometimes wonder if i've then thrown myself into the worst possible vocation, a sort of masochistic, head-first, no-hands dive into oblivion, & then i always realize, "no, you're miserable when you don't acknowledge yourself, & this is who you are."

 

as such, i cannot abandon this effort, as i cannot abandon myself. i must keep trying, i must keep going. it's hard, & it sucks, but i must not stop, even for a second. maybe that's the semi-perverse joy in it. i have a struggle, & since it is named, i see it, & i can fight it. too many wallow in a fog of willful ignorance, only finding themselves soon dashed against the rocks. the response? "oh. didn't see that coming. [get scraped off with a spatula.] well, whatever. [continue living life, only this time as a smashed-up mash of their former selves.]"

 

i, however, will not accept stubborn blindness & simply roll over. maybe that's why i write in the first place, or partly, anyway. i trip & fall into these messes, & i have to rally to extricate myself from the mire. i write because i have a voice, & i have thoughts, & if i didn't shout & scream & carry on in defiance of my obstacles, then the mud would clog my ears. to be blunt, i would succumb. & honestly, i don't have time for that right now.

i got shit to say.