messhead

I am going to gym shortly, because lately, that is the only consistent thing i can do. i feel lost, get upset, and go to gym until it all goes numb. it's kind of upsetting but i try to ignore it, by focusing on all the little things that i can see and feel and observe. the sunlight through the slits in the window, the coiled sleep of toes pressed against sock pressed against wood, all comfortable angles.

I think it's always going to be the same. well, it will. I can't rewrite who I am, just scribble more onto it, tacking colours and stars. but then, at the very bottom, when all my little rushes go, I feel like I'm letting down: I'm not writing enough, I'm not writing what I want to write, what I envision this all to be. I have wanted to start the project for so very long, but I always stumble just before the leap. I get so damned anxious, it's near impossible. I was standing up, but then I got knocked down. and i know, more than anyone, to get back up again, but the cycles aren't strong enough yet.

and I get lost in these blurs, here. I can't focus and write——large paragraphs——can't——focus. it's all thrown roughly.

I really do not like feeling like i'm letting down, but even if this is what I feel like I am meant to do, I can't always write. I can't force it—I fucking can't—and that's my strongest belief, not some lax dream. but the world doesn't always understand.