Silverfish

The Poetics of a Feeling

This is going to be something entirely disorganized–a collection of chaotic ramblings perhaps–but it will be here, as prose.

I think I like prose for the colloquial aspect of it, free from systematic restriction and that constant little need to fix everything. I have that feeling often.

I want to be perfect, I want to be strong and resilient–and I am–but sometimes, I miss a certain wild uncertainty. For the most part I enjoy all that I've created so far, but just occasionally, I miss it.

I do not have many regrets. In fact, I have limited myself to one specifically: paying more attention to my friends. Almost two years from this current day I abandoned them. Well, I didn't mean to, not really, but absently, I did. Instead I let myself be the center of my world, which is perhaps the greatest mistake I've ever made in my life. It may have been necessary considering the state that I was in, but regardless, I should have given them more of myself. They could have helped me, I could have been better.

This allowed me to learn to love my own company, which I will always be grateful for. It hurt at first, the pain a deep, introspective kind, but eventually I fell into myself with ease. I enjoyed what I did, even if I was alone.

Now I tend to stare back at this moment in my life on occasion, desperately trying not to punish myself for my past sins. I cannot change what I've already done, but I can change who I will become moving forward. So, that's what I've done. I ask now, ask about everything. I want them to know that I want to know. That I care.

I'm not the most important piece of my universe. I want to care about other people, and I do. Sometimes I neglect my own health for the purposes of avoiding conflict with myself, which is an awful thing to do, but for the most part, I balance both well.

Some seasons are harder than others:
I used to be in love with the caustic, biting edge of winter. The crisp, invigorating air and the bright, blinding afternoons. I loved the music, the smells of pumpkin and pine, the taste of mint and rice soup. The warmth of a small fire in the middle of the night, feeling a painful chill whenever I stepped away from the fireplace. The reliance was interesting.

I looked forward to that–and I still do–but things feel different now. It seems as though I need more reminders of the romantics of life during these months. I'm older now, not too much older, but old enough to feel the ennui of life. It drags me down with it and keeps me stagnant, and I hate that restriction.

I've had too much of that already, and I want the freedom to feel the ebullience of life. Perhaps I've got it all along, and I'm giving in too easily to the pressures of my anxiety, but despite whatever control I may actually possess, it still feels as though I'm swimming against the current.

I'll fight this feeling though, I don't mind. It makes me stronger, I know that. It keeps be above water when I'm faced with more relentless adversity. It adds to my character. Maybe I like the fight, the constant battle. I hope I don't, because it really takes a toll sometimes.

A few thoughts I've entertained scare the shit out of me. I know they're nothing but meaningless, anxious thoughts seeping into my rational mind, but they still make me question myself.
Do I actually want all of this for myself?
Of course I do! I would say, and it would be true.

Not every day is like this; in fact, I would say 9/10x I'm no where near like this. It's not a constant battle like it sometimes seems. I need to be realistic with myself, it's all temporary pain. No reason to act upon anything irrational and fading.

I'm thankful that I know this. I wonder if anyone else feels this way? I want to feel less alone, but I'm also so afraid of sharing my problems with anyone else. I know everyone is truly eradicated in some way or another but I want to hear it. I don't want to be afraid of my own pain, I want to know about theirs.

The day I'm not afraid of myself is the day the pain stops. I cannot wait for that day. Maybe I just need to accept it, then it will all go away. I know I won't do anything permanent, so I should stop being so scared. I know myself, I know what I want. I know I'm strong and I know nothing will ever bring me down entirely. I will always get back up and I will enjoy life like I always have. Maybe I'm just a poet and I process these things differently; but inside, I know I will never give up. I'm not like that.