okay

What it feels like for a girl.

Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about it.
Whatever you do, do not think about it.

What do I do? Of course, I think about it. It’s in my nature to think of everything. Everything I am afraid of. Everything I am running away from. Everything I said I wouldn’t think about. The more you think about it, the more you won’t be able to let go of it. Here I am thinking of every single detail. Every single insignificant thing, that makes no difference weeks later. I don’t know why I do it, but it’s driving me insane. Replaying moments that happened yesterday and analyzing things to see why I continue to do this to myself.

Do I bring this out of people?
Is there something wrong with me?
Am I really that awkward?

Its these insecurities that get the best of me. I am driving myself insane by overanalyzing everything, I can’t get my mind to stop thinking about. Every single moment is an episode that I can’t help but replay, over and over again. Dissecting words, going over every minor detail, and thinking of new ways to make things seem better. Because every word that comes out is wrong. Every thing I do or say, is always wrong. I can’t help myself. Is it me? Is it you? Is it the whole universe?  Am I just driving myself crazy? How am I suppose to act when I feel like I am tearing everything apart. It’s been so long since I’ve had interaction with people, perhaps I am a little rusty. I find myself fidgeting more than normal and I can’t help but feel even more nervous than before. This is perfectly normally right?

Right?

I am not crazy, but I sure as hell feel crazy. I can’t stop my mind from asking myself:

Did I say something stupid?
Did I say too much, or nothing at all?
Did I do something to make you believe something else?

People have a way of making you feel completely differently than how you normally are. How can I be so guarded when all I want is to tell my stories to everyone? And yet, words comes out like word vomit and I am saying everything that I don’t normally say. I don’t know how to act when I am around you. Have I always been like this? Do I normally act like this? There is always a part of me that believes I will never be good enough. These stupid insecurities that eat a way at my self confidence and drive me absolutely insane. If I had wore something different. If I had said everything I wanted to say. If I had looked a certain way, maybe I would feel less crazy. This is what it feels like for a girl. At least for me, and it’s absolute madness.

NO.
Stop that. None of that matters.

People who want to know you will keep the conversation going. Life may seem like one big popularity contest, but the right people will always find you. No matter what you wear, say, or do. No matter what you do, these little crazy feelings will always follow. We can’t help ourselves. Sometimes things work out, often times they don’t. But when they do, they are worth every moment. You can drive yourself crazy or keep moving forward. I think I will keep moving forward.

 

4/12/2016

18 forever.

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I want to remember people how they were. The exact image they portrayed, very long ago in a nostalgic paradise. Where time stood still and you remained in your pristine condition.  If only photographs could talk, would I be able to point you out completely. Storytelling is far to good to tell, then by photographic memory.

That’s where I keep you.

Locked away in the vaults of my memory. Hidden in the crevices of my brain, locked away under stories and memories. It doesn’t matter what I do, I continue to search for you. Across the country, across the state, across the faces of the people I loved. Maybe it has always been you. Maybe it was this illusion of staying in one place or coming back home to something. It didn’t matter. People will scan across these words thinking its about a specific person and it’s not. Sometimes there’s that one person you want to forget but you keep being reminded of. Sometimes you want to keep stories personal, and as you get older you can’t keep things to yourself anymore.

I watch buildings change. I watch people grow up. I look at places that meant the world to me, go through different variations of themselves that they become nonexistent. I watch the cities I spent my youth in become gentrified garbage, instead of the kitschy places they used to be. I love the nostalgia, I love the stories, and I know they can’t go on forever. Buildings change, people grow up, and even people we once loved have a reality. Sometimes I think I love you, and then I become the 18 year old with bold expectations. Now a days it’s just a silly notion of my youth. Silly memories of never wanting to grow up. Staying up all night, looking up at the stars, and wishing to be in bigger cities with the people that meant the most to you.

You have become different heroic expectations in many aspects of my stories. Lingering in and out of my mind, coming and going just as you please. Some days I want badly to hate you, but I can’t. Other times I just wished you never existed. Deep down a part of me knows that I am officially crazy. The person I believe you to be and the person you really are, are two different people. This image I keep of you doesn’t exist to anyone else but myself. I feel crazy to even believe who I think you are. The thing with fantasies is that people’s realities are far to realistic. To know who you truly are in reality, kills the dream I have conjured up in my mind. You existed to me. Even if no one believes me. Every hero I write is based on stories of the past and the person I believed you to be. But the past is the past, I can’t keep searching for you in faces of people that no longer exist. I can’t keep holding a candle to a person that is kept only in stories of a nostalgic paradise. When you grow up, you have to let go of the things you once loved. Making way for new memories and journeys, new loves and expectations. Maybe I will always be just jealous cause we’re young and in love, but I have to grow up some time.

18-year-olds grow up to be 33-year-olds. Even you had to grow up some time. You’ll always be the hero at the end of every one of my stories.

Always.

10.22.2013

9/24/2015 – Day Twenty – Seven

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When you love something so much you place it high upon a pedestal. High above the sky it becomes completely untouchable. Nothing can beat this thing, this moment, this feeling is untouchable. Others have tried, failed, and been nothing but cheap imitations of what you hold dear. When you’re young nothing can reach you, no matter how hard people try. Nothing and no one can come between what you love. I have done a lot of foolish things in my life, but nothing I regret. I loved and I lost, and I put feelings into things that weren’t certain. That’s human nature and as much as you escape the past, all you can do is move forward.

I love a lot of things, but as I got older this love changed as the images did on this status symbol. I loved a lot of bands, a lot of people, and a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have.  A part of me wants to hate these images of the past, but the more I close my eyes wanting to forget, I can’t. The foundations of this pedestal is crumbling down and with it, I want to watch all the memories come tumbling down as well. Yet, I find myself disappearing to fix and fill the holes in the foundation. I hated this band for all the reasons I shouldn’t, then loved it for all the reasons I should. In your memories nobody ages, everyone remains the same. You keep conversations in your head and faces sealed in glass cases of everything you want to remember. Even if it hurts you, you still want to keep it. Close to you, when you need it the most.

Few grey hairs later, pit scars healed, and ear drums finally back to normal; I think of this band. This band that seemed completely untouchable. That could do no wrong in my eyes. Even when the worst was bad, I still had the music to hold me through. As I sit in this seat on my way to see them for the first time in years, I get nostalgic for them. I hated this band for so many things through the years, that it’s taken me a great deal of time to come to terms with how I feel. When you grow up you forget that everyone else has too. Maybe in a way this was my sad attempt of holding on to the past, that I have desperately tried to escape. While I have alienated legions of former friends, I realized I missed that nostalgic connection of recollection. Listening to albums and singing every word puts you right back where you started. An insecure person afraid of the world but in love with literal words that are entangled in melody. I am too old to wish to be 18 again. Too old to sleep on floors and dissect every words in every song.

Today, I am transported back to a time where being stuck between lines of a song, and singing along with your best friend was all you could ever ask for. For a moment, I could live forever. Even if it’s just for a day.