ive already watched this twice in the past 24 hours
- me: I'm going to bed early tonight.
- me: is that the sun
I’ve always been one to run away. When I was younger, it was a common occurrence. When my head got too full of ’not good enough, never going to be enough, give up, just give up’, I’d sneak out the front door in my pajamas and grab my bike, my beat up headphones and even shittier ipod and just fucking pedal into the dark.
I didn’t know what time it was, I just knew that I felt like I was drowning in that goddamn purple painted bedroom and I had to get out just for a little bit. Once, I rode until the sun came up. I remember I laughed at myself that morning as I biked back to my house, watching people get in their cars to go to work that day and here I was, some thirteen year old angst-child in her fucking pajamas in the middle of the street, fucking cackling.
When I was fifteen, I had to go to my father’s house for Spring Break. I really didn’t want to go. My father is a good person, but not a good parent. It was a fucked up situation and I didn’t realize just how much, but I knew that I really did not want to go. I took a bus to a friends house without telling anyone and hid under their kitchen table. My mom called the police and when they pulled up the table cloth to find me huddled in tears underneath, I knew it was a failed escape plan. I ended up going to my dads that spring. Sometimes, you can run but you can’t get far enough to be free.
As I got older, it was with other things. Nothing crazy - just rolling blunts with clammy, nervous hands in my closet, stealing a bit of my mothers wine for a party, bent cigarettes I’d hid in my science book all day at school, smoked in a friends car after three pm. I’d lay down and take up the entire backseat, pretending the cigarette smoke was my anxieties, my loneliness, my fears of what the future held billowing out towards the sea.
I knew I wasn’t unique. This was part of being human, part of growing up, everyone felt this way sometimes. Didn’t mean I had to like it. Doesn’t mean I still do. I’ve gotten older, but I’ll always run.
When I was nineteen, I ran away from an unhealthy relationship. I was living on the border of Mexico, jobless, loveless and I knew I had to get out of there. One night, I’d had enough. I packed my stuff, grabbed my cat and jumped in my car at four am. I then drove three hours north, I got to LA and never went back.
I still get the urge sometimes. To do it again. Grab everything and escape. Sometimes it’s to pull on some shoes in the night and run until I puke. To put in my headphones and feel the music boiling in my blood. But I don’t. I don’t know if that’s weakness or strength, or maybe just plain laziness.
People will continue to grow up until they’re dead in the ground. I wonder if I’ll always feel this unsatisfied. I’m hard to please. I dream about mountains and wild animals in wet jungles, of flurries of snow in sunrise and endless hot days in the desert where the sand curls in the dip of my collar bones and it’s an ache in my chest that never goes away.
At night, I lay in my bed and imagine the possibility of sleep coming easy, counting my bones to empty my head. I slowly breathe out my disappointment that curls into laughter. I’ll keep laughing at myself until I’m done growing.
I’ve become used to waking up and going to bed alone. I’ve become comfortable with eating alone, shopping alone, talking to myself in my head - sometimes even out loud.
At first, I was proud. I used to be the kind of person who could barely even step foot out the door without someone accompanying me everywhere. I needed a security blanket - often it was whoever I was dating at the time. I’ve been single for about two years now and I am happy to say that I can now go to the laundromat without having a nervous breakdown. I know, I’m a real american hero.
This year has been a rough year. Morbidly enough, I tend to think that every year, but when I look outside of my own biased opinion, I can see that, yes, this year has been a rough year.
Due to the way I was brought up in a family with a history of divorce, alcoholism and mental illness, I am not one to ask for help. So, when things get bad, I seek a bit of temporary comfort and then go into survival mode. I don’t always make the right decisions, but I’m human - that’s bound to happen. The list of bullshit that I’ve pushed through this year is too long to even begin and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s sympathy.
I don’t consider myself a strong person. If anything, I’m just stubborn and smart enough to somehow have survived this far.
At this very moment, I am living at my old roommates house. We used to share a cute apartment next to Echo Park lake with her dog and my cat. She got married, I moved out.
Now, after getting screwed over by someone I trusted and cared for, I am living in her home with her and her husband and their dog. I couldn’t take my cat, my baby, with me. I had to give her up to a friend of a friend until I can move again to somewhere cat-friendly. I miss her every day. Blah blah blah, again, these are just facts.
Despite living in a home with other people residing in the house, I have become a bit of a hermit. See, I work from home. I wake up, I work, I eat, I go to sleep - all in one room. I am also 40 miles away from my usual set of friends. I’m not the type of person who can work from home. I am the type of person who needs to have people around, dependable people who care about my well-being and seek me out to see me as much as I do for them. At the moment, that is far from the situation.
Living with this kind of isolation and loneliness has been both empowering and a great hindrance to my brain and my heart. When I do go out, I appreciate people, the simple pleasures and the outside world so much more than I used to. However, I struggle to interact with strangers and even sometimes my friends because I am slowly forgetting how to. When I go to the store, I don’t care about impressing anyone. Who cares? Who needs them? I obviously don’t. I am always alone and I can continue to be. These days I dress for me, I eat for me, I live for me and if it’s not to someone’s taste, they fuck right off. I am woman, rah rah rah.
But, when someone speaks to me, I am nervous and fidgety. I smile just a little too much and look around everywhere. I laugh at things that aren’t funny, I mumble and hope that I am able to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible. The moment I arrive at home and I’m back in the safety of my air conditioned bedroom, the loneliness eats away at me. I feel sick, tired…on the verge of something.
You know that feeling when you’re on a roller coaster and you get to the top of the ride and it stops? They tease you a bit before the big drop? You feel a little anxious, a little nauseous, dizzy and just wanting to fucking move so you can laugh and scream and go about living your damn life? It’s that feeling. All the time.
When I do go to visit my friends, I find that I feel just as out of place as anywhere else. I’m overjoyed to see people I love and yet, I am constantly second guessing whether they even care if I’m around at all. Why would they? I’ve become this person who lives in their head. I’m fucking Tom Hanks and his stupid volleyball.
I stare at myself in the mirror a lot. I don’t know if that’s something weird and narcissistic, or just a way to kind of keep my mind grounded.
I’m hoping that when I somehow figure out a way to move back to LA and get my cat back, that when I prove to myself, yet again, that I can take care of myself without anyone’s help - just as I always have - this weird self-deprecating, woe-is-me attitude will dissipate. It’s not me. I’m a hopeless romantic with realistic tendencies. I wouldn’t even consider myself sad at the moment, just kind of…I sigh a lot? I am not surprised by peoples lack of consideration for anyone else? Disappointed with the human race? Is that even a thing? Am I just an asshole? (yes.)
What do you tell yourself when bad things just seem to constantly happen to you? You had it coming? You could’ve prevented it with a better attitude? It’s only temporary? This too shall pass? Onto what? More shit to add to the pile? Stop stop stop. Enough.
These days, I am hyper aware of my breathing. It’s gotten ragged. But I’ll keep doing it because I am still as stubborn as ever.