saddddd

Hi it’s me and I’m high for the second time this weekend because being alive sucks major ass sometimes and no matter how many things are going okay it’s really hard to be happy. It’s hard to feel like you keep losing and to not really know what to do, and to need time and space to figure it out but can’t keep enough distance between yourself and someone else no matter how hard you try.

Honestly, fuck being sober on a sunday night. Fuck trying, and trying, and hoping, and setting yourself up to make the same mistakes over and over again and be let down. Fuck prioritizing school and having anxiety and being sad about things that really don’t matter. I hate how quickly things can be taken away. Suddenly spaces that were mine feel out of place and wrong and sometimes all I can think about is how dark it is outside, how many things I’ve lost to time and space and how nothing can ever be the way it was.

I can’t go back to driving around at midnight with kati and skinny dipping in january, or to devin pushing my car out of the snow or my parents driving me to school before i had a car, and I can’t hold on to any of the memories I feel to be mine because people are always changing and coming and leaving you alone and no matter how much effort or thought you invest it doesn’t amount to anything tangible. It’s very sad.

It’s sad and I’m sad even though I know this is good for me and I know there are lots of good things out there. The saddest things are the ones you can’t understand, where you don’t get reasons and you’re sort of left to wonder why things happened the way they did when you' already feel like the memories are mis-recalled. I’m beginning to forget what every word in english means and I don’t know why I started typing this but I know I wanted to say something.

Sometimes it’s just nice to pretend you’re talking to someone even when no one is there because life is lonely and I can’t imagine putting anything above caring about someone. But I guess if you don’t care it’s not that big a deal. I guess when it comes down to it, the truth is I don’t matter enough. And I wonder what it will feel like when I get to the other side of this week, and I wonder what it will feel like when I do matter enough. Comparison is necessary to define anything, and so nothing is inherently sad in itself, but is sad because of the alternative. And the alternative is usually an impractical, non-realistic daydream we’ve been high on since the beginning. The alternative is a world where I matter more than highlight videos and basketball games and sorority events, where the people I put almost everything else aside for do the same for me and where it’s not sunday night and I’m not sitting outside in the cold and the dark filling my lungs with whatever it takes to get through the night without having a panic attack or crying, not knowing what makes me this way and not wanting to feel so fragile and weak and void.

Imagine being more than a distraction, more than a sum of every shitty thing that happened in the past. I feel like I’m full of all the questions I didn’t ask and things I didn’t say and moments I lost to worrying, and every time I warned myself and every time I knew and I did nothing to change it and we’re all behind our own doors now and in our own cars and I keep giving away so much without thinking. On the worst nights I have to think about how to breathe, and I have to remind myself to breathe, and I can’t see past what I don’t know.

I feel like I’ve said all this before. I feel like I write the same lines over and over again and maybe that’s how I live too and maybe that’s why my life is a revolving door of people I get close to and I like pretending I’ve changed. I mean I’m definitely growing and making progress but when you’re actually in the middle of that process it’s not as empowering as it is in hindsight. Whatever honestly though. I’m gonna double major and change the world and do all of that while still being a pothead and prioritizing dumb shit even when everyone else is too busy doing not dumb shit instead of dumb shit. And I don’t know how to fix the bridges I’ve burned, and I don’t know how to keep myself from burning them when I’m hurt and not thinking and I can’t get the space I need and I can’t read the way things are and my back HURTS but anyways. I’ve done almost all my homework for the week and I wrote some bomb ass poems for this cool as shit poetry class I’m taking and I know I’m made up of planets and stardust and I will keep getting up and getting through, because there is no other way.