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.
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