I'm at a loss at what I'm supposed to learn, where I'm supposed to go from here.
What am I supposed to be getting out of this downfall?
But most importantly...how far am I going to fall?
How bad will this get, and how much work am I going to have to do,
in order to recover from this collision of myself and soul?
This past week has been very busy, and just when I feel like I might be closing in on a finish line, something has (without fail) happened to push me deeper into the hole of madness that I've been dragged into.
The next week or so won't really be that much better; a lot of it's due dates for projects/exams that all take so much time in themselves to complete/prepare for. But, taking it one step at a time (And reminding myself that with each due-date that passes I'm getting one step closer to this semester being over.), it'll be okay.
It always is, one way or another.
Lately, I haven't been thinking about much else other than all the things I've got ahead of me, both short- and long-term things I need to accomplish in order to get where I ultimately want to be. Meanwhile, I'm trying to prepare those around me and make sure certain things happen by certain times in order for it all to run smoothly--due dates, exam days, finals, projects, GRE tests, applications, official documents, paperwork, etc..
I'm also trying to keep myself in-check personally--I'm trying to stay in-touch with myself, listening instead of hearing. Seeing instead of just looking. Regardless of what's going on with me physically and/or mentally/emotionally, I'm trying to just roll with it all--good or bad, happy or sad--because really it's the only thing I can do. It's one of the very few things in life I can control right now, and so I desperately cling to it like a captain clings to his sinking ship.
And, as it goes, I'm finding that this seems to be an effective method of obtaining a sense of sanity and tranquility. Accepting the highs and the lows seems far, far easier than constantly fighting against them. It seems more logical than fighting against myself--physically and mentally.
Sometimes I wonder if that's why I've ended up where I have--why looking at myself in the mirror repulses me, why I constantly feel like I'm about to either rip from my own skin or spontaneously combust from all the frustration and anxiety that bubbled within me.
If we all eventually physically merge with what our inner beings look like, was I just previously fighting so hard to maintain something that I wasn't?
I felt more at peace then than I do now. I fit into myself and the world around me more easily than ever. I felt I had an identity of my own, something to call mine, something to really be proud of. Meanwhile, I was exhausted---weak, and fragile. And it was hard, so hard, to stay where I was. Yes, it was relatively easy to maintain, but I was constantly fighting with myself and my body--it wanted to go up and I wanted to plummet down, because I was so close already. I had come so far, why should I not just burn off the last few pounds of fat and finally, finally be able to call myself "done"?
But now, I feel like a failure. Like I'm too big and too swollen. I walk and hear the vibrating thunder beneath my heavy feet, brush past people and feel the gravitational pull between us. I look in the mirror and want to cry.
But no tears ever come.
Because I don't even deserve to cry.
I'm too scared of myself to try, really.
And maybe that's why
not people, not new situations, not of bad things happening.
I've never been scared of life, and I stopped dreading death a long time ago.
The only thing I fear
is my own dark ghost.
After so many months of merely trying to push forward
into a foggy abyss of the unknown,
I think I've finally found what I've been running from.
And it's nothing beyond my own flesh and bone.
and I'm running scared from my own weaknesses and downfalls.
There's a gap that I've been overlooking since last summer, a gap between my physical being and my spiritual being. I feel out of touch with my self and everything else around me, like I'm watching my body from above--nothing feels real, and I can't make anything sit solidly in my memory anymore. Next December seems like something that inches one day further away with each calendar day I slash through.
Will I ever feel that solidity? That balance I've been longing for?
Yesterday, I went over to the Beau's house so we could spend Valentine's Day together.
Dinner plans were a little scrambled, which was a-okay with me; reservations weren't being taken in some places, and most others were crowded. But both of us have been busy with school the past couple of weeks, so just being able to spend time together was good enough. We ended up getting sushi and some red wine. Conversation was first structured around serious topics like global warming and law, but easily transitioned into lighter things like listing off our "2nd and 3rd" significant others, were we able to date any famous actor/actress. It's always been easy to talk with the Beau--he has a way of being laid back, even during the more serious situations; discussions are never threatening, as they so often are with everyone else. Whether it be small-talk or conversations heavy with emotion, speaking with others is a challenge I have to force myself to overcome each and every day.
Afterward we went back to his house where his dad had already settled in for the night to watch TV. We continued putting the puzzle from last week together--it's getting further, piece by agonizingly-similar piece. When we got as far as our patience allowed, we sat together for a few minutes, not really focusing on anything else but enjoying the other's presence.
I'm not sure if it's true for all relationships, but I've often heard that it takes girls longer to fall in love. And although I've felt it for a while, it's almost like it's all just now really taking root. I find joy in the smallest of things, I'm inspired and motivated by the Beau. And I don't even have the words to really explain any of it. Maybe it's different for every person and different with every person. But--in a really simplified way--I like the feeling I carry around with me these days. Even if that feeling is often being sadly smothered by a doom-and-gloom rainbow of stress, anxiety, fear, and internal frustration. I know all of that bad will eventually not matter anymore; it's a "now" thing, something temporary and that "shall pass".
For now, I just have to deal with it in my own way and try to build myself up even as I'm being torn apart by my own self.
Then we watched a movie.
It was really good--very Godfather-esque, but nowhere near as long nor as complex. I think the most "upsetting" aspect of it was that (of course) it's based on a true story. Those are the scariest movies, because otherwise the only thing I can think of while watching a movie is that it's just a bunch of costumed people with lights, cameras, and prearranged sets. I realize that this is true even with movies based on real life stories, but "fake" movies are completely scripted--the plot has been molded and formed and made to work out perfectly.
"Based on a true story" movies are so much more interesting because, no matter how loosely the film company uses the words "based on", there's still an overall outcome that has to be shown. With these films, it's all about how well you present the facts/events and how well you captivate the audience.
I left around 11pm; the Beau offered me to stay. And as great as the temptation, as much as I wanted to stay, and as much as I didn't want to have to go back home...I couldn't. I have two exams next Tuesday and Wednesday--one of which I haven't even started studying for and another of which I don't feel very prepared for.
Next weekend, although originally I was going to try to go back home to visit my family that I haven't seen in what feels like months, I might end up staying.
Lately, "home" hasn't seemed that much like home--things are stressful, financially tight, and (likely) volatile over there. I've grown up poor, and I'm getting to a point where (against all logic), I'm beginning to resent my parents for it.
I know they've always managed to take care of my siblings and me no matter what, and have given more to us than they should have, but still...the financial advancements that they could have made just by making a little effort or taking a risk (like renting their extra apartment out, despite the fact that they just got the carpets replaced) could've put them in so much better of a position. A position that could've taken loads of stress off of them and--consequently--me. I'm already struggling with my own issues--school, upcoming applications to vet school, emotional struggles, issues with finding balance and harmony within myself, outside social demands. I don't need the financial stress as well, especially when I know that something could've been easily done to avoid all of it.
Frankly, it pisses me off.
I know it's not true, but sometimes it feels like they're doing it intentionally. Or, if not my parents, some other ungodly, evil force of the universe that is out to destroy any trace of happiness or peace within my soul.
And it's working.
I've been watching myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually fall apart over the course of these past six months. Many good things have happened, things I've immediately thanked God for and instantly given Him all the credit--because God only knows that I'm not pulling enough of my own fat weight to take much of the responsibility for "my" success. But at the same time, there's been this restlessness, this imbalance, that I can't seem to shake. No matter what I try to do, something always comes along without fail to undo any progress I make.
I'll be happy when this semester finally ends, and I can (hopefully) get back some of the sanity this past year has stolen from me. I didn't spend a year-and-a-half of my life building myself up, healing myself, and gaining a sense of value and worth, just to have it once again taken away from me.
If anything, this downfall has taught me not to take for granted anything that I truly value. And also that, to get anywhere in life, you have to try hard and find a sort of joy in each second of effort; because you're really only worth whatever work you're willing to do.
One day, this will all end. And I will either come out of it a victor or a vagabond. It's all gonna end & it might as well be my fault.
But I've been feeling that fault since it was hairline fracture;
it's a disease, after all,
passed from one member of the family to the next.