leaving

Hotel Chelsea.

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She was easy to lie to. I don’t know why I did it, but I found myself lying to her a million times. It never phased me that it was wrong. The way I figured, I was protecting her from something.

I have learned that with people, if you tell a person everything, they will use everything against you. All your secrets, all your dreams, everything. I loved being secretive, being able to keep something for myself. She just never understood that, instead I was a liar. I defied everything she stood for. I led her to believe I was someone else, when I wasn’t. I did this to myself, this I know. I lied, I made myself into a different person for different people, and often forgot who I was. When you make a mockery of yourself, you become the caricature you create instead of yourself. Just a fragment of a person you’re suppose to be. With her I only gave her a fraction of who I was. I could never be myself around her and she was my best friend.

It had been years since we had actually been friends to each other. We were more like acquaintances that tolerated each other. We lied to each other constantly, that it felt like nothing at times. She could lie about everything, but no matter what I did, I was always the liar. I found myself distancing from her. Becoming my own person with my own life and voice. Maybe it was all the lies we told each other. Or maybe we were just finally growing apart from each other.

We had gone to New York before. We made up stories of living in different boroughs and meeting in the middle. Talking hours about our dreams and made up lives of the future. Childish dreams that never came true. Every time we stepped off the plane, we had different experiences. She craved this indie celebrity that came with the internet world, and I just wanted to be a complete nomad. I wanted to hide from the world underneath every skyscraper, write in a million notebooks from tiny hole-in-the-wall cafes. Anything to get away from the boring and mundane of my tiny hometown.

We may not have agreed about a lot of things, but the one thing we could agree on was New York, and The Hotel Chelsea.

My apartment in LA, held photos of my New York.
A New York she never knew.
A New York she never saw.
A New York that she had never seen with me.
Where we weren’t looking up 5 star reviews.
Where we weren’t seeing who ate where.
A New York that felt New York to me.

During a visit is when she asked me about those photos, I lied. Those photos weren’t mine. I had never been there, I could never go without her. When talks came about the Chelsea, as she held a photograph of the Hotel, I told her I had never been.

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I should have been honest. I should have said everything I felt at that very minute. I don’t know why I did that. As she stood there looking carefully at each photograph, I couldn’t help but continue this stream of lies. Something inside made me believe that had I told her, it would just break her heart into a million pieces. This fear of missing out before it became the moniker “FOMO”. We were suppose to do everything together. We were suppose to share our hopes and dreams, and here I was defying those thoughts.

For all she knew, The Hotel Chelsea was her thing. New York was her thing. Even if we shared the same hopes and dreams, it was always her ideas. Her wishes, her dreams, and everything I loved came in at second. She would speak enthusiastically about things I had already heard about. Films, I had seen a decade prior. Bands I had known about for years, songs I had heard weeks before she did. She would make these elaborate mixes of bands I had heard, and bands I had never heard of. Sometimes she would play songs I had heard weeks before she did. If I made a mention of liking any of the bands or any of the songs, she would complain that I copied her, that I was being her. All of the lying had made me into someone else.  I had lied to her multiple times that I didn’t have the heart to explain. Every thing was her thing. From the men she loved, to the people she obsessed over. If I spoke up about anything, I was her carbon copy. How could I, a person of my stature know these things? My character was making her believe what she wanted to believe.

I was ready to move on and grow up. To pack my bags and leave to bigger cities. To fall in love with people that I didn’t make up in my mind. But I waited for her. While she was afraid of being alone and paralyzed by self doubt, that she locked herself into her room and dreamed about life in a big city.

“New York could save me. The Chelsea will save me.” she’d say.

I couldn’t help but feel the same way too. As if she had taken the words out of my heart and spoke them out into the universe. This idea that a big frightening city could change everything. But all of it was just a dream, and reality was living in cities closer to home with people who made us feel at home.

I wasn’t allowed to go to the hotel without her, let alone New York City. It was an unspoken, unwritten word, among our friendship that we wouldn’t go without each other. I would watch the months go by and realize I was waiting for the dreams we shared to start. Start over as different people in a completely different city. I was waiting as the days came and went, as each year we toasted to the future. Every birthday card lined with false illusions of what our future would be. She was the star and I was the assistant. She pulled the stings and I made the things happen.

Still I waited.

I knew it was wrong. I was becoming the fraud, a mere caricature of myself.

The photographs scattered around the apartment were mine. Had she been someone else, I would have recounted all the stories. With her, I didn’t have the heart to tell her anything. That every inch of the hotel I wanted to keep for myself. That I still had tiny shampoo bottles hidden in my dresser drawers, underneath the ticket stubs of our scattered youth. I wanted to keep this New York for myself, my story. I have waited for my life to start that I couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted to keep that part of New York in my story. Keep every inch of the hotel for myself. It was just another lie, amongst all the other lies I’ve told. Lies about everything. Hide every inch of the hotel’s memory deep within the confines of my apartment. Even through the lies we couldn’t hide from our reality. The truth was we were growing up and growing apart, and neither of us had the guts to tell each other.

I was the liar. I was the carbon copy. Because someone like me, should never know the greatness of the Chelsea Hotel. I should have never grown up with stories of artists being inspired by that very hotel. A hotel so grand and majestic, with it’s ghosts trapped inside every inch, crack, and scratch. I never understood how lost I felt, until I walked the hallways of the Chelsea. How sitting on window sills, looking down at the lights of the city, made you crave warmth from people. How cold February nights made you wish for people that no longer existed. How being deep inside the bones of a hotel can play tricks on your mind and your soul.

She would never understand. How my needs of comfort and growth, could ever surpass her loneliness and self doubt.

I grabbed my camera and took photos of every inch of that hotel. The famous stairwell, the beautiful bohemian art, the beautiful architecture of the building, everything. I wanted more than just a mental memory. I wanted something to look back on. Something that was mine. A memory of sitting in an empty bath tub and crying over boys that break hearts and friendships that are going no where. This fear of growing up and being everything that I hated. Realizing that adulthood is frightening and sometimes, you have to fly halfway across from the familiar to find yourself.

I could never explain to her, how I slept with the big thick drapes of the hotel shut and wanted to breathe it all in. Breathe the hotel deep into my lungs and take a piece of that hotel everywhere I went. How haunted it felt in my soul, and how I left a part of myself in that hotel and still want it back. People are so afraid of missing out that they forget, we are all missing something too. Sometimes you need to fly across the country, on a weekend where it’s suppose to be about love, and cry in the tub of a dusty hotel.

I was a liar. For the first time I didn’t care. I felt no sincerity in apologizing in my life. She would never understand, like she never truly understood me. Because in the end our friendship was nothing more than two people lying about who they really were.

I found everything I was looking for at the Hotel Chelsea, and I’ll never be alone.

 

Los Angeles, CA. 2009

Some place good.

People have a funny way of disappearing. Coming in and out of your life as seasons change. I met you in the summer, and you lasted through fall and winter. By spring we couldn’t run away fast enough. We were so limited in our time together, and some days I feel like you couldn’t leave fast enough. You disappeared and expecting this all to go away. That leaving was easier than the need to stay. The winds of spring blew you away and the only thing I have left to show for it, are these scars of the coldest winter.

You weren’t suppose to leave, I was. I was suppose to tell you everything I felt and walk away from everything. You were suppose to have your heart frozen to stone and unable to sleep for weeks on end. You were suppose to replay my words until they become a recurring dream to you. To feel these words long after I have left. Haunting you like fog and disappearing through the clouds. You were suppose to be left with the corpse of who I used to be. But you left. You left and didn’t hesitate to look back. Here I am haunted by every word, as your face comes across every person I meet. You didn’t love me. As much as you implied it, you never once said those words. You seemed warm like fall but you were cold like winter. Never said a single word, unless it was to hurt me. I realize that now. After all these years I realized that what we had wasn’t love. And as much as I thought I loved you, in the end I knew deep down I didn’t. And it tore me apart. Because I wanted desperately to be with someone, to have that comfort in someone, but I knew it wasn’t you. I just wish it took me sooner to realize than later.

You were like all the seasons. Changing leaves to adapt to the ever changing weather. You only like someone for the moment when it’s convenient for you. Until you fly away and find someone new. I was a fool that believed in summer love that would last through fall, winter, and spring. I was stupid to believe that you would stay, when all you do is change color to who ever you want to adapt too. But this time I leave you in the summer. In the blistering sun and the swelling heat. Leave you begging for the fall and holding on for the winter. I can change just like you do. Only I change for myself and not anyone else. Thats something you haven’t grown accustom to yet.

You can watch the leaves fall. Changing colors from green to gold to brown to rust. Watch the winter rains swallow up the valleys and leave you gasping for more. I am not coming back, just so you know. I am not coming back. My summer skin has healed, now all I am left with is gold.

7/2/2011

Take offs & Landings.

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The road leads back to you and familiar far off places. I am leaving in various directions to far off destinations. Anywhere but here, and yet every where and in between. Leaving pieces of myself in different cityscapes and landscapes. Taking with me only what I need to live and survive. Leaving on a jet plane, and who knows when I’ll be back again.

When you’re far from home, you hardly miss it. You stay trapped in the subliminal bliss of journeys that await you. A new story, a familiar place, pieces of strangers that await you on the other side. I could sit in a million seats in crowded places, but nothing compares to the life you see from the gates to terminals. The comings and goings, take offs and landings. Where are we going? Home or further from it? Far off destinations that soon lead you home. I could open my heart and give a piece of it to every person that leaves before me. Open my heart to the strangers and their journeys. Its the strangers that facisnate me. That leave to places I’ll never see, places I’ll never know. We are only the same from the terminal to the gates. Then off on to our journeys and the life that awaits. I leave my past to enjoy the present that awaits me. Familiar places with different faces. Each journey farther from home but eventually leading me home.

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Time stands still. Remembering people, remembering stories and the memories of who we are and who we were. With each trip I am learning, with each trip I am growing up. Searching for parts of myself that I didn’t think would ever exist outside the boundaries of my hometown. My hands shake in anticipation of a new adventure. I can only keep going from here. Embrace this adventure and the people I will encounter. For a brief moment in time, I am connected to these people. To the people that leave and the people that return. We are all connected to an adventure of finding things about ourselves, and growing from each and every experience. Its those strangers that I love, its those strangers that I connect to.

Miles from home, I never feel alone. Miles from home I feel a connection to this life, this illusion of living in and out of a big fat suitcase. Being on the road, I feel more connected to myself then staying in one place. Between take offs and landings is where I feel at home. Up in the sky, floating through the clouds in this never ending dreamland. If you could see me now, if you could see how I fly. If only you could understand that staying in one place, never suited me at all. But being miles away from home, and miles to go before I sleep, at this moment I feel just fine.

 

Do I stay or Do I go?

I am a creature of habit. I have my same routines and abide by them as the days go. It’s human nature to seek comfort in others, and in the surroundings of people. Some days I just keep to myself. Alone in my surroundings and alone in my thoughts. I find myself getting older and seeking comfort in doing things on my own and slowly retreating into my home to do nothing. People have a funny way of frightening me, so I refrain from human contact until I see fit for me.

We are all getting older. My peers, my family and my friends, we’re all growing up and growing into our own lives. I used to seek comfort in legions of friends, now I can’t pick up the phone to call them. It’s not that I don’t care, its that we are all on our own different paths. Different paths for different walks of life. When you’re younger you believe that your friends will be there forever. That every milestone your friendships will withstand the testaments of time. Then you see as the same people you confided in, stop talking to you for reasons beyond your control. In a way, you’re not growing up if you’re not losing some aspects of your friendships. As much as it hurts, you can’t stop life from happening. You can’t stop this evolution from occurring in your day to day life.

I find myself still holding down the anchor of my hometown. Staying to wait for people that will never return. Watching people come and go as they fit please. People who said they’d never change to become polar opposites of themselves. Or maybe that’s who they have always been. Who knows. I just don’t have the time to wait around expecting things to happen, that were never going to happen to begin with. Now I am left at this crossroads of who I am and who I am suppose to be. Do I stay and wait the testaments of time? Or do I go and start my life a new?

The more I wander the more I want to pack every last bit of myself into boxes. Leave this town and the last of the memories that I carry with me. Leave and never tell a single soul about my whereabouts. I am tired of sitting around and watching everyone else’s life pass me by. I am tired of everyone taking advantage of me and expecting me to follow their lead. This isn’t who I was suppose to be. This isn’t where I am suppose to be. I am ready for everything to change and to be some place else. All of my excuses have expired. All of my resources have dried out. The only thing I know is that when I leave, no one will follow. Maybe it’s for the best but leaving is easier than staying in one place where nothing happens.

Do I stay or do I go? I have no reason to stay, maybe it’s best that I go.

 

The ghost of you and me.

Disappearing is easy. You fall through the cracks and blend in with your over powering surroundings. If there was a how to guide of “How to disappear completely”, you’d have written all the books. It’s always harder to forget but you’ve made it easy to remember. You become a ghost of your former life, just a fragment of a story people tell at parties. The person you were and the person you used to be. All of which have nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with who we’re trying to be.

I can change.
I can be what you want me to be.

You didn’t have the time to wait and I didn’t have the strength to see myself. Through the darkness, the trenches, and the misery. That was then. People can change. I can change and I tell myself  constantly. I can be better then what you want me to be. I can be perfect. I can be happy. I can watch this madness take over my veins and infect my bloodstream, pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend that ghosts stop haunting even after the sun comes up. I was never good at hiding and you were never good at pretending.  Even I can’t pretend as good as you do.

Then you fail miserably.

Before you know it you’re right back to the drawing board. Reinventing yourself. Hiding all of your past failures and pretending a part of you didn’t exist. It breaks you up inside, but you never tell anyone. You bleed, you fall, and you never tell a single soul. You hide every flaw so perfectly, just as well as you guard every inch of your heart. You disappeared into the fog and like the mist you reappear. Reappearing only a fraction of the person you used to be. So hollow and vacant and still, I can’t help but want all of you.

I was wrong for everything. Wrong for wanting the imperfections and expecting perfection. Wrong for believing in changes that actions could never deliver. Wrong for believing in the ghost of you and me and all the memories that followed. Still I wanted it all. Everything and in-between. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I wanted more than I deserved. Still I wanted ghosts to reappear in the forms of you and me. But I can’t have you. I can’t be who you want me to be. The more time passes the more you become what you always were. A mystery to the people that you surround yourself with. Like the ghost you were, you disappear completely.

I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t need you anymore.
I don’t want anything to do with you.

Disappear and take all my memories with you.

12/17/2012

 

 

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

Invisible.

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You can’t see me.

I am crystal clear that radiates blue. Even a glowworm glows and you find them. Among the crowds through the lighthouses. I am standing in front of you but you don’t see me. I radiate blue but you can’t find me. I am fading away, leaving, and one day I will disappear.

Disappear to the highest hills. Disappear through the trees and into the woods, where you’ll never find me. Finding is for things that are already lost, but I am not lost. I am invisible in this world that always sees things. Invisible to the crowds that look for things far beyond their reach. You’ll forget about me as easily as you remember me. Watching my surroundings blur out of focus with the familiar faces walking right past me. No one sees me, but I see you. I see everyone. I see their cracks and fears and every single one of their flaws. Their perfect imperfections that no one seems to see. I feel a disconnect from this world. Single glances taking second chances but I can’t help but feel alone. Standing amongst the crowds of people and asking them to see me.

You can’t see me but you see right through me. The ghost that haunts and appears when needed. But you don’t see me. I am invisible in their visible world. Slowly I watch myself disappear, just begging you to look at me. Everyone thinks they understand but they don’t. Everyone thinks they know, but they never ask. I could stand on the highest hill but you’ll focus on the scenery.

I am here. I am here, but you see right through me. I am here but you look right past me.

You don’t see me and you never will.

I am already gone.

8/12/2015

8/12/2015 – Day Six.

I didn’t tell anyone I was traveling. I didn’t make some epic post on social media. I didn’t even give a hint that I was going. I wasn’t up to all of it to be completely honest. If I had to be really honest, I really just wanted to disappear. I didn’t want to die, even if at times I felt that way. I just didn’t feel the need to tell anyone anything. It probably sounds stupid and juvenile but I’ve always been so public about different aspects of myself. Just this once, I didn’t want to say anything.

I haven’t been sleeping well for the past couple of weeks. This wave of paranoia hit me like something out of a nightmare. I’ve travelled thousands of times. Thousands of times alone or with friends. This time felt different, that I was hiding from something I couldn’t contain anymore. I thought I was going to lose it in the check-in line. I thought I was going to lose it in security. I thought I was going to cancel this trip right in the airport. If I had it in me, I would change my ticket and fly to a million different places. Places where no one would find me. I am clouded with this idea that we have to tell people where we are and what we are doing, but I just want to get lost and leave. Disappear completely. Disappear in the sights and sounds of places where only few people would find me. As of this point, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend that this is just something that happens to people. At this point in my life, I don’t know if I can survive these feelings. Its haunting my life to the point that I can’t sleep anymore. I am hurting in places, I don’t want to hurt anymore. I am holding on by a very thin thread and at any given moment I will break.

Airports are always interesting places. I have spent a good amount of time at airports. Coming and going, take off and landings. I always felt it was the most loneliest place you could be. You’re never sure if someone’s journey is just beginning or ending. I become fascinated by strangers, their stories and their lives. I could sit and people watch for hours. I could sit down in the countless chairs by the gates and watch people. People on their phones, gossiping with people, people reading books, everything. You almost want to open your heart to these people and invite them in. See who they are and share a piece of yourself. In many ways thats what drives my madness. This need to share a piece of myself and open my heart to people. I’ve been fearful of people hurting me again, that I didn’t realize I was only hurting myself. I go on all these trips to find myself to scare myself. To prove to myself how much I can do on my own. When it’s the comfort of people I really seek. A smile from a stranger, a “good morning” from a neighbor, a “thank you” from a person sitting next to you.

We are all connected by strings and when we least expect it to we cut our strings to be free from everyone. We don’t realize how desperately we need these strings. How we’d stop the world to restring ourselves to all these people. I want to learn to live without these strings and realize I need these strings as much as I need to be free. I want to disappear and I want strings to pull me back to myself. I don’t know. I found myself in my seat on the plane and as we were descending into my final destination, I realized how much I missed the adventure of life. Everything I’ve done in my life had been completely out of the norm of everyone else’s life. I had been feeling guilty of steering off the path, that I was bringing myself down. I missed adventure, I missed different places, I missed what I loved about life. A lot has changed since my last trip, and I knew that. I watched as the plane slowly circled the city and realized I missed the comfort of home and the comfort of people. I needed to be alone with my darkness to realize how much I don’t need a lot of things. Looking down at the city with it’s buildings and cars and people, I felt so insignificant. Harboring all this pain has made me feel like a stranger to many people, but I felt like a stranger to myself. Before I could enjoy the view, I couldn’t help but start to cry.

I don’t know who I am anymore, and I am not sure I ever will.

I’m a mess of mistakes.

If I write this all down maybe it will stop hurting. Taking everything I have inside and spilling my guts for the world to see will make me feel better. Nothing could make me feel worse then how I feel at this very moment. Anything to take away this pain.

The truth is I don’t feel like myself lately. Someone has taken a hold of my body, my arms, my legs, my brain and my thoughts. If I write everything down, it won’t hurt as much. It won’t hurt to say how bad I’m feeling or how hard life feels at times. I want to disappear, leave this life and everything I see before me. I want all these thoughts to drown in the deepest oceans, and only then would I finally feel free. I could finally feel like who I am suppose to be, opposed to this phony way of feeling.

I want to hurt myself in every possible way, claw off my skin to reach my insides. Purge every negative though I could possible think of. I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t want to respond with “I am fine”, when I am fucking losing my mind. It hurts. It all hurts inside. This rotten feeling that will only go away once I am gone. I have done all these wrong things, that never out weigh the good. Its my selfish ways that lead to selfish thoughts. I am not good enough. I am not strong enough. We are all going mad but afraid to show the world. I wish I didn’t feel so empty. I wish I didn’t have to drive myself to escape this bullshit reality. Maybe one day this will all disappear.

People are drifting further away from me. Keeping themselves at arms length and slowly walking away. Its for the best because I would do the same too. I am tired of hurting people, only telling them what they want to hear. I am tired of pretending that everything is going to be okay, when I am completely falling apart. This isn’t who I am, this isn’t who I am suppose to be. I am watching my life in slow motion, when everyone is running to the speed of light. Life was never suppose to be perfect, but it wasn’t suppose to hurt this much either. I guess I just want a moment to myself to pretend I’ll be just fine.

But I am not fine, I won’t be for a while.

8/11/2015

8/11/2015 – Day Five.

Drained. Emotionally drunk. Punched drunk. My body hurts and no matter how many times I try to get up, I continue to fall back down. Depression hurts all over, changes your mood in a hundred different ways. The more I suppress the feeling, the more it intensifies. What started out a somewhat productive morning, wound up extremely unproductive. After the meltdowns of the past few weeks, I started having fears about everything. To the extent that the upcoming trips I had coming up I wanted to cancel. I have never been one to cancel any trip, but lately emotions take so much out of me. No matter how much I want to put up a positive front, I don’t want to keep lying to myself.

I wasn’t sure what could get my mood back at least somewhat back in order. I knew I couldn’t be like this forever. I could dig myself a deeper hole than I was feeling. All I ever do is pick myself up and try to put back the pieces together. I wanted to pick up the pieces but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put them back together. I was going to have lunch with a friend of mine, I knew that I needed to lift up my mood in some way. I get these episodes of severe sadness but find myself terrified of anyone finding out. Instead of telling people my problems, I pretend they don’t exist. Keep my emotions locked away in a box, until I am ready to completely deal with them. It’s hard to pick yourself up, when you’re feeling down. It’s hard to force yourself to be who everyones believe you are, when you’re completely falling apart inside. You don’t want your outsides to reflect your insides. Because it hurts, everything hurts.

This feels so repetitive, broken record status. The same thing over and over again. I get it, I sound pathetic. No matter how much I try, I can’t get these feelings out of my head. What do I want? What should I do? Everything and in-between. The more I struggle to figure out what I want, the more time I wasted getting myself together. I could have cancelled today. I could have done a million different things instead of going outside and meeting my friend. I knew I couldn’t avoid the world forever. That maybe a little sunshine would do me some good. Some days I feel stuck in my surroundings and other days I can’t help but succumb to it. When did I become fearful of change? When did everything fall beyond my grasp? All I know is that if I can’t put myself together, at least I can get it together enough to be okay. Even if it’s on the outside. I found myself pushing myself to do things, even when I am emotional incapable of doing things alone.

There’s so many factors that tingle in my fingers and bring a chill to my spine. I realized more than ever how alone I feel. How the clouds feel as if they’re forming against me, instead of staying within the skies. The sun doesn’t beam down on me, it mocks and burns my skin and scars my insides. Still I knew I had to get up and do something about it. I knew that the longer I stayed this way, the more it would hurt to stop this feeling. I got dressed, put a shirt over my head and put on a pair of jeans. It just starts to feel like a routine, you put on your war paint and wait to go into battle. Today I felt more insecure than ever. I felt disgusting, I felt over weight, I felt that a million people were looking at me, when I was the only one looking at myself. I needed to get out of this feeling. I didn’t care what I looked like. I didn’t care that my face was bare or that I didn’t brush my hair. I didn’t care that my shoes didn’t go with my simple jeans and tshirt look. I didn’t care, but somehow on the days that I don’t care, I care way too fucking much. I realized that I’ve come a long way with my body, but I didn’t feel like dealing with it today. I didn’t feel like being much of anything. Somewhere in my mind, I decided I needed to go for a walk. Since my options are limited in my surroundings, I decided to park farther than usual and walk in my hometown.

I succumb to this stage of paranoia. Nothing I say makes sense anymore. If I knew what any of this meant, I would have all of this fixed by now. I sat in my car, wondering about all these sentiments. Wondering if I have really lost it. Wondering if I was steps away of losing myself. Wondering if I was already gone. You tend to look at things differently, when you’re not feeling like yourself. A four block walk, looks like a battlefield to me. That at any given moment, something terrible was about to happen to me. I was crazy to think that way but I couldn’t help but feel completely petrified and utterly alone. It had been a long time since I walked around in my hometown. Walked around by myself without someone guiding me or agreeing where to go. I almost forgot how aware I am about my surroundings. How differently everything looks. I’ve driven down these streets numerous times and I can’t believe how much has changed and how much has remain the same. I never realized what is surrounding me, when I am so busy looking down on the ground. I never realized how businesses from my past have left or been remodeled or just disappeared. How in the past few years my hometown went from flourishing to completely bare bones. I forget how much I have left of myself on the steps that keep being repaved or retouched in hopes of beautifying this town. I forget and I’ve forgotten how these steps wanted something better but instead settled for what was worse.

It breaks my heart to think that the past isn’t as perfect as we saw it. That even the bare bones of old buildings will make memories for other generations after me. I think of all the steps, I keep retracing thinking it will lead me home. I don’t feel okay but being home makes it all go away. Today, I saw flashes of the past with the sadden truth of my present. I saw the life beams of this town and the may times it opened different variations of myself. I guess you never realize how much something changes until you are truly faced with it. I always pretended to see but I was just covering up the truth. You don’t know anything until you really see them, really see the person for who they are. It took me a while to see that in my hometown, I wonder if people think the same about me.