The Truth of Me (Longgg)

Here is the truth of Me.

All things said, dropping the ridiculous comparisons I obssesively bring up. I’ve lived an extraordinary life.

I’ve done nearly everything I’ve set my mind to, and I’ve experienced everything I ever hoped to experience and then some.

My depression tells me I’m not good enough, and my mania tells me I can do more, be more, and I spiral into an endless insatiable quest for more. The icing on the cake is my neverending fear of abandonment fed by my borderline personality disorder. I push people away because I don’t want to be abandoned. I’d rather do they abandoning. Hippocrital I know, never giving people the chance to go against my paranoia.

The disorders I live with impact my daily life, and they influence my thoughts and actions, but even then they don’t win. They don’t control me, at least not completely. I understand what’s wrong with me and I’m always aware of it’s control. I’m not free, but I’m also not ignorant of my issues.

This post has taken a different turn. The point in all this shit, is that I live, I breath, I smile and I cry. I am alive and successful in my own ambitions. I’ve always known to perservere for what I want even if the obstacle is my own mind, but I’d never acknowledged that taking it slow is okay too.

I never stopped to think I could enjoy gardening with my mother, cleaning my house, or simply living off the grid, in a place I never chose.

I guess you could say, I never stopped to realize that I can be happy even in reliquishing my control. I can be happy even if I didn’t choose this life, the present one.

It’s always been a competition in my life. A competition with imaginary competitors who always beat me and rules that say I can’t be happy unless I win.

I’ve never known how to stay still and be content. Success, Adventure and Knowledge have always given me a home. They’ve been my stablity and happiness. I’ve never known how to happy when Idle, when bored, when found in the perfect stability that most others find contentment in.

For someone like me, always jumping from extremes, it’s hard to be content. Content is foreign to me, it’s scary in it’s stable and neutral nature. My aversion to all things content and normal is the same aversion most people feel towards being alone in a foreign country without money, it’s fucking scary.

Being content is fucking scary, it’s like losing my identity, it’s like admitting defeat. To be content is hard, it goes against my nature, but slowly I’m learning to be content, to be appreciative for the things I didn’t wan,t but have anyway. Like living with my mom, It’s embarrasing at my age, but I know one day, I’ll appreciate the extra time I have with her now, because no one lives forever.

People like me, we get caught up in our ambition, our problems, and our lack of control, and in so doing we forget the little things that matter like breakfast with mom. We forget to see the beauty outside of our own alphabet of plans. We tend to let our loved ones pass us by.

So, I want to stop that now. Because my life is perfect and I’ve been too goddamn blind to appreciate it. My family, my friends, and I, we all deserve better than my empty ambitions. I know I’ve been lacking….

I have an Extraordinary Toothbrush

There’s an old toothbrush in my bathroom. It should’ve been thrown out months ago, a long time ago, but yet it still adorns my sink. I have too many new toothbrushes and none of them have been taken out of their packaging.

I’m waiting for the “right” day the “right” time, but really there is no “right” time. I’m waiting for a day that won’t come, to do the inevitable.

It’s just a cheap old toothbrush brought along from Germany. It’s a drugstore toothbrush I can’t get myself to throw away. It’s a reminder of a different life, a better life, a different me.

I hold on to these tokens of a different life. They’re my lifeline, my sanity, in a time when my mind slowly unravels. I grab on ferrociously to these reminders of who I once was, of what I once did, and where I once lived and what I once felt.

Silly as it may be, that tooth brush is very hard to let go. Everyday I tell myself I’ll throw it away, and everyday I think, “Tomorrow I’ll do it, just one more day”.

How desperate do you have to be for a toothbrush to mean that much? That toothbrush holds so many memories, so much happiness, and sorrow. It’s just a thing like any other thing, but somehow I attached my memories to it like a photo on a wall and a video in a phone.

It helps me recall a happier and more fulfilling time. I changed when I moved back to the USA, and I don’t think I’m quite myself anymore. That toothbrush reminds me who I am.

I guess that’s how lonely I am. That’s how unloved I feel. I guess that’s how unhappy I am. My memories, my happiness, my goals, my personality they’ve been imprinted on a plain old toothbrush that’s past it’s expiration date.

I guess I can count on the toothbrush to stick around as long as I want it around. Unlike people, the toothbrush is just an object, a painting, that evokes emotions in me that I don’t want to forget.

So, that’s my post for day.

I have an old toothbrush past it’s expiration date. It’s a special ordinary toothbrush that I can’t get myself to let go of. Why? Because I have issues and I’ve projected my happy memories on it in an effort to hold onto hope, to hold onto myself.

The ordinary turned extraordinary in my broken mind. My toothbrush.

What is Life?

What is life, but an empty chasm?

It’s a senseless void echoing indistinguishable sounds that arm us with illusions.

We march forth hungry for answers never found.

The tyrant struggle for dominion of the self never ceasing and ever growing.

All too easily ripe for disillusionment yet plagued by denial.

A rotting crop, in a fictional reality, cloaked with memories of things not being, looking to fill a ceaseless chasm.

What is life, But the ramblings of perception.

The semi-sentient perception of my perception is but an echo.

Meaningless More

I find myself precariously dancing along the edges of crossroads leading to nowhere.

I find myself hearing words that carry no weight from people I’ll soon forget.

I find myself forgiving their insults and lashing out at myself.

I create a dystopian utopia to envelope my heart.

Where there are smiles there are factors at play: efficiency, neccesity, gains, losses and personality profiles to maintain.

It’s not the strangers at play.

It’s the people who “Love” me.

Built in flaw.

Family.

Feeling Normal

Hi Bloggers,

I’m back. It’s only been like 3 months or something since my last post. Since then I’ve gone into a manic state, I’ve been even more depressed and suicidal and now I’ve started to experience a more normal state of being. The last time I felt any real semblance of normalcy was in July of last year.

JULY…I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since the last time felt “normal” as opposed to depressed or manic. It’s the first time in nearly a year that I’ve been able to feel like I dominate my emotions and not the other way around.

Feeling normal is so damn boring, but you know, it’s boring in a refreshing way. I don’t feel like anything is exceptionally urgent and I don’t feel useless, ugly, depressed or suicidal. I also don’t feel manic.

I’d say, normalcy feels like blissful boredom. No more need to plan a million backup plans, no need to scheme, hide or be depressed. Everything is just blissfully boring in the way I imagine many people experience.

Not a desperate boredom rather a blissful one.

It hasn’t been a year since I experienced happiness, that’s not what I mean. I experience fleeting moments of happiness here and there, but normalcy, a calm in the storm of my emotions, that’s rare.

I miss my old life, but I can’t get it back. It’s gone. The past can’t be relived.

At least for now, there is calm in my soul. The clouds of depression and the racing thoughts of mania stand at bay allowing me a short breath of air.

Relive Again

What is there?

To relive again

 

What is there?

To renew once more

 

Is life not more than a petty struggle?

 

Is it not infinitesimally short?

 

What is there

…Worthy…

Of another go

 

Is it not the beauty that we seek?

And altogether ignore

 

It is not the emotions we idolize?

 

Is it not the utter amazement we left behind?

 

It is not the creativity that slowly died?

 

What is there…To relive once more?

 

Can it be…

That we’ve lost ourselves in the whispers of expectation

In the corners of reprimand

And the disapproving glares?

 

Can it be…

That we’ve sought to line our coffers and bankrupted our soul?

 

Can it be…

That there is something worth reliving?

 

What is there?