This city doesn’t feel like home. It hunted me down last night. Loneliness gets to you wherever you are. The isolation feels real, even though it probably is not as real as I imagine it to be. It feels like all the parts of me that I know of are draining like I wouldn’t know how to take care of nurturing them anymore. Why does it feel like I’ve changed but at the same time everything feels the same? Like I would know myself but then not at all. It makes every bit of expressing myself that much harder. The common concept is that you need to lose yourself to be able to find yourself again. It just keeps popping in my head, questions questioning this. Aren’t we in a constant move? Is there a place and time where we can only be either lost or found? At this moment, aren’t we always somehow lost, somehow found, however, the proportions would just vary? Why we are so drawn to duality? Black and white, good and bad, lost and found, love and hate, happy and sad…but my experience of the world won’t fit into a two-dimensional line with two extremes. Either or, so often it is both not even only both but rather many, same time existing within me.
It is frustrating to try to find words to express oneself when for some reason you are not able to access the source of those feelings. There is a part of me screaming for an outlet which I’m unable to give. I would want to throw myself into a flow but I’m not sure anymore is it for the right reasons. I miss the lightness, easiness to access, something that would make me float without the need to mentally keep me away from drowning. My inner is in a fight, it had been on a cease-fire for such a long time I forgot how it felt like to be so mixed. My inner wants to let go of many of the things that I’ve built in the past years. I struggle with the feelings of being lazy and care. Do I drop everything once it gets hard? I question myself. Is this it? What am I trying to access?
I’m in an endless loop. That loop rips down all my guards. It is the self-doubt that makes me second guess everything. It will make me look less than I am to myself. Everything around me changes but I feel that all of it is interior. My inner keep beating into the same rhythm. I can’t find a place that would beat in the same phase. On the other end, I ask, why I can’t move away from this rhythm to something else? I’m missing something, I feel like I’m looking at my life and I’m unable to see a piece that creates interconnections towards other pieces. It is layered with noise. Discover yourself, like the bliss, would be in the discovery rather than an emphasis on being. I’m writing the narrative to be in discovery, growing, learning. Like there wouldn’t be anything else to this life than consume. Isn’t there any other way for me to exist than through perpetuating?