I think I’ve stopped writing about myself or maybe I never really did. I’ve only ever written about the people and events that bend my life, the factors that shape me. And you might think But Blen, that iS life, those things make you who you are. Maybe that’s true. Maybe they teach me something, somehow. Right now, I’m sitting in my cousin’s small coffee shop, drinking my first ever iced latte. It’s not good, not bad just unlike anything I’ve ever had before. Would I order it again? Yes. Would I recommend it to anyone else? No.
And that thought right there that’s me. That’s how I am. I sit with things long enough to think about them, to make sense of them, but I don’t always know how to share them.
and I accidentally order myself into people’s lives sometimes, or step into them just because I’m curious, because I want to try. But there always comes a moment where I can’t recommend myself to you like I’m something you can try once but maybe shouldn’t get used to.
And lately, I’ve realized I have to be honest with myself though I’m tired of that too. There’s an emptiness that follows being tired of misery, like once I’ve felt it all, there’s nothing else left to feel. I have to make this life interesting, at least for myself.
I’ve tried to describe myself without using people, without using things and I couldn’t. Books? Movies? My sense of humor? My clumsiness? None of it feels like it fully shapes me. I have this aching desire for someone to tell me who I am, to point out some unique feature about me that I can’t see. I want to be seen so badly that it makes me sick. It makes me sick that I expect that from someone else. It makes me sick that I am blind to myself.
I want to write my own eulogy one day, and I want it to be honest not a string of meaningless adjectives. But what if I sit down to write it and there’s nothing? What if I look on the other side and see nothing?
I don’t want to be so self obsessed though I know (I’m not even close enough to myself to call it obsession.) I just want to live a life where I don’t psychoanalyze every single step, where I can let life be ordinary, let it breathe. Maybe I should expect that this life is exactly what it is and still choose to live it.Because I do want to know who I am, at least a little, before I wake up one day with my hands and my room full of regrets.
i think its the second step to wanting to live ( or as i call it weak enough to end it) the first step is being tired of the miserable i have finished two books during this one week one which i started and stop multiple time which was John Green’s The Anthropocene Reviewed. and in that book
Green talks about Fitzgerald’s writing and mental state during this time.
His latest novel didn’t sell well This was a huge blow to someone who had once been one of America’s most celebrated writers.
Fitzgerald published a series of essays called the crack up where he openly wrote about his emotional collapse. That line you quoted is from one of those essays.
When he says
“I began to realize that for two years my life had been a drawing on resources that I did not posses I had been mortgaging myself physically and spiritually up to the hilt.”
He’s admitting that for two years, he was pretending to have strength and happiness that he didn’t actually have. He kept working, partying, writing, and functioning, but deep down, he was completely exhausted and running out of hope.
He had been “borrowing” energy he didn’t have forcing himself to work, to socialize, to keep up appearances. John Green talks about Fitzgerald because Fitzgerald was one of the first major writers to publicly write about breaking down psychologically. this honesty struck John Green because it’s still relatable today. Many of us overwork ourselves, act like we’re fine when we’re not, and then crash when we can’t keep it up anymore. In his book, he reflects on how comforting it is to read someone like Fitzgerald, who lived almost a century ago, admitting that he felt the same way.
And that thought right there that’s me. That’s how I am. I sit with things long enough to think about them, to make sense of them, but I don’t always know how to share them.
and I accidentally order myself into people’s lives sometimes, or step into them just because I’m curious, because I want to try. But there always comes a moment where I can’t recommend myself to you like I’m something you can try once but maybe shouldn’t get used to.
And lately, I’ve realized I have to be honest with myself though I’m tired of that too. There’s an emptiness that follows being tired of misery, like once I’ve felt it all, there’s nothing else left to feel. I have to make this life interesting, at least for myself.
I’ve tried to describe myself without using people, without using things and I couldn’t. Books? Movies? My sense of humor? My clumsiness? None of it feels like it fully shapes me. I have this aching desire for someone to tell me who I am, to point out some unique feature about me that I can’t see. I want to be seen so badly that it makes me sick. It makes me sick that I expect that from someone else. It makes me sick that I am blind to myself.
I want to write my own eulogy one day, and I want it to be honest not a string of meaningless adjectives. But what if I sit down to write it and there’s nothing? What if I look on the other side and see nothing?
I don’t want to be so self obsessed though I know (I’m not even close enough to myself to call it obsession.) I just want to live a life where I don’t psychoanalyze every single step, where I can let life be ordinary, let it breathe. Maybe I should expect that this life is exactly what it is and still choose to live it.Because I do want to know who I am, at least a little, before I wake up one day with my hands and my room full of regrets.
i think its the second step to wanting to live ( or as i call it weak enough to end it) the first step is being tired of the miserable i have finished two books during this one week one which i started and stop multiple time which was John Green’s The Anthropocene Reviewed. and in that book
Green talks about Fitzgerald’s writing and mental state during this time.
His latest novel didn’t sell well This was a huge blow to someone who had once been one of America’s most celebrated writers.
Fitzgerald published a series of essays called the crack up where he openly wrote about his emotional collapse. That line you quoted is from one of those essays.
When he says
“I began to realize that for two years my life had been a drawing on resources that I did not posses I had been mortgaging myself physically and spiritually up to the hilt.”
He’s admitting that for two years, he was pretending to have strength and happiness that he didn’t actually have. He kept working, partying, writing, and functioning, but deep down, he was completely exhausted and running out of hope.
He had been “borrowing” energy he didn’t have forcing himself to work, to socialize, to keep up appearances. John Green talks about Fitzgerald because Fitzgerald was one of the first major writers to publicly write about breaking down psychologically. this honesty struck John Green because it’s still relatable today. Many of us overwork ourselves, act like we’re fine when we’re not, and then crash when we can’t keep it up anymore. In his book, he reflects on how comforting it is to read someone like Fitzgerald, who lived almost a century ago, admitting that he felt the same way.
❤3
You can’t run on empty forever admitting you’re drained is the first step to healing.
so here i say that i am drained i have took the first step to it the second or the first is that i was draining now i admit that i am.
so here i say that i am drained i have took the first step to it the second or the first is that i was draining now i admit that i am.
❤2
To a point where I don't want to have a normal conversation anymore, only answers when asked and can't talk anymore.
Forwarded from untethered thoughts
2017 has not been very kind to me. I am moving into 2018 with high hopes that it'll be better. That I will be better.
And this new year brings so much hope with it because living to see another day means another chance to rebuild what was lost, and get things right this time around.
I am somewhat thankful to all that happened this year, it led me to see how faulty the ground I was standing on was and i learned a lot.
#newyear
And this new year brings so much hope with it because living to see another day means another chance to rebuild what was lost, and get things right this time around.
I am somewhat thankful to all that happened this year, it led me to see how faulty the ground I was standing on was and i learned a lot.
#newyear
❤2
I like people who laugh at my jokes more than people who make me laugh.
☃3
Nothing annoys me more than people who hate female friends. Nothing in this world do I cherish more than that.
Get a life pick me ass humans.
Get a life pick me ass humans.
❤7
My laziness has gotten me to the point where I’m getting paid to buy him stuff.