i don't really feel like fighting.

12:34 am - an open admission to myself.

i often regard my mentality as something which comes and goes in waves rather than a continuous stream which smashes against the rocks and jarred edges of reality and normalcy.

i know now that i am wrong. my moods are like seasons, each with their own pilot episode back in 2017.

autumn

winter

spring

summer

what season are we in now?

i recall once describing the move from autumn to winter as a bear which creeps up on me in the snow. an icy chill descending upon my skull. a looming shadow which darkens my way and i get lost somewhere and stumble back into my old habits again. i mean, it's so easy to hide under all those layers, darling, anyone's soul could die and nobody would ever notice.

such a stark contrast to the hyper-fixations that overcome my mind in the summertime.

maybe the weight of those winter layers is faux security or maybe it's the feeling of the weight on my shoulders because feeling is so rare that when that bear grabs me... when it grabs me, it doesn't let go. i am frozen in time. i am not me. i am another. i am a void.

i lay awake, nightmares and storms in my mind alike and then i'm eating too much and then nothing at all and i find myself crumpled over in the bathroom like it's fucking 2015 and stars fall from my eyes and burn my cheeks. i struggle to breathe.

i'll suddenly decide that nobody will see me this week. spoon-fed meals and shit TV. each october to march, on repeat.

no wonder the audience wants to cancel this damn show. last year's petitions were wild as hell.

spring to summer is daylight robbery, pushing me to the limits of my imaginary reality. i stop seeing the night and start seeing a glowing universe instead. but, far too often, it starts glowing too bright and blinds me and i can't do anything but run faster. a head-first collision into disaster. i have no artistic ability but suddenly i want to paint mountains and sketch your eyes. so much longing. so much to do. so little time.

i place myself in a little box and i stop sleeping, not because of the nightmares or horrors, but because there's not enough time in the day to do everything. i am rowing myself to the atlantic; fear isn't a thing in the summertime even if i'm riddled with anxiety. you won't see me often when i'm creating or absorbing, information is a bigger ocean than my brain can handle and and and

i'm standing on a table at 2 am, swaying recklessly and so. damn. exhausted. caffeine rages through my system. you can block out the danger this way. block the danger out. block the danger out. be absorbed in the sounds, the lights laugh at me as i twirl in their embrace. i've got to make up for the six months the bear robs from me. dance faster. dance harder. go further. push yourself to the limits. do it. i dare you. it's all just a summertime game anyways.

"have you eaten?"

do i look like i have fucking time for such trivial matters? ha, no. i'm flying higher than the clouds. nobody can catch me here. my six months of liberation. fear me. feel me. let me live my life FREELY.

i think it's ironic how either way my head ends up down some form of bathroom facility, whatever the season. i just can't seem to balance right but at least if i'm with the stars, everyone down below has a reason to hate me. it's justifiable. i don't even have to think. block it out. block it out. we can all block it out in the summertime.

summer is ignorance & ignorance is bliss

spring is the season of reconstruction.

winter is the season of a caged mind.

autumn is the reality, always willing to kick you down.