Period in which no contact from people I’m talking to will not freak me the fuck out: 2 days
Learning this information: 3 years
Being contacted by the person you’re talking to : priceless
anxiety
Risk, maybe this reality
Shaped tendrils reach out snapping
Disturbed maelstrom whir
Each idea more toxic than the last
Flying apart
“Hold it together”
The long road
Each cautious step
Little by little
Against my nature
Made worthwhile
by the sound of your voice
Fighting, fighting to keep from jumping
Flying apart
“Keep it together”
I don’t know how we end
… I hope that we don’t.
Share this:
Inner demons
Just a liar dressed in the clothes of a writer. Just a fraud dressed up as successful. A fool dressed as a genius. A romantic idiot dressed as the jaded master. As plagued by doubts as I am certainties. Both convinced of what I am and cowering in the corner of my mind, convinced I’m a fraud. I could turn this around, make it a rejection of these anxiety filled thoughts. But would that be the lie? What if all I am, all I’ve done, is meaningless. What if these dark whispers are the truth and my confidence the lie? I’ve been wrong before, fundamentally wrong. What if these aren’t demons? What if my brain is just demanding I wake up?
Share this:
Uncertain fragility
The soft skitter of wind kissed across skin
Inexplicably cold dropped deep into coma
Slipping down from heights
Settling into well worn grooves
Fever blossom flushed
Dizzy
Sensitive to touch
Shudder at the core
Boxes closed, open of their own accord
Anxiety and depression waking from their slumber
Share this:
Emotional shotgun part eleventy seven
I’m Staring at a blank page. I’m Staring at it and my mind is all jumbled up. I’m feeling very insecure and needy. Which I know isn’t attractive generally. I don’t know where I stand with her. It’s both too new and I feel like I’ve known her forever. And I want to hold her hand and do goofy things like skip and sing little songs about nothing. But it’s long distance, and I can’t do any of that. And she likes my writing and what I write is the core of who I am and how I think but she hasn’t seen my knowing smile or my sardonic grin, and I haven’t seen her laugh or drink a glass of wine. And my brain won’t stop asking questions and I’m both elated and terrified because I generally live like there is nothing to lose because without love there isn’t but now I catch myself doing things as if I have nothing to lose but what I have to lose is another word or turn of phrase from her and I wish I could just hold her to feel her as real but I’m busy here drowning in this maelstrom of wants and fears and I want nothing more than her. But am I crazy and this is all too much? It’s like a pit opening up and I know its there and I just can’t stop. FUCK! Brain just calm down, be quiet!… but it swirls and swirls, piranhas in a kiddy pool.
Share this:
Worries
The last time I felt as full of nothing was in the dark times after I lost Sara. I don’t know where or why I feel this way. I don’t understand it.
I worry that I’m losing myself again. That this sojourn into open, honest emotion is somehow coming to a close.
I worry that I will find who I’m looking for. That I’ll be disappointed when I do.
I worry that I’ll fight for someone and do us both a disservice.
I worry that I’m sacrificing pieces of myself to write. That I take more validation from people liking my work than I do in the work itself.
I worry that if I do find someone to share my life with, I’ll fuck it up.
I worry that my obvious deficiencies are why, despite looking and trying, I’m still alone.
I worry that Sara was my one chance and by not going with her that night, I failed her. I failed us. And my not finding any lasting relationship is my just punishment for my inaction.
I worry about how I’m perceived and am hurt when people see me as other than I intend.
I worry that my need for control is becoming destructive.
I worry that my desire for chaos is a sign of a lack of empathy.
I worry about my lack of guilt.
I worry that I’m drifting away from a real friend.
I worry about all of this and more.
I’m not constant in my worry, I let my subconscious handle most of it. But it’s all there, swirling in the background, even if I don’t act like it. It sits, leaden in my brain.
It’s why I occasionally wake, heart racing from a panic attack. Deep unconscious being one of the few times I’m out of control. Some of this, I just don’t have the strength to carry. And I’m approaching a time when something will either break or some of it will fall away. And I worry what I’ll lose this time.
Share this:
Pax prime wake-up
I just woke up and am about to get ready for PAX. I’m going to the keynote where I’ll get to be one of the oldest people there. Further, I am feeling social anxiety on a few fronts.
I’m here in Seattle with some friends and I truly enjoy their company but they have a kid now. So, obviously, their lives will revolve around this. I don’t particularly like kids, I tolerate them would be a good assessment.
Plus there are going to be tons of people in town. 100k plus attendees. That sea of humanity does nothing for me. At least nothing good. I also damaged my hip, simple inflammation but Pax is a walking convention. You can easily do 10 miles in a day. So that’s super fun.
I am also questioning my place here. Am I so interested in gaming culture that it necessitates a convention? Perhaps if I had someone to go with, a companion, that would bring back relevancy. But, alas, relationships in those areas fell through.
So, here I’ll be. Alone in a sea of humanity.
If you see me, feel free to say hi or have a conversation. I’m open even if I don’t look it. I’ll be the tall, long haired guy with the falcon northwest backpack dressed like I’m going to a funeral. All in black.
Pelgris 