#brookxasher

So I googled “racing thoughts” 

Let’s title this “Thinly Veiled Self-Hatred” because I’m tired of masquerading as if everything is perfect and wonderful and amazing all the time.

There are hills in the distance that just taunt me with their glory. If I need nature to remind me why I believe in God, it’s those hills, and I want to climb them; I want to conquer them. I want to set foot on every inch of yellow grass, follow every trail through every forest, know these hills so intimately that I can truly call Southern Oregon my home.

I had the romantic thought to go chasing after sunrise photos this morning, running a mile-and-a-half to the top of the universe and facing east just when the moment was right.

But I don’t have the lung capacity for that. And as a small woman, I cannot make this journey alone. Not cannot; should not. “Should” is a bad word on my tongue. It’d be dangerous for me to entertain my spontaneity. I’m too stupid to know how to fight a bear in the forest or a man with a pocketknife. I’m stupid to humor the idea; I’m better off staying at home.

I lapse into fantasy too often; probably a product of my brain not being competent enough to live anywhere above the land of stupidity. Fake it ‘til you make it and that’s as good as it’s going to get. Sometimes I think about the boy I hope to marry, and I put a real name to a real face for the sake of comforting myself while I slip into delusion. In the real world, I want to go see this boy, but he lives so far away. I’d drive down the ocean for him, but the roads get too windy on the edges of cliffs. I don’t have the money to spend on hotels. Could I sleep in a hotel room by myself, anyway? With rusty air conditioners that could catch on fire and running toilets with leaky pipes? I don’t even know how to pump my own gas.

There’s an idyllic sentiment that people in their twenties “should” up and travel before they lose the opportunity to family and career. But I’m held in place by paralysis. God, do I want to be that person who camps out on a blanket under the Milky Way, listening to the sounds of the waves and understanding that I’m only a tiny piece of the universe.

But I can’t.

And you don’t understand, but I can’t.

Genuinely.

No lies.

I’m alone in my room at 5:33 a.m. thinking about how I’ll never escape my self-imposed prison, but at least it’s a sensible price and I don’t mind the setting too much.

Not like I could change my mind anyhow.

But don’t worry. I’ll never forget. Because people laugh when I get cute and flustered but I snuck away twice to cry yesterday because I know I’m never going anywhere. I’m not freaking out and I don’t have a bad attitude. I need a prescription or someone to talk to.

I think too fast.

I think too fast about the things I don’t want to think about. I can’t slow down enough to think about what I want to think about because there’s either zero or ninety, there is not in between. If there is a period of acceleration or deceleration I can’t think about it, because I’m too distracted by the act that I’m caught in. Rapid disassociation happens at one end, stand-still nonexistence happens at the other, and observation happens somewhere in the middle.

I can’t think about what I want to do.

I tell myself I’m going to schedule time to think about what I want to do because that must be the root of all my problems—I don’t have time. I’m too overwhelmed by all I have to do and all I have going on to actually stop and breathe for a little bit. Self-imposed harm by outside forces, like I hate myself so I bury myself in things I can blame on other people and say “but it’s because I’m so nice” at the end of the day. Is this just the way I’m programmed? Is this a symptom of the anxiety or some parental heritage? Monkey see, monkey do, Daddy has a love/hate relationship with his life and I’m sinking into the same patterns.

I don’t want to edit this. That’s going to require me going slow. Too slow. Like how I skip all the slow songs on my iPod when I’m driving because I don’t have time for that bullshit. There are certain songs that start out slow but grow with a perfect intensity to match how heavy my foot gets on the gas pedal, particularly in that spot when I first turn off of 62 onto 140, going from a stop light to the recommended dosage of 55 miles-an-hour.

I’ve taken that road at 80. Not all the time, but it happens.

So where does this leave all those “what I wanted to be when I grow up” scenarios? I don’t fucking know I don’t fucking know I DON’T FUCKING KNOW                 because that would be answering a question that comes to others’ minds so easily, and I have to slow down and think about it for a bit. What am I good at? I can answer that shit. What does my heart tell me?

My heart tells me it’s easier to crawl into bed and watch reruns on Netflix than try to figure out why I’m unhappy in all the facets of my life. Or my heart tells me it’s all a delusion. One or the other. Rapid disassociation or stand-still nonexistence. Everything is perfect because I’m so successful by the easiest standard of success there is to think about!

Let’s not talk about boys. I don’t want to think about boys. Boys live in that land of disassociation where I think I could be in love with someone someday if I ever figured out how to stop being so goddamn selfish.

What is this? What is this? I’m becoming too self-aware.

It reminds me of 90s Nickelodeon but I don’t really understand why

hmmmm 

neither do I 

but I think in a way 90s Nick was as equally terrifying? I mean Legends of the Hidden Temple made me almost as scared

almost

and the graphics,

1)  When my parents actually pick up when I Skype them. I’m a student in a country with a different timezone and week structure to my family, so communication is limited, and they don’t always hear their Skype when I get the chance to call, so when they can pick up, getting to talk to them makes me feel a lot better.

2)  Getting the chance to dress up. I’m a not-so-secret girly-girl. I love dressing up and make up and all the rest of it, so when I get the chance to, I get really excited. It’s even better if I actually have a decent enough amount of time before the event, because I’l actually pull out all the stops; buffing and painting my nails, styling my hair, full-face make up, coordinated accessories, the works. 

3)  When my friends and family are excited about something. These people mean the world to me, so when they get excited, be it over people reacting the way they’d hoped on something they’d worked hard on, or finding out that the project they’d planned is going to lead on to bigger and better things than they’d ever dreamed of, it makes me happy to see them excited about the good news.

4)  Cooking. I love to cook, and I love it even more when I get to cook for other people. I don’t get to as often as I would like, mostly because the people I live with currently don’t have a similar enough schedule to mine that I can get away with it. Also, when all is said and done, I am still a very proud person, and am not about to beg people to let me cook for them. 

5)  New underwear. Really, new clothes in general, but there is something special about new underwear in particular. I don’t really know why, especially since I don’t actually have anyone to show them off for, but I like buying and wearing them, and it also helps with confidence on a night out, so...

HMMMMMMMMM

Dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs. 

Haha, okay for real, Dogs 

Aw thanks love! Yeah it is literally sooo delish!! I can’t wait to make it again and add choco chips to it too!! Glad you liked it though!! Thanks for telling me:))

 Kind thoughts and prayers for you and your family, dearie. <3    

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