CROSSROADS

January 1st, 2023 | Fredericksburg, VA

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Another year greets us. This one, I welcomed with my family. This entry will be longer than the others.

I find myself underneath the weight of unshakable anxiety and fear. The problems causing this are my own. Brought about by my carelessness and my indulgence. Happy but for a moment. I feel this is my life now. Faking it till I make it. And to some extent, I do not mind it. 

I want for very little. Overall, my debt isn’t very large, but it threatens to engulf me if I am not careful.

But more than that, I question myself. I cannot bring myself to sit still and see a thing through to completion. Maybe it is doubt. Maybe my most recent failures borne of complacency have laid me low. Maybe I am at a crossroads. Either way, I am… worried. 

“Sick and tired of being sick and tired,”

is a phrase that comes to mind. I feel very little that is hopeful. I’ve bought myself time. Which seems to be only thing I am good at these days.

Buying myself time.

My mind feels like its own worst enemy. Constantly cannibalizing itself. And it isn’t just about will anymore. Now it’s physical. The stress and anxiety I am feeling bring about migraines. Actively preventing me from doing the thing I want to do. I find myself yearning to be away.

To be home.

This doesn’t feel like home. Maybe because it isn’t. Hasn’t been for awhile. There is… another yearning. One I think I should avoid, but my current state of mind makes that… difficult.

I am, or at least I feel, dreadfully alone. Though I am surrounded by friends and family, I often find myself asking if these people truly love me. Because they do not know me, and make little effort to.

How can such people really profess to love you?

But I am afraid I must digress, for I think myself ill equipped to fully understand, much less put into words the complexity of human emotion and interactions. More so, the members of my family.

So where does that leave me? On this first day of a new year? I am given six months, maybe less, to make decisions. Both in terms of what/who I want, and what I want to do and who I want to do it with. I do not have any big resolutions or revelations. Just themes.

The themes of this new year are hardwork and sacrifice. Everything I’ve started, I must finish. This year, we come full circle and we see whether we deserve that which we’ve been craving for so long.

Cheers.

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LOVE SHOULD BE HONEST

Undated, 2023 | Noe Valley, CA

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I read her my thoughts.

The weather is pleasant and the sun and breeze feel nice on my skin. I love her. 

She is an incredibly deep source of my happiness. And I write this because I know it. 

Love. 

It’s always been such a complicated emotion for me. So many things got in the way. But now, there are less things in the way, and it’s more… honest?

Yes, this love is honest. And even if other things sometimes aren’t, I am sure that the love, at least, is. 

I watch her read my thoughts and I am happy. Happy to share this deep, innermost, and crucial part of myself with her. Her green hazel eyes smile at me as I write this.

Love should be honest.

And I am most honest when I’m writing, and I couldn’t hope for a better person with whom to share myself.

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COMING UP FOR AIR

Undated, 2023

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For the last two and a half years, I have been essentially dead. A shambling corpse, not even aware it's past the ‘best used-by’ date. I was drowning, and I’m only now, coming up for air. I’d hate to use the phrase, “it’s like a fog has lifted,” so I won’t. 

Not that the drowning analogy is more original, but I digress. 

If I really had to describe the feeling, I’d say it’s like the few moments after getting gut-punched. The worst of it is over but you’re still pulling desperate breaths.

You keep trying to catch your breath. 

This brings me back to those echoes I spoke of. Coming up for air is just the first step on my road to recovery, which is good. But I’m still wading through the water. I’m still adrift out there, floating in uncertainty, precariously making my way to shore.

It’s quite different from how most people would describe getting out of a depressed state. Or at least, I think it is. I’ve always imagined it being like a switch. One minute you’re drowning and the next you’re… not. I’d never truly appreciated the… continuance… of it. 

I guess this is the difference between a sickness of the mind and one of the body. Once my body kicks something, there are usually no traces of that something left.

Not so for this.

My despair has always had an infectious quality to it. Quietly seeping into every other aspect of my existence.

Sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes in not so subtle ways.

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THE PROVERBIAL LEDGE

Undated, 2023

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Seems my days as a member of polite society are indeed at an end. And some might be glad for my newfound, long suppressed candor. But I suspect most won’t really care. They’ll keep living their lives as they always have.

And at the very real risk of offending the many many who won’t read my words (here I go), I take the leap off the proverbial ledge.

You know the one. The border that keeps us all within the bounds of polite society. But at the cost, I believe, of some of our most honest thoughts.

Sadly, the lack of civilized discourse has turned our honesty into dark, bitter things. Things we’ve become too afraid to express. Things we’ve come to see as the more perverse parts of our psyche.

But as the good Mr. King once said,

“in public society, truth comes at a cost.”

You must be willing to ostracize yourself from that portion of society who would, undoubtedly, disagree with your truths.

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OF HAVOC. OF CHAOS

December 24th, 2022 |  San Francisco, CA

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I’ve met someone I find quite intriguing. This person seems to possess an understanding I’ve often found lacking in others. I’m trying to be rational and reasonable in tandem. Not always my strong suit.

I’ve learned how destructive my nature can be, so I keep my distance. Safely at bay. 

But this often makes it difficult when this one chooses to close the distance. I find that I want nothing more than to close that distance. I find this person makes my mind excited. Nothing fleeting, nothing childish. No heart skipping, no fluttering. Just a powerful curiosity.

One I haven’t felt in a long time. This person speaks of havoc. Of chaos. And it speaks to the chaos I wish to create. To the havoc I wish to lose myself in. But this I cannot voice, for I never again wish to pull someone else into my chaos. 

Curiosity or no.

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“LEARN TO BE REVERENT.”

Undated, 2022

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“Your job is to see people as they really are, and to do this, you have to know who you are in the most compassionate possible sense.”

“In order to be a writer, you have to learn to be reverent.” Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird, pg. 92

Reverent: Feeling or showing deep and solemn respect.

As I push myself away from writing in flowery speech and pretty words, I am more grounded. I think seeing what’s in front of you is very difficult. Because it requires seeing past what’s in front of you.

This is what it means to be present.

I think this is what Lamott means by “learn to be reverent.”

How can you truly see something, without giving it the respect of observance?

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SOMETHING INFINITELY MORE INTERESTING

Undated, 2022

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I was thinking of a woman. About my romantic and non-romantic interactions with women in general. About the value of quantity and quality. I prefer quantity. In the context of both romantic and non-romantic entanglements.

I’ve been told that, by today’s standards, things move very fast. So, it makes more sense to keep options open. To not bank all your eggs in one basket. I agree with this, with the addendum that I go in fully aware of what this makes me. 

I've been thinking of a woman. And I thought, “what if I went all in?”

Was it too soon? My last attempt ended disastrously not too long ago. But surely, the default attitude of even preference towards quantity couldn’t be the correct one…?

I value quantity because of the breadth of experience I receive. 

Quality, however, does something infinitely more interesting. It begins a solidification of want. Of positive experience. 

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DESPAIR

June 8th, 2022 |  San Francisco, CA

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There is no fighting despair.

It is like a constant companion now.

But I no longer dwell on it.

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THE EPHEMERAL SPECTATOR

Friday, May 6th, 2022 | San Francisco, CA

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A second entry in one day! Phew!

Amazing, isn’t it? But only after my migraine and exhaustion have temporarily abated…

My brief contact with the barista did something. I’m not sure what exactly, but I definitely feel less down. Less depressed. I guess that’s what human contact will do for you.

And that was just me ordering a damn coffee. What if I had this… but on a regular basis?

I can’t get too excited though. The crowd is the same. But I find myself less willing to judge. Especially given how much I’m uncovering about the hypocritical nature of said judgements on my end.

So I give them a chance, if it does come to that. But it is the same. And the more I’m experiencing it, the less “real” it seems. But it is real. Mine is the dream. The ideal. Mine is the fiction. The fantasy.

These people, their experiences. That’s real. 

And I’m just the ephemeral spectator to their lives.  

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TIRED

Friday, May 6th, 2022 | San Francisco, CA

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I’m listening to songs, but nothing seems to elicit anything. And I panic a bit. 

Music is my one reliable solace. 

Without it… I don’t know how I would cope. Then I heard this song play on Thirdstory’s Cold Heart album(how fitting)- G Train. 

And I felt something again. Same thing when I sang in the shower this morning. That same stirring. It isn’t a feeling I chase. But when it comes on… Well, it’s a lot like writing for me.

Everything else just… falls away. And it’s just me and the melody. It doesn’t even have to be that deep. 

Music is my river. It carries me down raging torrents and calming brooks. It sweeps me up and doesn’t ever let me go. I don’t know what I would rely on if I lost it. I don’t want to rely on what I’m relying on now.

I’m tired.

Too tired to think, but giving this journaling (almost)everyday thing a try. 

I’m tired…

Too tired to think, but, I hope- never too tired to write.

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THE TOTALITY OF MY DILEMMA

Thursday, May 5th, 2022 | San Francisco, CA

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I’ve been debating my shortcomings. The fact that I am… Lazy and unmotivated. Even by the promise of what could be something so much better than what I currently have. And I’m really trying to beat my psyche into action, or at least submission.

I don’t know where I’m going.

And I think that, if anything, sums up the totality of my dilemma. If only I knew where I wanted to go… I’d be on my way, wouldn’t I? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just bad habits need breaking, I’m second guessing everything. 

My goals. Actions. Relationships. All of which seem solid. They just require my faith, effort, and most importantly, my heart. 

My heart just isn’t in any of this anymore. And I don’t know what happened to me. Maybe nothing did, and I’ve always been this way…All I know is, I want to change.

I don’t want to be like this anymore. 

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NEED

April 28th, 2022 | San Francisco, CA

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Another break this morning.

Not entirely sure what triggered this one. It was longer than the others. And it solidified my already poignant assumption that something’s very wrong. I’d like to be reductive and say that I’m simply depressed.

So why does it feel like so much more than that?

I don’t know if it’s because I’m surrounding myself with things I cannot connect with… Is that of my own doing? I don’t really know. I’d like to tackle the source of my troubles directly. I just don’t know where to start. Many would say therapy, and maybe I’m starting to agree. 

I don’t know… 

Maybe my walls are being broken down. Maybe it’s just me breaking down. How long can I keep this up? Something has got to give, or I fear I may lose my sanity. I can’t fake it. Not anymore.

I need solace. 

I need release. 

I need help.

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HURT

Wednesday, April 27th, 2022 | San Francisco, CA

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I feel thin. Stretched to bursting. Like I’m coming apart at the seams. Could just be the overwhelming amount of things happening. I am bowed under the weight of everything in my life. I am juggling it all. It’s tiring, but I try not to complain. I find myself thinking about Monika again, but not fondly.

While I am glad that any form of affection has faded, I’m also saddened by this.

Is this the fate that awaits all those who get close to me? Mutual distance? Forever tucked away in a corner of my mind? To never be thought about again except in nostalgic daydreams?

I hope not.

I lie awake at night thinking about it. How much I hurt. How much I’ve hurt others. 

Wondering if the two are connected. I think they must be.

I think those fated to despair don’t despair because of all the awful shit they’ve done. No, they despair because, in the end, they have to live with that guilt.

And it eats you up inside.

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PERSEVERANCE

Undated, 2021

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I’ve never given up, I kept on.

I listened and I learned.

I’ve kept my head high and my eyes low.

Caring not one bit about talent.

Perseverance is what makes us great.

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YET TO HEAL

Undated, 2021

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Why I haven’t moved in six years to “start over”?

I haven’t moved because I wasn’t… whole, when I arrived.

And all the scars and flaws and pain that I’ve accumulated have yet to heal.

I am still the same person. And I know it.

And until I can take the proper steps to address this, I would just be taking this downtrodden, flawed version of myself to a new venue. 

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CLAY

Undated, 2021

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We have evolved into the perfect herd animal. Even our self-proclaimed sense of self is not of ourself.

How can you claim to be you as you sit there, clay, in the hands of another?

I have reached a state where I no longer abhor my fellow man/woman. I pity them. As condescending as that may seem, it is the right emotion, I believe. The only one I am left with, anyway, for I cannot be sad for them. I will not. 

Does mankind’s failings truly reflect upon all of mankind?

We’re lost. Can we find ourselves again?

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AM I WRITING WELL?

Undated, 2021

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These are the first words I’ve penned to paper since… Oh, I don’t know… A month? Possibly more. And as someone who likes to call himself a writer, sometimes, a part of me thinks this is sacrilege of the highest order.

Another part of me isn’t so bothered. After all, why write if you can’t physically bring yourself to? But some of the greats will tell you:

“Write. Even when you cannot. Even when you do not want to. Just force yourself to.”

And yeah, sure. But also, no. I can’t write when I do not want to. But what’s more, I don’t want to write when I feel I cannot. I don’t know why sometimes. I guess the reasons vary: stress, anxiety, time constraints… Stress, anxiety. 

But you’re supposed to push past all that? Right? Isn’t that what separates the weed from the chaff? The unrelenting will to consistently write, even when every subatomic particle in your being tells you you’re a worthless hack? Eek. Sounds tough. And for a month(possibly more), I wanted no parts of that sisyphean labor. 

But we’re here now, almost three paragraphs in, yeah! Look at us! 

And I’m writing. Am I writing well? Am I doing the craft justice? Who cares? I mean, I did. 

It’s why I stopped in the first place. But all that did was keep my thoughts off the page, stuck in my head, like billiard balls after a snap. Except there were no pockets for them to go into, because I didn’t have any outlet, or allow myself to have one. 

As you can imagine it got pretty loud and distracting- what with all those numbered, multi-colored balls of thought bouncing around in the grass-green, felt surface of my mind. 

I’m back to writing again, in part because I felt I needed to(if I want to keep calling myself a writer, that is), and because I’d recently read a book called Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. 

This isn’t my unrelenting resolve forcing me back on the page. No.

It isn’t even Anne’s sage advice that writing, “in no way, shape, or form brings with it answers.”

So why am I still (talking) writing?

Here we are(now seven paragraphs in). Kudos to you, by the way, for hanging in there so long. Even though I’ve said nothing at all of value to you so far. Nothing you would really walk away with, nodding to yourself, thinking,

“yeah, this was helpful.” 

But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, or maybe that was never the goal. Maybe I just needed to say this and maybe it didn’t necessarily need to be heard.

Maybe all I wanted after all was to feel my thoughts mercifully exiting my mind.

To rest on this page.

PAIN

Wednesday, August 25th, 2021 | San Francisco, CA

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Another break. I think I can safely predict their triggers now. I almost prefer them to my natural, apathetic state. The numbness is far worse, much more draining, I think…

Seems strange to me how the catalyst to my feelings can be gone and in the past, but their emotions remain. 

How can the damage done to me be this profound? My breaks are a part of me now. Yet, I remember better. I remember happiness. This is temporary. I will be okay. I will get better…

But a part of me feels deserving- of all this pain, all this sorrow. Like it’s my just penance for all my past wrongdoings. They do come less frequently. But there is now a certain primal nature to them. Almost as if something more is itching to get out. Piece by breaking piece. 

It wants out.

And I cannot let it out. Can I?

No. What I need to do is tap into it. Use it. Make it mine.

After all, there is pain that uses you, and there’s pain that you use. 

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WHAT IS BROKEN

Wednesday, August 25th, 2021 | Denver, CO

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Why does the gap now feel wider?

I’ve left and feel like very little was accomplished in terms of familial growth. What do I really think of it? Part of me is indifferent. I have much on my mind these days as I suspect we all do. 

And I am loathe to add more to my troubles. And who knows… Maybe we operate better with an acute awareness of our status quo. We all know what’s wrong(or rather that something is wrong), but we don’t really know how to move towards fixing it.

Ignorance. Insecurities. Fear.

You name it. We have it aplenty. 

On a brighter note… Me, Alfred, and Jesicca seem closer, more comfortable with each other. I don’t know if that was a result of proximity or absence, but it was nice. 

The knowledge of enduring friendships is, at the very least, a star in the dark of night. As for the rest, I’ll take my own advice, and brick by brick, I’ll rebuild what is broken.

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EFFORT

Sunday, August 22nd, 2021 | Fredericksburg, VA

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I do not feel at ease. I doubt any of us really do. Which seems strange to me. I doubt any of us would seek to reunite of our own volition. Yet, we were not corralled here. No one made us come. No one forced us. And yet, here we all are, not at all at ease. 

I haven’t said two meaningful words to my brother. I don’t think any of us have. I have the odd feeling we all don’t really know what to say in this instance. We don’t want to lash out, but we’re angry with him. At least, I am. I have been for a long time. And today, I finally realized why. What it is about him that irks me so much.

It is his lack of effort.

This situation we find ourselves in- that he finds himself in- it is of his own doing. But does he reach out? Take responsibility? Ask forgiveness? No. 

He hides. He escapes. Like always. Forever the child. Errant in his ways. But it is our fault, as well. 

What efforts have we made? For his sake?

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