#currently thinking

felt really seen by it. i am not a melodramatic person, but i am, and i always have been. my ex-boyfriend disdained me for crying over books we read in ap english lit. i spent a lot of high school crying over everything, every piece of media, often to the point where i'd make myself nauseous. i still do this, occasionally. i hurt, and i feel the hurt, and maybe i even revel in it.

on the flipside, i'm about to hit my 20s, and my therapist keeps having to remind me that i've been through a lot, so i should show myself some grace. i've stopped languishing in my wounds but overshot, to the point where i now refuse to process any trauma in the hopes of just being able to move on.

re: art. i haven't written any poetry since november. i've done some writing, some fanfic, some journaling. i've done a lot of work with choreography--fitting, since words seem to have failed me. fitting, too, that my last poem that i wrote and performed felt like a desperate cry for attention, that same feeling of look at my ribs, can you not see that i am struggling, that i am in so much pain? in the end, i don't think my pain was seen.

also, maybe another flipside, i've been saying i'm in my rom-com era this summer, and i mean it. i'm tired of being the girl you fuck but not the girl you date. i'm tired of "falling in love" with every boy but never really loving them. i like the fall; i struggle with the love, despite how much i want it. there's the wounds, in the way. my blood that i can't love, so how could anybody? that mental, emotional, physical, spiritual block.

so. finding a balance between acknowledging my pain and loving through it? there's a strategy i think i've developed, of feeding my pain to some beast inside of me, a thing i think of as separate but inextricably linked to who i am. last week, the homily went that if we, hasty humans, try to pull out the weeds that the devil has sown in our hearts, we will pull out the good wheat too, so we should wait for god to weed us, in his own time. in the meantime, then, what do i do with the beast?

El sentido de la vida humana debería ser reducirlo lo mayor posible, pero no lo hacemos, al contrario, hemos hecho de nuestra existencia un infierno para las otras especies y para nosotros mismos; así le quitamos todo el sentido a vivir, así le quitamos toda esperanza a la vida y la volvemos un martirio insoportable en el que la única verdadera esperanza termina siendo la muerte.

“Two queens,” is still his answer because he’s not ready to break the tension that’s been building between them since he stole Sammy away from his picket-fence future. 

Sometimes life is weird and messy. It's complicated and suffocating.

Sometimes it's smooth and uneventful. Just gliding along.

Both have pros and cons. Both can leave you feeling overwhelmed as well as underwhelmed.