feelings

Photograph.

I want to leave a piece of myself in every place that I go. In oceans, in woods, in big cities many people call home. Roam the earth and haunt the streets. Kiss a thousand strangers and leave my feet firmly planted on the ground. Beneath the streetlights that illuminate night skies. Where nothing feels as broken as you feel. Where everything feels like a completely new beginning and experience.  Leave pieces of myself in everyone that has left ghosts of their former selves with me.

Nostalgia, why do you continue to let me down? Letting me believe that photographs are what is left of our memories of the past. That something so simple is left time stamped in a photographic memory. The sooner the years pass, the sooner we leave our memories behind us. Deep rooted in the ghost towns of our minds, where words are never spoken but constantly replayed melodies form instead. I watch the cities that I love, continue to sky rocket and change with the times. Meanwhile, I watch the town I grew up in flourish then turn to dust. I watch the ghosts of my past fill the empty spaces with open arms and hollow expectations.

All these photographs I keep of people long forgotten in stories I can only tell myself. Of cities larger than my hometown. Of boys that played games with my heart that turned into men that always broke my heart. Photographs scattered and framed in a million places waiting for a retelling of a nostalgic fairy tale. Friendships that would last forever, until we grew up and become the opposite of what we were afraid of. A piece of me in every frame of the photographs that keep hidden in my memory. It’s the only place I don’t feel alone, it’s the only place I don’t feel broken.

Let me leave these pieces of me in everywhere I go.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

12/20/2010

8/30/2015 – Day Sixteen.

Its weird to think that being in a different environment could change your feelings. Even a slight change in the weather, could change a mood you’re feeling. I never go running toward sun, I am seldom ever outside. Its never the light I crave to make me feel better. I love feelings of seasons that ache at your bones, that cut to the core. I love hearing thunder and lightening roll into one chaotic storm. I love feeling every inch of the rain, placed delicately then chaotically onto my skin. Pulling layers over me and finding comfort in the warmth that no longer harbors on the outside. Going to places that are not drenched with the sun. Where I don’t feel so exposed. I’ve expressed my love for the rain countless times, sometimes its the rain that surprises you with its love. Finding myself being stuck in a downpour that followed up with hail, seemed completely beautiful to me.

When your state is plagued with drought, you miss the rain. Storms, sprinkles, drizzling into gloomy weather, everything. This beautiful country can go through seasons in the matter of hours. It’s the rain storms that make me feel more at home. I love how the streets fill with water and glisten under the street lights. How the sounds of water hitting every inch of  pavement and knowing you never stood a chance against the storm. How jaded you felt walking the streets. As the sun mocked and hid behind the clouds, playing peek a boo with the sky. Hiding its joyful rays behind overcast shades and gray skies. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of San Francisco with it’s bipolar weather changes. It reminds me of seasons yet to come forth toward the upcoming months.

I love it here.

How weather doesn’t change from fall to summer. I watch myself fall even more in love with the weather. How could you possibly be upset with that? That something magically beautiful and pure like the rain could ever make you upset. I watch lights flicker and drown with the sounds of the storm and wonder how long until this passes. All storms ever do is pass and leave you to clean up the mess. It doesn’t hurt when I am here, it doesn’t hurt to be here as the storm continues. I watch people run for cover and shield themselves from every inch of this beautiful rain. I can’t help but at times feel like this storm. I am the storm that screams and cries to reach out to someone. People scatter and run for cover until the sun comes out and welcomes them out again. All I want is for people to listen and stretch their arms out to me, but they remain scared and afraid of what comes after. I can’t avoid the weather. I can seek shelter but no matter how much I shield myself the storm still follows. The storm guarding the sun from the mess it makes while its away. I watch as my storms turn to hurricanes, while the sun is away. I am okay, I will be okay. I am not the one to soak up the sun, when all I want is to dance in the rain.

 

The dopeness.

You love to see everything in your perspective. You’re right, I am wrong, that’s how its suppose to be. The venomous words that poison through thought and well wishes. Poison infecting veins and reaching your blood stream, straight though your heart. Negative thoughts are better than positive ideas. All the light will never over power all of your dark. I sit, I watch, I listen, and it’s the words that you hide behind. False illusions, vicious dreams, that allow you to believe you were right and I was always wrong.

I am always wrong. Wrong in my mind, my illusions, and this imitation of life in ruins. I can’t help but want the silver lining. I can’t help but be a negative person with positive intentions. Who are you to judge an idea that isn’t as great as your own? Who are you to believe that being better than everyone else, makes you a better person? Once you start, you can’t be stopped, and you become a monster of your former self. Growing up has a funny way of turning you into someone you never wanted to be. Most of us change and a majority of us, stay the same. I can’t help but want to be better for myself, if I can’t be better for anyone else.

Am I not destined for greatness, instead of failing? Am I not here to be a better person, through all the bad things I have done? But you are always right, and I am always wrong. It’s how it’s suppose to be. At the end of the day, I can’t help but see the dopeness in everything, but you just see the wackness.

9/30/2015

8/29/2015 – Day Fifteen.

I have had a problem with food for as long as I can remember. Longer than I would like to admit. These days I wonder if those fears are my karma for my current situations. I haven’t been the kindest to myself and in this new era of body image, owning who you are, it’s easier said than done. I’ll be completely honest, its hard to transform 28 years thinking in a matter of a short months or years. For every 10 good days, there are 20 not so good days. For everything and in-between, food has been my scapegoat for every way of thinking. Food has a way of bringing the good with the bad. Triggering memories and forgotten expectations. You think about how much you didn’t care in your younger years, and now as an adult this need to be socially conscious about everything you put in front of you. Now a days, I fear food more than I enjoy it. I hold it at an arms length against me. Separating myself from my past and my expectations of my future, not realizing the repercussions of my present. It makes me think about everything I’ve done to distance myself from food, when all I’ve ever wanted to do was enjoy it.

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Recovery is a pain in the ass. Its hard to tell someone that hasn’t been through what you have, how you feel. I have felt really alone in my recovery. Its easy to put up a positive front, to post a photo of myself eating or enjoying food but reality settles in. I will always see myself as 70 lbs over weight. I will always think twice about what I eat. I will always feel guilty about over eating and feel this need to punish myself. It’s hard to tell someone that what I see in the mirror paralyzes my way of thinking. It has been a long time since I have truly enjoyed a meal. A good fucking meal. Something someone put heart and soul into. I am not going to be an asshole, I’ve had great meals but so many of these meals build up on my fears.  Its genuinely hard to enjoy them without feeling squeamish or guilt. Most of the time, I feel guilty about the things I eat. It’s something I have to live with that makes me so indescieve about where or what to eat. How do you tell someone I can’t eat what I love out of fear of the outcome? You can’t. Being in another country helps. I don’t feel guarded. I don’t feel the pressure to be anything. While the fear still plagues me, it doesn’t hurt as much as it does at home. Its weird to be in places with different customs then your own. To adapt yourself into things you have stopped doing at home. Sometimes I forget to eat in the rush of getting to and from places. Often times I overindulge in the things I love but mostly I don’t. Then I feel guilty of eating and I psych myself out. I don’t know. Being far from home I don’t feel as self conscious as I am used too.

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It’s easy to say I am on vacation, I can do what I want. To get in this gluttonous stage and have no self control, but I can’t do that. It’s lonely to eat alone but it’s lonely to have to come to realization that you can’t eat the way you are used too. We settled into a restaurant inside the town square. After looking over at the menu, we decided to take our chances on a little restaurant with it’s rustic pirate vibes. I wasn’t expecting much. Just enough to fill my belly and provide the energy I needed for the rest of the day. I get really anxious when I eat. A part of me still believes I am 70 lbs overweight and another part of me still believes I will make myself sick after eating. For the longest time my meals where based on what was easier to come out at will or what would get me full the fastest. If I ate exactly how I wanted to eat, I would open up the wounds that have been trying to heal. If I don’t eat, its another series of triggers, I can’t contain. I usually order to avoid suspicion and times I don’t like what I order. When you are comfortable you forget the silly instances that make up your anxieties. Sitting on the bench in the resturant, I didn’t look for an easy way out. I wanted to try everything. I wanted to eat everything and for once I didn’t want to feel guilty about what I ate. It felt like we were eating for hours when really it had been minutes, since we had ordered. Mere minutes as the plates started arriving. Each plate sizzling, oozing, and exhuming delicious flavors and tastes. It didn’t end at the first or second plate. It didn’t stop with the drinks, the momentum continued, as we talked about family stories, family traditions, and inner jokes between us all. As each plate reached our table, another plate would disappear.

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It didn’t hurt. This layer of anxiousness shed off my skin and I felt something I hadn’t felt in all the meals, I have consumed over the past years. I felt love. I felt hunger to try everything. Even if I felt guilty, it wasn’t going to hurt me. I had been feeling self-conscious about my outcomes that I never focused on my journey. How alone I felt in my battles and lonely I felt in my war. No matter how many times I heard positivity, I was focused on the negative outcome. Focusing on the mirror that was haunted with two faces. As the plates started dwindling down, as my belly felt full but content, I looked around at the faces I saw before me. This is my journey, my battle but I don’t feel alone. This is love I feel in front of me and after every course, I am going to be okay. Maybe I’ll never get better but at least today, the journey doesn’t seem as bad anymore.

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Mumbles.

I, mumble when I talk, when I think I am speaking loudly. No one can hear me, I repeat myself constantly and it drives me insane.

I, mumble when I talk, when I think everyone is listening. But everyone picks through my words and believes I say the things that I never said.

I, mumble when I talk, when I believe everyone is following along. I make the sounds, say the words, and no one seems to hear me. Can you hear me now? Can you hear the spaces between the words and the syllables that follow?

I, mumble when I talk and I think everyone can hear me.

I, mumble when I talk.
Imumble whenItalk.
ImumblewhenItalk.

But no one is fucking listening.

8/28/2015 – Day Fourteen.

The past few weeks I’ve been wanting to do things differently. Change how I do things, change how I feel inside. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to put on a new shirt and feel good. Do my hair, get dressed and go about my day. Look out of windows and not wish to be somewhere else. Being in a different place cures your feeling of wanderlust. Today looking out the window, I don’t miss people, places, or things. To be alone with your thoughts is already a lonely place. Today I didn’t feel as alone as I felt before. Today, I got dressed, put on a new shirt, and felt differently. Normal things that people do everyday, that felt hard for me to do these past few months.  Today, felt different then when I first arrived here. Today, felt like a new day, a starting over point. As the switch turned off to change my emotions, I watched as it turned back on to start mine over.

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I have had such a love/hate relationship with my body but today I didn’t pay attention to those thoughts. I put on a new shirt and shut down those insecurities. Insecurities that manage to stay with me in the day that would last throughout the dark. I want to be honest with people as they feel inclined to be toward me. I want to speak louder than a mumble when I talk. I want to wear a new shirt and not feel guilt about how I feel or look. Accept changes as they come forth toward me. Cut through everyones bullshit, even if it’s just my own. I watch people from the street and notice they don’t care as much as I do. If I could read their minds and see how they tick. If they can scream on the streets, so can I. If they can be so forward with their emotions, so can I. I often wonder how did I become self conscious about my way of being. About my way of life, about where I’ve come from, about everything. Most days I feel like I am gearing up for war and other days I just don’t feel like fighting. I think about the past couple of days, this need to disappear completely. I wondered when was the right or wrong time. I thought about life and death and everything that comes after. I sat and cried and then realized that things can’t hurt anymore, but why do things continue to haunt me. It’s easy to think that in an instant all these feelings could go away. But people don’t realize it’s a process. It will take me longer to get there. It will take years to heal but what does anyone really care. We want shortcuts into feelings and shortcuts into getting rich, but that’s just me.

Today I put on my shirt just like everyone else. I put on my war paint and gracefully went into the battle. Life can be beautiful but on most days it feels like a battlefield and I am not sure if I want to live or die anymore.

8/16/2015 – Day Eight.

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I was once told that you should never drink alone. Drinking alone means you’re an alcoholic, something around those lines. Its not that I crave the drink. It’s not that I need the drink, its that I always need something to take the edge off. I realize the older I get I don’t care for drinking. I don’t care about being belligerent that I have to black out my thoughts. I am not trying to run away from anything but every once in a while it’s nice to escape. Feel fuzzy and feel better.

I have drank with thousands of people. Friends, foes, strangers, and family, you name it. Never alone. I wonder if its the fear of losing control that doesn’t allow me to drink alone. The fear of losing myself and allowing the gates of my mind, to flood open with nostalgia and reoccurring memories. Today I found myself alone for no reason at all. When you come from a large family, you seldom have a moment to yourself, let alone be alone. But today I found myself alone and nursing a glass of my favorite beer. It wasn’t meant to happen. Seeing beer poured into glasses and watching as one by one everyone started scattering out into the streets, or on the patio or to other areas of the house. I sat with my glass and for the first time contemplated to drink.

To drink alone is a sad definition of loneliness. While I didn’t feel alone, watching people scatter slowly to other places, I found myself alone without anyone. No one to tell a funny story. No one to say how I feel. No way to truly express myself. My fingers gripped the glass and slowly bringing the glass towards me. I waited. I waited because it’s what I always do, wait for answers. Wait for questions, wait for people to scatter back in and out of my life. I have spent a lifetime of waiting and realized that people will always scatter back in and later back out of my life, whats the point of waiting anyway? It doesn’t make much sense to wait.

I sit and wait and every moment passes me by. The condensation from the glass keeps my finger prints intact. The longer I wait the realization comes in. I can’t do this alone. Sitting here and waiting for people to scatter back in, the longer I continue to wait for them. It’s what I do best. Wait for the right time, wait for the right moment, wait for the right people to scatter out then back into my life. But the waiting makes me more anxious. The more anxious I become, the more likely I am to take the edge off. I was never a person to believe in “can’t” but lately I have been finding myself doing so. The closer the glass comes toward me, the more likely I am to drink. I can’t keep waiting anymore.

 

Walk in Silence.

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Dark skies and long goodbyes. Memories of past times and I wonder how much of this is real and how much I am make believing. Watching the roads turn then curve and lead me home. The roads they turn but don’t always lead back to you. They don’t always lead back home or places that seem like it. The dark skies with their thousands of stars, illuminate you when you’re asleep then leave when you wake.

It’s all in my head. It’s all in my head, I say.

I’ve pictured you in color but I am still standing in black and white. In the silence of broken melodies and vacancy of closed spaces. Opening windows to the outside and breathing in every last bit of this haunting air that surrounds me. Anything that brings back a sense that this is home. That this is where I am suppose to be. I could leave this. Leave all of this behind. Look back to the cities from which I have lived and see the lights of the homes I’ve lost. Looking through the tears in blurred visions of the past. This wasn’t how it was suppose to be. This wasn’t how I am suppose to live.

I can’t look back. You’re not suppose to look back. Back to the people, the places, and things that bring forth all this sadness. I want to leave this place. Leave this feeling of shame and regret, into sunlight paths with big bright yellow suns. 3am knows all my secrets and hides all my pain. It shakes the shivers in my spine and makes me feel alone. I am not okay, I am not getting better. Still I walk away in silence and into the dark paths lit by the stars.

This isn’t who I am. This isn’t who I am suppose to be. Still, I walk away in silence and in my silence I will stay.

8.10.2015

 

8/10/2015 – Day Four.

Do you ever just need a moment alone to deal with all your own emotional bullshit? Shut off the world and see where your mind is at? Lately I feel like that all the time. I just need this moment to myself to shout to the skies and get the fuck over everything. Scream out my pains and dress up my wounds. I just want to lay down on the floor and listen to all my favorite records. Write out all my frustrations and find some kind of peace of mind. Put my mind elsewhere and focused on something other than what I am feeling. It’s hard to do that when you live at home. Its hard to shut off the world and retreat into your hermit crab shell.

I have been living at home for the past 6 years. Which feels like I just moved back home yesterday. I can’t help but wonder where all the time went. This need to get back on my feet and yet I still find myself here 6 years later. I wonder if it’s all fear that keeps me staying here or if I just haven’t mastered the art of being an adult. On my good days I don’t mind being home, but on the bad days I can’t be here anymore. Everything has it’s place and purpose, eventually I’ll have it all figured out. On one of those rare occasions, I get a few moments to be alone. On a super rare out of this world moment, I get a whole day to be home alone. *Cue Kevin McAllister “AHHHHHH” Track*. I’ll be honest, it’s pretty fucking awesome. When you’re having a mental health, “check yo self, before you wreck yourself” day, it’s like you won the emotional lottery. I have been dealing with my own personal demons for the past month and today everything hit me like a ton of bricks. When you think you have cried out all your tears, your face becomes a waterfall of emotions you’d rather not chase (Maybe TLC had a point?).

Its very rare to get the house to myself but when I do, I take advantage of the opportunity. Today was one of those lucky days where I could be alone. Its like my body senses that I have all this open space and I take advantage of the vacancy. I wake up earlier, stretch my bones out, and pretend that all this open space is mine for the taking. Its weird when you’re growing up how much you crave this idea of being home and back to the comfort of it all. Growing up, leaving, and then coming back home, you still search for this idea of home. Its why I can’t stay comfortable in my house, because it’s not my home. It’s not something I earned, its not something I fought for. To be lost in this open space when no one is around is the closest I come to feeling at home. I unplug myself from the world and exist only in my own tragic little world. You feel like you have to answer to everything and everyone, but for this moment you don’t have to say a word. I love that.

When I am home alone I want to sit and watch all my favorite films. I want to brew the biggest cup of coffee and get lost in someone else’s beautifully directed film. Get lost in dialogue and be mesmerized by the cinematography of a film. For the past couple of days, I have had an urge to watch Anton Corbijn’s film “Control”. For anyone that has never seen the film it’s a beautifully directed film from beginning to end about the tragic life of Ian Curtis (lead singer of the band, Joy Division). When I am feeling upset, I think about the black and white imagery and get lost in the music. Its part biography, part music video, all parts visually beautiful. I tend to think about this film, more than I should. You could almost feel the loneliness through the film. Feel the moodiness and distress feeling of sadness throughout the whole film. It makes you want to reach out your hands to the characters and tell them you understand how they are feeling. I get lost in this film. I get lost in the moments, the music, the dialogue, and the characters. It makes you wonder that when you’re feeling depressed if your life comes out beautifully orchestrated. If the colors of your emotions come out vividly in black and white.

I could go on and on about this film. About how this film makes me feel, what emotions it brings out of me. I could say all the key scenes and how the music intertwines with the film. I could go on about certain scenes and how perfectly vivid it comes out on the screen. But doing so only kills the magic. You almost forget how upset you are putting your mind on something else. Focusing all your energy into something you love that brings forth all these feelings. This feeling that in this moment you share something between yourself and the film director, that no one else understands. Its in that moment you don’t care about anything else but that moment. It’s all you could ever ask for in the day. I took advantage of my emptiness and open space. Reached out to the spaces and kept myself together with a good film and equally amazing cup of coffee.

I know I shouldn’t be by myself, that I should be speaking to a million people about how I feel. Some days, I just want to tell the whole world how I feel. Tell everyone every single feeling I harbor inside. I wouldn’t know where to start, I wouldn’t know how to form the words to explain whats is going on in my mind. For a moment I had a break from myself and at this current time, it’s the only thing that matters.

For now.

8/7/2015 – Day One.

If we have to be honest, nobody likes admitting defeat. Nobody likes to admit they are wrong. Nobody in their right mind can admit to feeling any ounce of pain, when the rest of the world is feeling otherwise. Which is why in many instances we hide how we feel in the fear of seeming crazy or vulnerable. Because we were taught at a young age that showing a tiny fraction of vulnerability would be your ultimate downfall. We all want to be strong, we all want to be right, we all want to be just fine. As you grow up, the world changes. Now a days everyone wants to express their feelings. Everyone wants to admit they’re wrong and show their faces through feelings of weakness. How do you give up a lifetime of hiding your feelings, into tiny moments of vulnerability? How do you change the fear of feeling hurt when everyone wants you to embrace your pain? I wonder why it takes longer to forgive when we’re faced with everything we are trying to forget. I just haven’t gotten to that point yet.

The past few days I’ve felt more emotional than usual. I have cried more, complained more, fought this inner turmoil of the devil and god that continues to rage inside of me. As of recently I have begun to develop a paranoia of telling anyone my problems. As of lately I have been keeping a lot of my worries to myself. Its stupid, I shouldn’t do it, and it only makes me feel worse inside. However, I just don’t care to deal with the “What you should do”, “When that happens to me”, usual verbiage. I guess in a weird way, I want to confess how I feel without judgement. Without the shame, without someone stopping me to tell me their story. I feel suffocated with words but to express them would be my greatest downfall. I am not prepared to hear the outcome of my worries. I am not ready to express my feelings without worry or doubt. I am not ready for people to come in and nitpick my feelings and tell me how to change them.  Today of all days, I don’t feel very much like myself. Today of all days I want to shout to the heavens to hear me out. Today of all days I want to get out of this suffocated feeling and get out of myself. Even if it’s just for a few hours.

As I had mentioned in my previous post, I have a hard time doing things alone. I have this anxiety in regards to my peers that paralyzes my social interactions. I can’t explain it and even writing it down, I have a hard time believing it. I am fine when I do social activities with my friends. I make jokes, I amuse myself and others, I over exaggerate situations, but to do anything on my own I am frightened. At any moment something could jump out and take me out of the safe bubble I am in. When I am on my own, I plot my strategies and plan my exit routes. Everything I do alone is perfectly calculated and memorized. You don’t know how frightening life can be when you can’t do things alone. I can’t tell you how this started, I can’t tell you why it continues but I can say that I can’t do this anymore. This never ending waiting for people to come in and help me realize my frustrations. Today of all days, I just need a moment to collect myself and get out of my current frustrations. If I had it my way, I’d run away to the highest hills. Into the deepest forests and away from civilization. However, I also have a huge fear of the great outdoors which limits my hiding places. On the days when I need to get lost within myself, I hide in plot lines and other peoples stories. I hide between melodies of film scores and conversations of other individuals written words. I have been in love with film for as long as I can remember. As long as I can pretend to be someone else on someone else’s time. I only as of recently started going to the movies by myself, as a way of entertaining the idea that I can do things on my own. But how many of us are really alone when we are attached to our cellphones and social media? For the past few days I have deleted all social media on my phone (which the exception of Snapchat). Since I haven’t been feeling like talking to many people, I haven’t been social with very many people either. It is no fault of anyone and under no fault of my own, I just feel this need to be on my own and alone.

Since giving up on social media, I have limited my outlets to be social. I have always been distracted with taking photographs and immediately posting my whereabouts on social media. The last couple of days, I just haven’t felt like showing people how I feel. Showing people what I’m doing, who I am with, or even giving people a glimpse into my life. I don’t care if anyone reads what I have to say, but to see what I am doing is causing a huge paranoia that I don’t need in my life. Everyone is quick to judge my hypocrisy but never want to comment about what I am going through. I really don’t know who I am without my phone in my hand or a camera in front of my face. I have almost lost my identity just pushing objects in front of my face to hide who I am. Getting lost in someone else’s idea of reality gives me a chance to breathe. A chance to pretend that someone else’s life is connected with my own. I’ll be honest, I don’t like the movie theater in my hometown. The snacks are lousy, the popcorn sucks, and they don’t have any fancy soda fountains that the other theaters do. If I had my way I would watch every film at The State Theatre in Modesto or The Vine in Livermore or Archlight in Hollywood. However, I live quite a bit away from all of those places, so the AMC Theater in Manteca will just have to do. I have my movements calculated that going to that theater is almost routine. I follow the same roads, I park in the same spots, and I just know what I am doing before I am doing it. It’s a routine I follow every time, mainly insuring that I always have a parking spot, another that I avoid every human contact possible until I reach the theater. It’s just little things I do to give myself a moment before I have to be faced with interactions of any sort.

I don’t know what I am doing anymore. That’s a fact. I find myself rubbing my hands together in frustration just trying to calm my nerves down. This anxiety of being alone and with no one to comfort these fears. This fear of being completely open without saying a word. I didn’t realize how much I depended on my phone. How much I depended on communications from the social media world. How jaded I have become from the faces I see in front of me, just by staring down on a tiny phone screen. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. What do you do when you can’t occupy yourself and your fears with a tiny digital underworld. I arrived to the movie theater early and after deciding to see the film “Southpaw”, (mainly the curiosity of the film being Kurt Sutter’s (Sons of Anarchy) first film script and second being the beautiful beast of Jake Gyllenhaal), I had time to kill before the movie started. You don’t realize how much you separate yourself from the real world when you’re focused on the digital world. You have a habit of forgetting how you got through life without a phone attached to your hand. I found myself sitting on a bench waiting to be let into the theater. Sitting, thinking, analyzing, wondering, people watching. Life has a way of wanting you to photograph everything. Every passing moment that happens right in front of you. I found myself fixated on these phantom photographs of people that passed in front of me. Men, women, and children, their variety of reasons for being in the same place that I was. For different reasons or this comfort of being surrounded by the people they cared about most, intertwined with someone else’s idea of reality. My hands still twitched, feeling this need to tell someone how I felt. Show people everything that I was seeing. Instead I rubbed my hands together and kept everything to myself.

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I love films that give you this mystified way of feeling tragically heartbroken and happily moved. For my current state, I thought the film was great. I thought it truly emphasized this need to overcome demons and prove that people can be better than their past. I loved that it allowed me this need to escape from what I was feeling and transport myself into someone else. I know I am not okay. I know I have fears of doing things alone and being able to do something like this takes everything I have inside of me. To give this false illusion of being somewhere else in my mind, allows me to breathe again just for a little while. I have 99 more days to go and I wonder how much longer I can take it. How much longer I can continue before I completely break. Then again, maybe I am suppose to break in order to be put back together again.

Only time will tell.