Foot By Foot

My journal tells me secrets.

At the strike of midnight, by a rare kind of cosmic intervention, I surrendered all my complaints and grievances towards this existence.  For the last two days, no, it was these last three weeks; actually the past… four years that I have been dead inside. I have believed in nothing the entire time. Under a banner of rejecting rejection, I swallowed that huge atheism horse-pill without water, and let everything lose its magic. I threw every scrap of faith I had into the fire of dissatisfaction and loneliness; everything from seatbelts to Santa Clause. In dealing only with the known, only with the predictable, the provable, I tail-spin’d into dispair. Funny, how it takes being lost at sea, to understand why we shouldn’t burn down the lighthouses. then my soul became mechanical, my thoughts more concrete, and my hope gathered a blanket of dust. Locked away in an absolutist’s prison; a dire state of utter disbelief. Ovoid thoughts orbiting in a constant, manic pendulum, wobbled me right off the edge.  All that trudging, all that tromping knee-deep in heaps of hopes-crushed, was worth this day.

Yesterday felt bleak. Like kicking heroin in a mildewed basement, as a warped Nirvana cassette slurs in slow motion the depressions of “heart-shaped box,” the day after your high school sweat-heart breaks up with you at a funeral for your only friend.

Today feels surreal. Like backpacking butt-naked on a mountain made out of Easter candy and sex toys, with a marching band in tow, waving my self-acceptance pom-poms in the air; with each smile-driven, proud toddler-step taken, I feel stronger than the strength I have.

Note to self. This time, when you find your center, don’t be so quick to give it away for someone else’s. As a king of your own singledom, you are gifted with finally knowing where the center of the universe. Start by staying loyal to loving yourself. Now that I think about it, when was the last time masturbation came with foreplay? I will seek to expand my definition of self-love. Surely, I will need to crawl, before I can walk. But I know which way I’m going now. Ascend.

I am done acting out this characterization of myself that only exudes a false narrative of a life wasted, failing my way from one rejection to another.

I am more than what I allow myself to be. When I deny my potential, I also deny the call to accepting my own greatness, and the long-standing invitation to inner serenity. Yes, it is true, that some things take time and practice to become enjoyable, like traits and habits. But I am fairly certain that I was born good enough to enjoy this life. I can’t fail, or get rejected, if I worship my existence through performance, observation and writing.   There are no irrelevant details. You are relevant, and it’s you that remembers the abandoned teddy-bear on the airplane to New York. Which arm, specifically, had the tear, matters when you tell the story thirty years later. How sad you thought he must’ve been, lost, alone in the world, without a lighthouse or a friend to believe in. Relevant. I believe in it. And become relevant myself.