i have always envied people who are able to sleep on things. people who delay, deliberate, and/or brush things off with a little nap. people who react by cloaking themselves in a shimmery, impenetrable sheen of silence, guarded by the unbearable all-knowing smirk of evil. i could never understand how they wouldn't explode with urgency, or combust with the intensity of every little breathing, living, pulsing moment of our lives. each day, each experience, is merely one of the many steps into the unknown glare at the end of the tunnel. they travel light. they take it easy.
and then theres me.
i am the incompetent, flustered, flailing mess. nothing is ever enough, or when it is, i need more. there are so many days i am truly convinced i am going to die, so many mornings i cannot get up, too many nights that constitute tears for what seems like no good reason now. my pain is a crippling burden i carry with me everywhere i go, i constantly seek joy, regardless of circumstance - in the meantime residing in the former extreme. the transition is no longer noticeable. instead, my instability ironically appear seamless, as if my slightly bi-polar/depressive tendencies have become part of the way life feels to me.
im constantly missing something, or pining after something.
i am a black hole.
