quie-rez?

being alive is literally. just. problem and solution. everything else is extra filler we project to complicate things. its never that complicated. as long as the sides of the relation can agree on the problem, and agree on the solution, you're good. whether the relation to self, another, multiples, etc. but we spend most of our energy zoomed in applying topical treatments to scapegoats we pretend are the problem, and i do mean pretend. if we werent so god damn scared of the truth we' would spend less time on these details.

i dont feel safe anymore. not at home. not going out. my job is horrible. i shake and get dizzy at work because i cant eat. ive lost twenty something pounds because i cant. i cant sleep. i come home and feel haunted. i try to meditate but i just hear sex. and it hurts so bad. i have no money. i quit drugs, and i started again because i just cant do it. i dont enjoy it. im sick of surviving. im sick of looking so sad. my eyes burn. ive sobbed multiple times a day almost every day for 11 weeks. my sinuses are fucked. im not good at being alone but i have to. i try to love myself everyday. i just wanted the show to be okay. the last one of an era that was my coming of age. i just wanted that. and now im being threatened. i dont want to be a victim. i just want to be a person who struggles too much to have healthy relationships, that in of itself is punishment enough for me. i quit hrt again. i feel locked inside.

a long long time ago i was ruled by a dictative impulse. My solace was absorbing my identity into another soul to serve. my solace was screaming folk punk songs on a playground at 3 in the morning accompanied by tall boys of Modelo. My purpose was giving blood to a god that never existed. & the god was me. waiting to be discovered and tended to like a wounded child. That child grew, and it yearns and serves itself through others dignified. There is no longer room for pity with a centered sense of self like this.

discard. (the scatter)

proceed. (stretch)

movement. 1/2 of Life.

Follow their advice. (yours)

And touch back what you crave.

We've been over this free will talk before. We've been over attachment before, and we will go over it until we can teach it to all the people we love and hopefully some we hate. But I know I'm no longer a performance of an organism, and that's a lesson I wont repeat. So center. The words of craving popped in after hours of muted despair. "I want to feel like me again", and so you've found yourself here typing it out knowing you're on the other side of this "post now" button waiting to embrace your humanity with worms on strings for arms you dumby.

i get to wake up every day. i get to wake up, before noon, and /want/ to feed myself. want to be close to my friends and my lover. be close to myself and im so incredibly thankful for it all. i weigh the most i ever had, i look beautiful in my reflections, im coming off the meds that have been submerging a lot of my inner world. i just. suddenly remember that its supposed to be good. im supposed to look after this skin, and share it with love, and go out and scream at cops and feed people on the sidewalk in exchange for good stories and advice. and i dont need to prove it to anybody. but i always want to remind myself.

for the first time i fear death, and sometimes throughout the day and im standing there, the sun in my face, the air apparent around my skin. i feel raw and terrified. an existential dysphoria that i exist at all in a body, and it feels s*xually violating, as if god is groping me by the soul.

but i yearn again. i yearn to yearn at all. and i long for something comfortable, an impossible place where i can reside while time stands still.

Full Time F*ggot