Make Sure Your Friends Are Okay

"....I've gotta text Devon, Jay, Jake, oh man, and Will...".... He trailed on after a walk, post-thanksgiving with my family. A calm and cozy one.

"You're texting all of them happy thanksgiving?"
"Yea, trying"

"I thought you didn't care about that stuff"

"well, trying t be better, trying to do better"

"....should I do that too?"

"I don't know. That depends on if you want to take your time and make the same mistakes I've made and am trying to fix now, of if you want to take my example."

It's a Global hold up isn't it? It's hard to stomach that this complacency is now not only my fault, but the fault of the times. These past two years have lent themselves to my anxiety in soothing ways, and in self-sabotaging ways. I've given myself permission to be what I thought was more me, slower, quieter, a loner. But am I actually stunting my own growth? It feels so comfortable to curl up and feel comforted like a child from my fears. To feel like someone else is sucking the poison.

But at the end of it all, is it really just me who can suck out the poison and patch the wound? Pull my own tunicate between my teeth and stuff the pain back down my throat.

Is that what it means to be an adult? To face every single catastrophe through hollow, smiling tears? To know the emptiness is always there no matter how much of a purpose you find for yourself. To grit the pain of every loss, every trial and every trauma and still show useless kindness to strangers as you're paid to do?

What does it mean to have a friend? What does it feel like to not feel like an insufferable bother for existing? How does it feel to know there are others that are thinking, loving, caring, knowing you?

I don't think anybody knows me, maybe my moms, but certainly not me.

(no subject)

 I don't feel as if I can say anything is certain, especially anymore. The older I get, the less I know myself, at least that's how it feels inside.

numbness

vacancy

What will I dredge up? 
Something that is inherently nothing?

That's all we are, right? Nothing.
But some are something to me; am I something to them?

It seems, by principal, that I would be to my moms, my boyfriend, maybe my cat. I know I take that for granted. 

But what about strangers, people, different bodies, different backgrounds, expressions, traditions, colors, perspectives, flavors.

I don't have those.

I think, maybe in some ways, I fear those. Because they are unknown to me. My anxiety pulls me behind the barrier, where it's safe. Where none of those strangers can scar me again.

That makes me sad for me to write, and evidently mad that I'm sad for myself-- sometimes I am so pathetic. 

If I could change one thing about myself right now, I think it would be something to the effect of being more organized. I think when my mind scatters, my attention is scattered with it. And in turn, I can't give anyone but myself focus in order to redirect. 

I think, maybe, if I set a course and go, just go. I might hit the target, I might make a mark, I might make a friend. And even if it is uncomfortable, and vulnerable, I'm still growing. And that's not something to avoid, or fear. It's something to strive for and celebrate. 

Bottom line is, I don't want to go through life unable to regain control when it's lost until I crash and completely fade away. I want to make people proud, prove them wrong/right. Give myself power.