It’s All In Your Head
Mood: Confused


If I were to write a biography, I would want to start it with tomorrow. I want there to have been nothing before tomorrow. I want me life to have gone by in a blur, and everything up until this point was a “back story”. I want to draw out my character, flaws, likes, quirks, everything. I want to script myself for the greatest story of our time. I want to be pertinent. I want to wake up tomorrow and feel new, like the first snow. I want to wake up tomorrow and be born to the rest of my life. I want to wake up and be alive. I want to see the moon spill light onto the rivers, terse and clear, white light like milk on a green table. If I had my own like… If I loved my own life, that’s what I’d do. I’d fly.


But I can’t. I can’t write big letters over my birth “PROLOGUE”. More so, I don’t think I can dictate anything. And if I were to say something, no one could hear me to write it. I thought I had it all planned out. I thought my outline was done, transparent, and taken five minutes to get to know me. And now I’m irrational. I’m trying to erase lines I had drawn out to “perfection”; just to draw them scratched over, scathed. Something is wrong with the way I’m looking at the world, and I wonder if my entire life I had never seen it before. Or maybe now I’m pulling my eyes closed.


I don’t know what is home. Is it security? Is it a suburban man with a gun who watches over your mind, protecting it from irrational thought? I could see home being that. Maybe I see home as just basic stability-- a place where no one pressures me to excel. Is it possible to love your life, but hate yourself? I found a way. I want to be bigger than I am. I want to believe I’m just some fictitious character in a book somewhere, and the reader has skipped to the last page to see what happens. Even though it won’t make sense it won’t make sense to me and I haven’t done it, the reader knows something amazing happens. I want to know something amazing is going to happen, so I can confirm my capability. I think we all do.



I should stop here. I’m getting ridiculous. So there was a piece of my insight, my background. I don’t know what to do with everyone tugging me in every direction. How can everyone know what will make me be better when I don’t even know myself? I don’t know what will end up making me happy and I’m scared. No, I’m not scared and THAT IS scary. I am not scared, but I am unsure. Whatever. Somehow, it’ll work out.