It's been ages since I posted last because, well, if I'm being honest with myself and you, I've been afraid to post. So much has been changing, yet, staying the same. I am haunted by my past, fearful of my future, trapped in the present. I feel like I rarely know what to do, what to say, or where to turn. Every time I feel like I'm somewhat on the right track, something throws me off course. I'm lost. So lost. Maybe finding my way is an illusion. Maybe none of us actually know what we're doing. We're all just taking shots in the dark. Sometimes we hit our targets, a target, any target. We cling to whatever we land on because the odds of hitting something else seems so bleak. I believe that's what I've been doing. I took a shot in the dark, landed where I am now, and I'm scared to shoot again. Maybe this is where I'm meant to be, maybe fate exists. Maybe it's all just dumb luck.
I've found myself in a strange city, hours away from my home. I'm enrolled in a college I have only recently heard of. I'm going to attempt the same major I failed at back in 2012. I don't even know if school is where I'm supposed to be. I was working a 9-5 job this time last year. I was miserable. Maybe I just chose school because it seemed like the quickest way out of the job I hated. School has always came easily to me. Maybe I can delay my entrance into the "real world" of working and being miserable. Maybe deciding to run away from reality will bite me in ass down the line. I could just be delaying the inevitable. The harsh sting of reality will be all the more visceral when it arrives for me. Or, school is something I have been avoiding, not because I'm not meant to be there, but because I'm afraid of my own potential success. I've found comfort in the middleground, somewhere between dream and reality, success and failure, happiness and depression. My homeostasis has been consistent inconsistency. I've been predictably unpredictable. I've often wondered if I've been sabotaging myself all along. I tend to ruin things the moment I get to comfortable or happy. Feeling too much of any one way overwhelms and shakes me to my core.
This self sabotage is probably the main reason I dwell so frequently on my past. nostalgia haunts me. But the nostalgia is not as generalized as one would think. I am so stuck on one moment in my life. One era. One person. The irony, is that this person didn't leave me. I left them. I chose this for myself. I found myself so blissfully happy that I choked. There was no possible way any of the joy I was feeling could be real or lasting. I had to self preserve (or sabotage - in retrospect). I came up with the quickest, faultiest excuse I could find to end this. This, this dream. Nothing in life, nothing that is actually real, could be so effortless and peaceful. No one person could be so perfect and understanding of me. I am complicated. I am unlovable. I am not worthy.
I am nothing.
Or so I thought. I couldn't allow myself happiness. So I had to steal it from myself and from the other person. I could blame it on being young. I could blame it on being naive. I could blame a lot of things, but ultimately the blame is reserved for myself.
We've connected multiple times since everything fell apart. Each time felt so strange. Surreal, even. Two people who had once been each-others world, trying to navigate the in and outs of a friendship. A friendship that didn't begin organically. A friendship that was forced out of necessity. A inexplicable need to be around that other person. To communicate with someone who knows you. Knew you. Do we still know anything? Are we the same people? Have our hearts changed? Do our souls still fit? Will we ever know?
I feel so trapped. I miss a ghost. I miss what can never be the same again; no matter how hard I, or anyone else tries. Both parties have been changed by this one event. We have the scars to prove it. They've healed, we've healed. But those scars are a constant reminder. At least for me. I can only speak for me. I find myself with someone new, invested so deeply, but not wholly. I can't commit to another. I try. I'm trying. All I can see when I look at my scars is you. You are still so very much a part of me. I don't expect you to feel the same. I can't possibly. I can accept that my feelings will be unrequited, only because I know the source of this pain is me.
I don't know if I'm in the right place. I don't know if the person I'm with will ever be able to touch me without feeling the scars you've left behind. I don't know where I'll be in a years time. I don't know where you'll be, or if we will ever "be" again. The only thing I know is that I am changed. I have grown from my pain, and experiences. I am still in the process of figuring out my path. I'm going to continue firing into the void. Maybe one day, my target will feel right. I hope you're happy. I hope you never settle. I hope you know I'm sorry.
I know that this is an odd way to begin writing once more. But this is what emerged when I opened myself up to the blank word document before me. That is going to be the goal of all future writing. To sit down, and bleed. No self-editing. No restriction. No contrived posts. Just me. As I am.
Lindsey. Twenty-Five. Currently pursuing a degree in Professional Writing & Film Studies.