Where do I go from here?

Sun. January 11th, 2015.

     Today feels sad and lonely. I am having a hard time finding fulfillment in photo editing. Too many hours on my computer starts to hurt my mind and my psyche. I don't know what to do to fill the void and I'm not sure how I can continue to photograph without committing myself to editing. It's like a constant buzzing, I'm becoming a robot. I took down the t.v. that was in front of my bed, blocking the window, it had always made me feel uneasy, but I'm starting to feel that it was without purpose if I have only replaced it with a smaller version. Nonetheless, at least I am able to open my blinds at full capacity again.

     I'm not living for myself. I know what to do, my mind shouts it: ride your bike, drive someplace real far, listen to music on blast, go to the open mic, take beautiful pictures, call up your friends, get out of bed, cook good food-or don't, write. The furthest that I get some days is the opposite end of my house. I make it here. I play my music loud, sometimes. Wtf is wrong with me? I think about switching it up. Drastically. Maybe I'll change it all, my hair, my name, get my passport and leave. I don't have the financial capital to do so. I thought that schooling would bring me to my life's calling. It has been 6 months since my last college course. I want to throw up at the thought. Finishing school was supposed to be the greatest accomplishment of my life thus far, a time of celebration, encouragement, fresh starts. You can be anything that you want to be. What do I want to be when I grow up? I'm still trying to figure it out... Happy? All I dream about is traveling. All I know that I want to do is explore. My dream of being a Photojournalist hasn't ceased, I just haven't done anything to pursue it professionally. Perhaps due to it being a competitive field, generally low paying and hard to break into.

     I got lost the other day, on the way to the Armstrong Redwood forest. In Tiburon, by the bay. I started a new Instagram page: 

CaliforniaWanderlust.

Love Atrophy

I'm not sure why but I hate myself.

Apparently I don't have enough love in my heart.
I didn't know that you could lose it, that love was something to be lost.
Is love like a muscle? You can gain muscle atrophy by not working out your love muscle.
I find myself becoming internally infuriated.
I feel my chest tighten and my teeth grit.
I have no fuse.
I lack patience and tolerance.
I do not know everything but yet I am so quick to assume that I know best.
I can have such empathy and yet not be able to show kindness.
I am sickened by myself but I do not know how to change.
Yesterday I was told that people often return to the temple in time of need, when they have gone as far as they can without it. I need salvation, refuge, a class in love.
But I laugh at your G-d. At your Jesus talk. I mock your spiritualism. But no one would know because I would defend G-d should you tell me that G-d does not exist. I have faith and hope.
I do not practice my love.
Or maybe I just wouldn't call it love. I do love. I feel love. I do feel.
I feel too much.
Am I feeling wrong?
I am heavy. All the time. I feel the weight of my body.
I am not necessarily self-conscious, yet I am conscious of myself.
Music, Reading, Blogging, Laying, Sitting, Walking, Driving, Cleaning, Making a mess, Microwave, Guilt, Analyzing, Watching, Staring, Thinking, Feeling.
"Am I of the state of talking," my mother asked me?
What a ridiculous question I thought. I laughed, "yes, I suppose," I responded.
However when I came to, I let it sink in. I am so difficult to deal with recently that you'd have to brace yourself to come around me. Ask, before you speak.
I hid in my closet the other day.
The only place in my house that is not inhabited by another.
If it was large enough I would clean it out and make it a regular habit.
I keep looking to the future to fix me.
When I have more money, more space, I will be fixed. I will be one with myself, again.
I used to love me.

Just like that, here I am, writing about my own internal struggle in this very moment and someone just came through my door that I had no expectation of seeing, that brought me more faith, joy and love than I would have imagined. Thank you. 

Lack of motivation.

Some days I just don't feel it. 

I have no desire to get out of bed. 

Not even to eat, get fresh air or pee. 

I just lay here, like a sloth, like a zombie. 

I reflect upon my actions, or lack thereof, searching for the answer to fill the void. 

It's not that I am like this everyday but it's hard not to notice the days that I am. 

Is this depression? 

My chest hurts.

But I'm happy. I believe that I am. 

I am content. 

Yes, I can 100% commit to contentment.

... 

What's next? 

I have not found IT. 

It. 

The force that makes you thrive, that gets you out of bed every morning, that makes you want to do better, be better. The reason for my purpose.

What is my purpose?

Sometimes I'll come across an opportunity and I'll take it, in desperate need of an objective, a project.

Give me something to DO, anything.

However, when you are the only one accountable for your actions it is easy to slack off, procrastinate, lay in bed, like a sloth, sitting, waiting for purpose to fall in your lap.

Girlfriend, opportunity doesn't come knocking unless you go out there and search for it. My self talk helps. 

Then I give up. On projects. You know, the ones I took just to do something, anything with my time.

Why?

Standards? Laziness?

I believe it's due to a lack of fulfillment.

I'd rather do nothing than something that doesn't fulfill me completely.

However, while I'm sitting, waiting, wishing that I'd find it, I'm probably missing out on all the things that will bring me to it. 

I suppose, here's to New Year's resolutions. To finding fulfillment and enjoying the journey along the way. 

What do I know?

      I sit here often. I wake up, reach for my phone and lose cognition of the world around me, it is but me, my mini-computer and my bed. I gaze at fashion items on Pinterest, delicious looking foods and ignite my inner adventurer with boards of travel photography. I force myself to read the news or listen on NPR, where I either end up submersing myself in it or slowly exiting after a few articles of overwhelming reality. I don't know if this is normal, I don't feel abnormal, although I do feel occasionally low, guilty even for indulging or better yet, obsessing.

       Last night I walked into the room where 4 young teenage girls were lying on the bed on their phones, my nieces or my bf's nieces and my little nephew who's only 8 wanted to play with them but they were ignoring him. I told them they were lame for being together but just being on their phones, not talking or playing. I found myself speaking quickly as I spurted out, you guys are 13 and aren't thinking about the same things that he is, you think about boys, school, selfish things and there's a big difference in age. When I was young I didn't have technology like this, I played with my cousins and caused trouble and messed with our parents, we talked and played. No offense I threw in, one of them spoke up and seemed mad at me for saying selfish, and said what do you mean no offense, you just called us lame. I continued to explain that I was thinking about myself at that age too and it's okay and not necessary for them to think about anything else but those things and themselves. I felt the dense air thicken and as I lay on one of the beds I could feel the girls staring at me from the other close by. I didn't know what to say or how to make it better, especially after saying what I truly felt. I talked with the eldest one and asked about school, the younger one that was mad at me asked me if I ever had a dream car when I was young and I slowly felt my heartbeat return to normal. I felt badly for the way that I spoke to them, I could have easily rephrased my words and had a more thought provoking conversation if I had given it more thought. I sit with them often, feeling like I know exactly what it is to be that young but maybe it is different, maybe time's are changing and I'm not in touch with their generation anymore.  

       

     They don't want to play in the dirt and that bothers me. I'm judgmental toward their use of technology because they never have known a world without it. I justify my use because I'm aware of it, take constant breaks and have known what it is to not have a smart phone or a computer or tv on pause. They're good kids actually, fairly normal and well behaved, but it's not just them I'm targeting with my frustration, frankly it's everyone. Sincerely, it's myself too. 

Sometimes I have amazing days but here I only want to post my secrets...

I can't change this heart of mine or turn back the hands of time. ❤️

I do smile now and then, glad that I could call you a friend. 

Some days fly by more than others, wonder if you've found another. 

All I have are memories, of which I think of beneath the trees. 

Silly you may call me sometimes, but I can not help it, fool.

I am happy where I am now, but that doesn't diminish you.

I question if we'll go for coffee, should you see me walk your way. ☕️

Catch up on lost seasons,

For no further rhyme or reason,

Than to tell you that I miss you and hope that you have happy days. ☀️

I don't feel inspired anymore...

I don't feel inspired anymore and I'm scared. 
I don't feel magic in his lips or a spark or certainty. 
I am ignorant and I allow myself to be. 
I am lazy and lethargic. 
Thoughts of what I could be doing, should be doing, run through my mind. 
Running, running, running. 
Even when I'm safe in bed where no one can hurt me but myself at least in my head I am running. 
Fear. 
There is nothing to fear but fear itself. 
Well then I fear, fear. 
I find refuge in other's stories, other's lives, but where is my solitude? 
While I am writing my heart is pounding, knowing that all of this is true, 
not even wanting to wait or be here in this moment and write it down because I should be running. 
The outside calls me. 
I hear the birds chirp and somedays I crack open my blinds and let the light in. 
I am a prisoner within myself, to myself, chained to my emotions. 
I wonder if the problem is me. 
I have so many dreams. 
Beautiful dreams, elaborate dreams, realistic, attainable, obscure, insane dreams. 
I live to dream because in that state of inter-consciousness I can not feel real world problems. 
The solutions are flowy and hazy and white. 
I take pictures of sunsets on castles and I am free. 
I long to be free. 
My inspiration comes in doses and it usually only lasts long enough to write a poem. 
I don't want you to pity me, I want you to believe in me. 
I want you to convince me to believe in myself. 
Maybe if I slowly start to convince myself it will soon be less of an acting gig and more of a truth.
Buzzing. 
My head is often buzzing and I wonder if it is because it is not receiving enough stimulation. 
Challenge yourself. Be something. Do something. Do anything. 
Make art. 
I suck at art. 
All that I thought that I came from, that I was, that I admire, it is all for not. 
Now I am stuck here re-inventing myself. 

Poem.

I don't know what I look like anymore. 

I don't know who I am. 

And sometimes, when it comes to others, I don't give a damn. 

I'm so tired of feeling, every word and everything. 

Sometimes I just want to be left alone, excuse me please,

I need to leave. 

I would like to keep self-pitying myself, and all that I do 

But I'm starting to feel guilty and realizing that it all isn't true. 

I no longer want to suffer in this box I have placed myself in, 

But I have been in here so long; I may die from sun exposure. 

When it comes to life decisions I repeat that I do not have a clue

But the truth is that I am very thoughtful and confident in most everything that I do. 

I may play dumb because it is easy but with myself I cannot lie, 

I pretend not to acknowledge that I'm living my life in disguise. 

Excuses for where my head's at, justifications for why I am late, 

I am beginning to think it is self-sabotage and that truly I may turn out great. 

I sigh in relief at the thought of it all, hoping to carry on with my head held high but just as I do, for a minute or two,

I begin again to ask myself why. 

I often get lost in the details and forget to listen to my heart, 

The only place that I find my sanity is writing here alone in the dark. 

No one truly knows where I come from,

I know that most don't give a damn.

Why should they? I don't.

I am constantly convincing myself to. 

I would like to reach out and touch you, 

To not cower from where I stand,

But the thought of it makes me queasy and I find it hard to stand. 

I often get lost in this vortex between my bed, the ground and my sheets, dreaming of what once was or what could be,

Analyzing it all for meaning. 

Comparing my cries for help to the bible,

The story of the man in the boat.  

Who denied all that came to save him,

When he could barely stay afloat. 

God will be my salvation he said,

Do not worry,

He surely won't let me down.

But when he died and he reached the gates of heaven he asked,

Why did you betray me? 

He ignored all the signs of salvation, 

All the people that reached out their hands,

And I fear that I too will end up drowning, a saddened fool.

I have come to few realizations

And in the midst I feel the wind at my feet. 

It keeps pushing me in different directions and although I was stuck before, I allow it to move me,

To sway me, and again, I start to see. 

When I ignore the inevitability that there soon will be change, 

A rush of alleviation fills my brain and the temporary endorphins convince me that I am happy, 

Content in my ways. 

I could be simple,

I say toward the end of the day,

When I think about what is to come. 

I will change my career goal to make more money,

There is nothing worth exploring out there. 

But my heart, it aches, knowing that these words are stuffing to fill the tears in my lining. 

Recently every situation has presented itself with life lessons. 

The people that I come into contact with, 

Serve as pieces of truths, 

Slowly but surely revealing themselves to me. 

I cling to their words, absorbing their advice like a dried out sponge coming into contact with water. 

I am thirsty for knowledge, 

I am open like the pores of the sponge. 

Spending my time searching for a release. 

No one thing satisfies me. 

Art. 

Music. 

Poetry.

All components of who I am.

I do not come to you for answers,

I have not one question to ask.

Flooded with thoughts of uncertainty.

Fear, I fear in itself.

I admire the brave face that they often use,

Others like me that quiver at these thoughts too.  

Just as well, I may walk away from this confession,

Pleased and feeling success.

For this pain that is ever enduring has slightly, momentarily,

Been lifted from my chest.