This is Me


I will speak on my lack of motivation for self. My tendency to fixate on others, their problems, and their resolutions while completely ignoring my own. Do you call that denial? Of that I’m not sure. I don’t deny that I have this innate behavior pattern embedded in my DNA, or is it a choice rather? Is the source of my deficiencies even relevant to gaining resolve from them? Is it possible to grow past them or will the weight of this self-inflicted burden simply get heavier over time?

I believe I have a chance because I deserve a chance. That’s as best as I can explain it. The universe will certainly reward me for my attempts, right? The problem is I’m not making any. How the fuck can I receive credit when no work has been done? Sure, I deserve acknowledgement and praise for my gifts but how can I expect to get there when I don’t even do the bare minimum of putting my thoughts on paper. What am I so afraid of?

I’m weary of the backlash. Of the judgment I have always preached so hard not to give a fuck about under extremely false pretenses because I didn’t wholeheartedly feel that way. I care what people think. Especially of my craft for if they are not interested then I won’t be successful. Yet, that’s not even fair to say to me. I wouldn’t say that to someone else if they came to me expressing the same hesitation and self-doubt. I would say that the success of their work depends greatly on how they, themselves, feel about it. And if they are proud of what they have created then it is a futile task to worry about the opinions of others. There will always be people who are, and are not, interested in what you have to say. That is not a reflection of you. What you have to say is still just as important if you alone value it.

I have become increasingly self-aware throughout the past four years. I never experienced such progress before because I wasn’t alone even though I almost always felt lonely. Loneliness leaves me with an insatiable appetite that I cannot seem to fulfill no matter how much I feed it. Only when I began to love myself was I able to fill in the gaps. Its patchwork. The process is painstakingly slow and regressive sometimes. If I continue to try, then my efforts will not be in vain. With every new revelation I make, the deeper I climb into the darkest crevices of my mind, the wiser and stronger I become until I am a master of my own inadequacies. I can’t hide from me anymore. I’m actively searching and when I go hunting I often find what I’m looking for.

I will face me. I will look me dead in the mind’s eye and tell me the God-honest truth. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Basing my life’s path and decisions on the people around me. That won’t lead me to true happiness. You can’t live your life for other people. I know this. I’ve seen that play out in disastrous ways repeatedly. My mom feeling dissatisfied with her life at 50 stems from her hesitation to leave her mother behind and start a new life elsewhere. I don’t want to be 50 cashing in shoula coulda woulda’s. I won’t be able to buy anything with them but self-pity, regret, and resentment.

I must let go of the painful past that I’ve already had to make room for an unburdened future. If I let my demons chase me into to the next few years, then I’ll probably become tired of running and let them devour me whole…and I’ll never truly find my peace or my purpose. I can’t let that happen. That is the very thing that fuels me. The journey of finding and living out my calling. The universe’s intention for me is grand I can feel, and have always felt, it in my gut that somewhere inside of me is greatness I’m hesitant to release. Is the world ready for it? Will they be accepting of it? Will it be a battle? A struggle? Isn’t that the point? Didn’t I just say the journey is the point of it all? I need to dive into life head first instead of living vicariously through others falsely believing that is the safest way I can assess poor decision making. No. I can make my own mistakes, own them, and learn from them. Then ensure my own damn safety.

My dreams matter. My hopes, desires, and passions are important. I have a child-like curiosity for the world but a very adult-like jaded perception of mankind. How is that possible if I let so many underserving people in and don’t use that energy to explore what the world has to offer me instead? It might be because I don’t want to let myself down in the same way everyone else has. I have grand expectations that I’m petrified I won’t meet so the anxiety immobilizes me. It drains me of my energy; good vibes wasted on pacing and chasing faces to validate my complacence.

My biggest enemy is me. The dualities of my subconscious versus waking mind wage wars beneath the surface. Spilling blood and disposing of the carcasses, skeletons stacked high in closets threatening to bust through the flimsy frame keeping them in their place. The ever-mounting fear of an attack constantly courses through my body: shaking instability one moment, unwavering confidence the next. I’ve tried to figure out which response is me; raked through my experiences replaying them over and over in attempt to comprehend my decisions. I’ve concluded that all of it is. Everything written here is and it’s time I set me free. To release my inhibitions and madness into the universe without malice; with no intention to do harm. To sleep in peace at night. For a chance to live out my sweetest dreams and make me proud. For an opportunity for the world to see, that this is my purpose,

This is Me.