1410 absent ideal
its funny to me how we're all sitting here feeling exactly the same things, and we insist on talking about it through this medium rather than through anything more genuine, direct, workable.
i'm aware of it, but am i going to do anything to break the trend? of course not.
well, i say that.
truth is, i've spent time talking to y'all directly about this
(or i would, if there was time)
but it doesnt seem to change anything. so i come here, and i repeat myself.
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i cant seem to find a sense of purpose.
i've been laying here staring at the ceiling, wracking my brain, searching my heart, trying to trust my gut.
but im hollow. there's nothing in any of those places but a deep sensation of apathy; of rot; of unwelcome hunger.
isn't that something? but no, its the opposite. just three different words for absence.
i think i have what is technically an eating disorder. but its not for any of the usual reasons. being skinnier is not going to make me pretty. going hungry doesn't make me worthy, or absolve me of imagined sin. the cycle of bingeing and abstaining doesn't provide me any structure. hunger is annoying, not any type of validating.
i just don't see the point. why consume fuel only to spend it on nothing? i'm not producing any output, and thus i've no need for input.
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i keep trying to figure out what home is meant to feel like. I almost managed to put it into words today.
somewhere to feel safe. somewhere to let others feel safe. somewhere to invite someone into, and feel proud.
i keep failing at all three. i keep trying anyway, whittling down my resilience in the process. i fill this space with tokens and platitudes, and i'm no longer surprised when the result is a fascimile of what i envisaged.
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i made it back from melbourne. i came 'home'. i imagined a purpose for myself, on that long drive.
i read a post recently about someone who craved the identity of being a 'missing girl'. a life defined by other people's perceptions of what could have been, laden with generosity in hindsight.
i think if i don't accomplish something meaningful this week, i may just walk into traffic out of genuine boredom. make myself into a martyr of my own imagining, and for a little while fill these hollow absences with the ideal of grief.
can't even bring myself to feel like i'm being dramatic about it anymore.