It's quiet now, in my head. One thought at a time. It makes me feel sluggish, in a way. I'm not used to so much quiet. Not having 13 thoughts at the exact same time, and two songs stuck in my head to top it all off. When it first got quiet my ears rang for several weeks. The silence was deafening. It's not as noticeable anymore, but every once in awhile I am aware of it. Like breathing. It's automatic until someone tells you, "Hey, you're breathing right now."
I kind of miss the noise sometimes. The quiet is kind of lonely. I am alone in my own mind, with just my singular thought, whatever that may be. I don't have all of my voices to keep me company. To stimulate my brain. To entertain me when I don't want to do anything or go anywhere. Sometimes I miss the way down. I want to crawl into the familiar down place, hide from the world, life. Just me and my thoughts, the only things in existence, under my blankets.
I feel like I've lost some of my creative edge. Without all of the thoughts happening I don't need an outlet for them. I don't need to put pen to paper, or paint to paper, or words on a computer. I worry I've killed the creative parts of my brain. Or I'm locked out. I've lost access. Can't remember the password.
I still worry too much. Not about how everything I think or say or do will inevitable usher in the apocalypse. I worry I'm making the wrong choices. I worry about building a tolerance to the meds that keep my head quiet. I worry that once again I'm pouring all of my focus and attention towards a singular point, and like so many times before it's the wrong direction. It gnaws at me. Maybe I'm worried I'll crash and burn like every other time. I worry I am not capable of following through with anything. Ever.
And I'm mad. Not like the constant rage-monster I used to be. Where the anger was all I had, all that kept me alive, the spite that kept me moving forward. Not the kind of anger that was my primary emotion. Rage Mad, Rage Happy, Rage Sad, Rage Scared. I've calmed down. I have noticed that there are very real triggers that bring out my rage. Even if I'm able to keep it internal. And sometimes I still can't contain it. I wonder why I even care about these insignificant things that make me mad. Why I zero in and hyper-focus on them. The truth is, I don't know why. Maybe because I'm just so damn good at being mad all the time. It's easy for me. If I feel slighted, I cut people with my words. Not as often, but it's still there. It feels justified. I don't think it is. Not always, anyway.
I cry a lot. At awful things. At things that make me mad. At things that make me scared. At things that break my heart. At things that inspire me. At things that are beautiful. At things that are sacred to me. At things that make me laugh. At things that are too much for me. Always at too much. But I allow myself to cry now. If I'm frustrated I ask to stop what I'm doing for a few minutes. And I cry. Ugly. Hard. Desperate crying. And when it's out, I can pick up and continue where I left off.
I'm surprised I can still be charming and charismatic. I can still draw people in and make them feel good about themselves. I can be giving, and kind, and teach people to be kinder to themselves and others. I feel like a phony. Not when I'm doing it. But after. How can I be so good at teaching people to love themselves and one another, but I cannot put that into practice for myself? I wonder if I'm even capable of self love or self respect. But still. In public. I am kind, and when I am kind, other people start being kind.
I'm learning. About myself, about the world, about people. So much information coming in, I don't have time to let anything out. I have learned to trust my instincts about people. When I watch them, when I figure out who they truly are, I'm not wrong. Even if other people tell me I am. I'm not. My one useful superpower is still intact. I don't know what to do with that information because it's always in public, so I must remain kind. What. The. Hell?
I'm tired of chasing people, following people, begging for any leftover scraps of attention. Relationships aren't 50/50. They're 100/100. You have to give them all or nothing, at least, that's how it works with me. I can't be the person giving the relationship 100% of my effort, while I'm only kept around when it is convenient for you. If you want to be in my life, you have to actually try, I'm not carrying your load anymore. I'm done. It's exhausting and toxic and it's bullshit. I am not a duckling that has imprinted on you. I will not follow you around and sing your praises. I will not make myself small for you. I am not a doormat for you. No more begging for relationships that don't provide anything of value to my life. I don't have time for it, I'm too tired.
Despite all of this, I'm somehow trying to find my best self in this new normal. I can't dwell on the past. I did what I did, I said what I said. That's my motto for the year. I need to try harder to really consider my words. It's so easy to just, go off. I need to get a grip on that. It's beneath me. I also need to stop keeping people around for nostalgia's sake, especially if they're toxic or problematic. I should just let them go. Quietly. Without all of the fireworks and pageantry. No "Fuck You" parades, or fanfare. It feels good in the moment, but again. It's beneath me. Just let them go. Like blowing on a dandelion. Release them and let the wind currents carry them away.
I don't know who or what I am now. I don't know whether it's important for me to figure that out right now, or not. I don't know how to end this blog. I need to learn self restraint and self respect. I need to stop... All of the bad things. I want to want to be a better person. That was not a typo. I want to be capable of controlling my emotions and behaviors and exhibiting them in a healthy, productive way. I want to want that. I want to be proud of who I am, not in a conceited way, in a love myself, take care of myself, kind of way.
I want to have the energy for all of that. Spiritually, Mentally, and Physically.
But I'm tired.
P.S. I've gone back to school. For Psychology of all things. I do enjoy irony.
