After a long time off, I just got back here on Wattpad and started rereading my old journal stuff. God, cringing. So much has happened since then it feels surreal. I have this urge to keep going, because I like to document the things in my life as they're happening so I can look back on them. I'm glad I have a window back into my life during the end of high school and the start of college. I wish I had kept going throughout college, but oh well. I can always start again now that I'm graduated.
I was reading this chapter about how I felt like I was grown and too big now that I'm an adult and graduating high school, but wow I was such a baby then. I feel too big NOW. But I know in the future I'll look back and think of myself as a baby again. I think that's just life. The grass is always greener through nostalgia's rosy glasses. Speaking of glasses, I mean come on, I have to get glasses now; THAT'S old people stuff.
I think I will post some of my recent poems after this just to get them down somewhere. I think my poems are not very good, but they sometimes make me happy, so they're worth it.
It's weird, I think part of maturing is ceasing to travel from person to person, as though they're my tether to this world. I can hop from lover to lover just because I have so much love to give and am a romantic, but when those relationships end it makes me feel, well, untethered, obviously. I hate that feeling. I hate feeling lost and unmoored.
I don't mean that I should stop loving people or having romantic relationships. Instead, I mean that I should reframe how I conceptualize them. They are a bonus to my life, not my life itself. I'm still figuring out what I want to be tethered to, though. I would choose myself if I could. I would choose to build a home out of these bones and feel comfort in my skin. That might be a little bold, and even dangerous, for someone with such a tumultuous sense of self-worth though. I could become untethered at any point from myself. I don't know how one comes back from that. Probably my antipsychotics, I suppose.
What is heartbreak? What is emotion? What is picking up the pieces and jamming them back someplace new? I'm my own Frankenstein. I build myself and curse the life I've been given. Monsters together. That's me and my friends. Yet, I still feel alone. The true abomination.
What a pleasant welcome back!
