wrists cramping. neck dislodged. same familiar feeling. different beauty to it.
couldn't call this addiction, but can't ignore it either. things feel different. and i'm getting dissatisfied. but i think it's my fault. i'm not living the lifestyle i'm supposed to be living. and i'm not sure whether i want to live the life i believe i'm supposed to live because maybe it's a fucked up reflection of the things that should make me happy and i'm not sure if that makes me truly happy.
but i know what makes me happy.
i'm a perfectionist.
i'm a writer. i smell,
the old chicago streetlights,
the cold metal and warm air,
the concrete airbrushed by heavy orange and dark shadows shaped like vehicles.
inhale. the feeling of the sun, the feeling of warmth.
that's all i seem to remember nowadays.
i get the feeling that i should be doing better. and i can be. i have the option to do better. but it requires a lot of effort. and a lot of care i don't have right now. the only thing i wanna do is lay in bed and have sex and eat and sleep. i keep craving these stupid dopamine flushes. and i'm slinking back down to that depression. wrist cracks. sitting up. and the struggles are real. they feel real, and you have to acknowledge that it makes you uncomfortable. nothing should make you feel uncomfortable. but it does a good job of putting my mind in a haze mode. like the fact that i can keep typing away without needing 100% of my full attention. this is just me expressing myself. in my super fucking old journal.
i'm really fucking with this music. god bless mint.
talking about identity, debating other people, learning and brushing up, doing what's right for me - i need soup for my soul and some self-care. i think i know exactly what i need to do. work a little more self-care. what a stupid thing for me to realize right now. wow. i just need to make more time for myself. if new amsterdam has taught me anything...most people feel strained of time. i feel strained of time too, and i don't even feel like i'm doing much. but i want to fully enjoy my days and crack this depression wide open. because i deserve to glow and be happy. i deserve to take care of myself. and i know i can do a better job than i'm currently doing. because i'm a damn boss.
now if you'll excuse me, i'm literally gonna go make some real fuckin soup. and i'm going to meditate, and then eat, and breathe, and stretch, and do laundry, and shower, and then sleep. i'll probably end up only doing two of those things, but hey, it's good to have faith and motive. though nothing and no one could motivate me right now i'm way too fucking tired and it's 4 in the fucking morning.
i just wanna get ratchet at scarlet and dance on someone hot and get a little crossed like i did yesterday night when i took a double tequila shot at club station house then proceeded to hit latrice's friend in the bathroom twice and exhaling the rings into the toilet. out of context, i know it's weird, but my oil catridge pen is named latrice's friend. i'm certain that it's never going to change.
i need to be more fierce and more helpful and more careful. i have to stop saying that i know,
and just start doing,
it's time to do.