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Spent the day with my mom—it was nice, overdue. But now I’m wrung out, heavy-limbed, like I left pieces of myself scattered along the way. Is it the starkness of seeing the world unfiltered, or the quiet exhaustion of performing okay-ness? I don’t know. Maybe I’m not sad. Maybe this is just the shape I take now— kicking up my feet on the edge of something vast, staring out, waiting to feel like I belong to myself again.
Feb 14, 2025
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I left for a while to go on a study abroad experience. The more time passes after The Thing, the less life makes sense. I'm trying to get back to the people I used to know, to get back into the routine I had, the things I used to think.
But somehow EVERYTHING about and around me is different and I don't understand ANYTHING. My body is different, my time isn't the same and somehow even my thought process has changed.
I came back home expecting familiarity and warmth, and surprise, the world has obviously moved on (as I did) and nothing is the same, except all that is. Maybe not understanding everything I thought I had already integrated is part of growing up, I feel as if I'm shedding old skin to make room for new one, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm scared, confused, and generally don't really get the concept of time passing.
I never used to get when people said they wanted the world to stop for a second, because that wasn't me, I wanted more, faster, more, all of it. Now I get it. Let me lay here for a moment and not think about anything.
☆lookaliveodette!!!!!!☆
Feb 26, 2025
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[Hi, hi! I'm going to be one of those annoying people who can't help but revert to themselves when presented with the lives and very real concerns of other people.]
I went hiking once with my grandfather who, at the ripe age of 75, was better acquainted with the outdoorsy lifestyle than myself (I'm in my 20s). The sun was high. I was coughing up my lungs. And before this particular event in my life, I never even thought it possible to simultaneously feel your legs burning and yet find them numb from pain.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, I found a neat little slump with a shade and rested there. I have a penchant for drama but if I’m being honest, without the slump, the climb wouldn’t have been possible for me.
Since then, I’ve been working on thinking about the slump, not as a pit that epitomizes our downward spiral, but as a place of rest. Recovery. Maybe even a chance to discover things without the weight of productivity. I tend to revisit “the slump” a lot these days.
Walking always helps. Go outside for a bit. Laugh with good friends. I know you have things to do and places to be, but there’s nothing quite like the view in front of us.
May 19, 2024
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I've deleted Instagram. I'm stretching my ears. I'm making video diaries again. I write for myself only. I'm secluded, quiet, I'm grieving, I'm burying myself and I am being buried and I am attending the funeral. I'm alone in all of this.
It wasn't a new year resolution that led me here. It wasn't therapy or a fortune cookie or anything romantic. But I realize your story only matters if you plan on telling it to someone. Maybe as a response to something, "what the fuck is wrong with you?", maybe an intimate secret, maybe a drunken ramble. I'm done telling stories.
I've been alone for forever. Occasionally someone will drift too close, and I think maybe this time, maybe, maybe... And I'm left scarred, or left quietly, but always left.
Of course I have things to reflect on and things to take accountability for. But I'll be damned if I present my isolation as pure, as if I am a martyr. No, this is not for everyone's safety or my own digestibility. I am bringing the chisel down in sharp downward motions against myself again and again and and I will carve something new from this stone tomb. I'll never be David. I'll never be Michelangelo. But I can be something more than stone.
I am moving on. I don't know to where or to what end. It doesn't matter. Very little does, now. Maybe it always had such little meaning and I was just too close, to desperate, to see that. I wanted so badly to mean something. Even if it was just to be grieved. No one will miss me, now, as it's always been. But I also don't miss me.
Moving on.
Mar 26, 2025
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is it possible to understand others but not able
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A tragic case of form without function. Thanks little spool for making me feel seen 😜
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