The past couple days I’ve been wondering why I write things and send them out into the mysterious internet void. (I don’t really understand how the internet works or where my shit goes when I hit publish, but to be honest I don’t have the brain capacity to care very much). I am interested in letting people read the words they need to hear, but I’m not sure why I need to write the words people need to hear. Who understands crazy speak, because I’m pretty sure that’s just what I let out.
I’ve been finding out lately that awareness of myself and the people around me is changing the way I cope with things. Basically, I’ve learned that the more I know about myself and others, the more mixed up feels I have. If I don’t explore those feelings, I start to loose my shit a little bit.
I’ve been feeling strange about why I decide to face hard, vulnerable truths for other people to read, but I’m realizing that it’s the way I am learning to cope. Writing directly about something that makes me feel like I am about to spontaneously combust actually feels kind of romantic to me.
I know that addressing emotional blockages this way is not how most people would prefer to do it. In fact, they probably find sitting down to write an essay about their struggle with self-doubt or sadness or any other suckish emotion about as romantic as intentionally and repetitively punching themselves in the face. But I am starting to see that for me, it’s worth the pain in my face, and it’s necessary. When I don’t write about hard truths they don’t come out of me at all. They get buried and I try to forget while they slowly eat me up and rise to the surface again.
All these years I thought I was really good at coping, but I actually really, really sucked at it. Seems that you can’t be good at coping if you don’t actually or actively cope. Today I sat down to cope, and now I’m giving it to you because I’m done with it for now. Maybe you can use it, maybe you can’t. Maybe reading hard truths is that intentional punch to the face for you. Either way, it was necessary, and now I’m letting it go.
I had a great day today, and it made me feel sad. I had no idea who the hell placed that feeling there, because it made no sense to me, so I wrote about it. And hot damn, I worked out the why part, not that it makes much more sense now
I have spent a lot of years waiting for the people I have in my life. The great thing about being a grown ass adult is that it frees you from a lot of forced interactions with people you wish you didn’t have to spend time on. Like, I am now no longer forced to do a lab project with a person that does none of the work but takes all the credit. I suppose the trade off is going to work and seeing the same exact people everyday, but at least I am getting paid for it now!
The not so great adult thing is now that I have crossed the distractors off the list to make time for the best people, and I hardly get to see them. I hate that I’m apart from my people. We can’t call and be at each other’s doors in minutes like we used to, or walk to dinner together everyday, or run home from the halfway point between our houses at the end of a summer night.
On the days that everything feels really hard for whatever reason things are hard that day, I feel a little hopeless and sad that those days are behind me. Especially when the in front of me days include full time jobs and stacks of bills to be paid. The behind days felt like swimming in freedom; I really miss being drowned in kid days.
Today I went to my college homecoming and laughed for about five hours straight. I literally felt like I had been running a marathon afterwards, every part of my body hurt, including my legs. How the hell my legs were sore from laughter I still haven’t figured out, but I’ll let you know when I do. It was a really great day, in fact it felt a lot like a kid day, but it wasn’t.
I was sad that it was different, but now that I’m sitting here I think it may have been better. Because I didn’t have to worry about someone else buying my ticket for me, or paying for my food, or driving me home. There was no curfew or expectation that I would be back home at any certain time. I was literally able to pick up and say, “Let’s go and play on a trampoline, because I know where one is, and just because we can,” and guess what? My mom didn’t tell me how dangerous trampolines are before I left. I got my beautiful fall day with my best people, laughing, hugging, and playing, and no one tried to stop me.
I sometimes forget what I have laying in front of me while I am trying to look out the window behind me at what I can’t have anymore. It’s easy to miss kid days, because they were carefree, and that feeling is hard to truly feel or replace once you know what it’s really like in this adult place.
Being grown doesn’t mean that we have to act it or feel it every second of the day. We aren’t drowned in kid time anymore, but we get a sprinkling. Our people aren’t going to be there in front of us every day, and we don’t get to have summers off, and there isn’t someone to tell us what to do so that we don’t have to worry about it ourselves, but we’ll still get the times we want with the people we love. We still get fall days with red leaves and trampolines, things just look a little different now.