If this blog proves anything, it’s that there comes a point where even I get sick of talking about myself. I guess it makes sense though, that I should feel better after having my need for attention satisfied. its hard to know when to shut up. i’ve been bottling it all up for so long that i now have this urge to share everything, with everybody, all the time. But it’s been less and less lately.
it’s like all this time i was stuck in high school, as i used to say, i’ve just been unable to process and like, integrate, all my experiences, because from the get-go i would just assume that whatever i was feeling or going through was wrong or pointless or whatever.
I’ve been screaming for approval from others because I didn’t believe my own opinions and perceptions were valid. but now that i’ve broken this sort of “taboo” of mine, it doesn’t seem so scary and overwhelming anymore, and i can move on to other things.
i will probably always be the self-involved ball of anxiety that i am, but somehow admitting it… makes me feel less guilty about it. for starters, i can only fight it if im aware of it.
But also, paradoxically, completely letting loose has made me realize that … maybe it’s not as bad as i thought? Maybe I’m not just a black hole of insecurity. Maybe my capacity for self-pity isn’t infinite, and maybe even i can get sick and tired of my own bs. And maybe i don’t need other people to tell me what to do all the time?
there’s less fear now, in owning my decisions, even if they’re small.
and I can’t write, because writing has always been my escape from reality, whereas now I don’t need that as much anymore. without constantly questioning & doubting myself & worrying, i can focus on the present moment, which honestly i can’t remember the last time that that was an option for me. so I simply don’t want to escape.
Reality doesn’t have to be all ambitious and sophisticated. I have gotten exactly zero things done during this lockdown. but I’ve dealt. and i did things that I actually truly enjoyed, just for myself, which i also never realized that i was able to tell whether *I* actually enjoyed something.
dang, I’m not making any sense. but honestly though. finally i can just, like, play with my dog, or go for a run, or listen to a podcast, or wash the fucking dishes, and just — like — know that that’s what I’m supposed to be doing at that moment.
i can’t put a finger on what’s changed, but something has. And this is not me turning over a new leaf or anything like that, btw. I have more realistic expectations. but that’s exactly what im saying is that i’m still basically the same — im still just talking (for now at least) — but now it bugs me that im just talking.
i don’t wanna just talk anymore.