It feels like bursting from emotion. Overwhelming. Not always bad, but always too much. I can feel it weigh down my heart, again, not always in a bad way, but it always hurts. It feels like being caged in your own body. Imagine a glass that’s almost spilling over. It has obviously too much in it, but it can’t help it and just holds everything together. It feels a bit like water surface tension looks.
I just don’t know where to put all my emotion. What to do with it. Put an elephant in a shoebox without breaking it. You’d have to be creative to pull that one off.
I was always creative. Drawing, writing.
I don’t know what happened to it. What happened to me. I am so scared of it, it makes me wonder how I got here. Maybe it was because back then, I had nothing to lose anymore, right? It couldn’t get any worse. But now, it can. I can disappoint myself. It can get worse. I could hate my work, what I do. I don’t trust myself anymore. Not that I did back then, but like I said, it wasn’t like I cared. And now I do. And it makes everything so much harder. Caring makes everything so much harder. The more I care, the harder it gets, the more I stand in my own way. And I don’t know what to do about it.
I see art everywhere. Books, poems, photography, drawings, movies, dance. It’s everywhere and it moves and inspires me, but I feel so stuck. Like I put myself in handcuffs, chained to the ground, wanting to fly but being so afraid to fall that I would not dare to do it. Like a penguin dreaming about flying, but also being happy not to be able to do it, because I can always swim. Dive in seas of emotion and maybe drown a little bit.
Everything is just too much. Too many ideas, too many things I want to do, read, learn, see, listen to. Too many possibilities, too many flaws, too many tears, too many emotions, too much fear, too much hope, to many dreams. Too many expectations, from myself, my family, friends, strangers, the world. And so much doubt. There’s too many voices, too many opinions, to much bullshit to keep up with, too many thoughts in my own head. Everything is just too much.
And I am too less. I don’t know what of. Just too less me, I guess. I don’t even know who I am. What I am. What I want to be. What I don’t want to be. I know I am clueless, clearly. Even a blind man could see that.
I just don’t know what to do about it. Maybe the blind man could tell me. It just feels like he would know much more. It feels like everyone knows so much more about me than I do. How can it be, that I spend so much time with me and I don’t even know myself? How is that even possible? I just don’t get it.
[first posted on Tumblr on snippetsofwritings on January 9th, 2019]
— Dezember 1, 2019