An aimless monologue

For brief interludes of motivation and heartbreak.

I'm sitting with heartbreak again. I've never been good at this. I get pangs in my stomach that feels like my soul is being ripped out of the universe itself. My brain constantly reminds me of all the things I now miss, all the past-tense happiness. All I want to do is talk to everyone, at all times, about all of the feelings, recursively and forever. But eventually everyone has heard it before, and hearing me repeat the same aches over and over bores them. They're not in the fire with me, so it's just a red and crimson glow that burns their retinas. The world moves forward, leaving me static in the universe, quickly abandoned into a void of endlessness as the cosmic dance of everything ever flutters onwards. Here I find myself, today. Our solar system moves at 140 miles per second. So it only takes one second for everything I've ever known to be so out of reach that I can't even see it anymore. But I'm still there, stuck in position, not even any atmosphere anymore for any remnants of universal light to illuminate....anything.

It's a hard place to be here. I'm here of my own choosing. Because the marionette's strings of my life have led me here. My traumas, and how they manifest. My choices and their machinations. The pathological drivers that I operate under and my commited adherence to them years after I thought I had them under control. The constant mirror stare where I tell myself that things will be different, only to then think that the act of telling myself that is the way to achieve it, so then I never actually achieve it, and watch my cracked reflection age before me. The way I live in a constant tension between fantasy of what I want, what I can achieve, what my life could look like, versus what I actually do, and what I need, and what my life actually is. The delusion of waiting for change. The myth of time making things better. The delicate nothingness. The bitter taste in my mouth when I sense true love from someone and sabotage it. The knowing that I'm doing it, as I'm doing it, so somehow convincing myself that this is right and this is how it needs to be. The relegation of saying, "this is inevitable" before doing something I could stop or change by just not fucking doing it. The excuse that my past makes my present inevitable, so instead of changing, I hover my hands around the steering wheel, finger and thumb locked in a loop around it, but never quite touching or grasping it. The way I simply cannot take things at face value, and do not listen when people tell me what they're feeling. The idea that I am so deeply unlovable that when I do receive love, it isn't love, it is manipulation to hurt me.

The way I tell myself all of these things just so I can continue to isolate myself from friends, from lovers, from opportunities, from happiness. The gamble of happiness as a commodity to trade. The drowning of finances, and careers, and success, and the ginormous dreams. When all I wanted to do was make films and that has left me in a desert, surrounded by crumbling rhinestone and sandstorms. The way everything I ever want always finds a way to be temporary. The sharp understanding that I make them temporary of my own choosing by never making the right choices. The fact that everything is a choice, always, and everything that happens is a result of a cascading series of choices that never ends. Making friends with the boy who's 15. Making friends with the boy who's 8. Making friends with the man at 24 who was really just the boy at 15 trying to suffocate the boy at 8. Realising that the man at 32 is still a boy. Wondering whether I'll ever be a man, and wondering what that even looks like.

Everything is recalibration. Everything is beautiful. Everything is heartbreaking. Everything is repair. Everything is everything. All we have is everything. Every sense shows us the way. Let the pangs guide the future. Ignore the testaments that don't serve you. Embrace the humans who do. Listen to nature. Hear what the animals tell us about what is most meaningful. Don't bury your head because of your problems, it will just suffocate you. Everything can change. If things can get worse - and they always can - then they can get better too. Remember that in your darkest moments. Death is not the answer, for it will come anyway, so why rush? You are lucky to feel the pain, muscle cannot grow without it. You deserve to give yourself a long and happy life. You have not given it to yourself yet. You have not set the parameters that will nurture that thus far. Find those parameters that suit who you are now, for that is the only you that you can serve. Making friends with your past does not mean you owe your past the things it missed, it just means you owe yourself now not to leave another vacuum.

Your poetry is this, here, and not in the forced rhymes that you were never good at. Your poetry is in your understanding, even when buried under your own psyche, that your tapestry of moments is your unique paint palette. Collect them all, carry them with you, stare into the abyss of their truths, and then dip your paintbrush into them. You do not need to be a victim of anything, it indulges your worst impulses too much and leaves you crippled by a chipped-shoulder bitterness. You are good. You are good. It is not your fault. It is not my fault. There is no use in blaming myself, because blame leads to shame and shame leads to the first sentence of this piece. Recursion only exists until you break it. You've broke so many already. You can break more. Never stop traversing this mountain. It is not about summiting, it is about the view. Remember that always. The view is everything. The light pours out of me. I choose light. I choose lightness. I choose the eternal lightness of being. I don't think the saying should be, "I think therefore I am." I think the saying should be, "I am, therefore I will." I didn't choose to exist. I am already half a cell split. But I am. So, I will.