FREEWRITE ~ 12.17.21

at this point i think it's ridiculous how many worlds i try to exist in.

by this time i'd have thought i'd learned my lesson in spreading myself too thin.

sometimes i wonder if i hop off my trains of thought because i have a feeling i know where they are headed and i don't want to end up there.

sometimes i think that maybe it's not simply self-destruction but rather the repressed understanding that some things are not meant to be and yet i want them anyway. like going back in time and making different decisions with the knowledge i have now.

or mindfully making the choice not to refill my glass.

i don't think i have a substance problem i think i have a substance of self problem.

even though i am aware of the activities that heal,

like a homing beacon i am drawn to the idea that i can help others with my life experience.

instead,

as i sit in voluntary isolation,

away from my phone,

away from my responsibilities,

away from people,

i am in touch with how parched my soul is.

the dehydration within,

my innards aching for some foundational sense of stability.

i find anchors in my mothers unconditional love,

in my sister/siblings loving reality checks,

my poppa z's correspondence,

though often that is a one way street because i am left

feeling inadequate and powerless,

to the fucked up system that has him trapped.

i rely on my Sisters to ground me,

my father's physical absence to motivate me,

but i want to count on myself too.

my trains of thoughts sometimes feel like they'll lead to nowhere,

so i'll hop off whenever i start to feel like i've been on the ride for too long,

but that's more out of self consciousness than anything.

i keep a lot in my head,

and spent a lot of time silent, thinking that someone would ask me what i think.

being a trans-masc in spaces i never wanted to weigh in,

take up too much space.

i felt like a traitor to the divine feminine gift i was born with.

now i am familiarizing myself with the difference,

between taking up too much space,

and offering what i can,

if it is a desired perspective to hear of.

different eyes see different things.

someone gave me a bag of googly eyes,

it's the oldest person i would call a friend

a sweet masseuse who gifted me a book,

about ewan forbes, a trans man in the UK,

all the way back in 1912-1991.

knighted by the Queen.

this didn't have a neat conclusion but we don't always get closure huh.

signing off here so i can record my podcast. when it rains it pours.