Bravely, I look further than I see.
Knowing things I know I cannot be, not now.
I'm so aware of where I am, but I don't know where that is
and there's something right in front of me, and I --
Touch the fingers of my hand
and I wonder if it's me
holding on and on to Theories of Prosperity,
someone who can promise me.
I believe in me.
Believe, K's Choice
I can't deny it anymore. I am one lucky, sorry-ass bastard. Ten years ago, I never imagined I'd live up to where I am now. (Although where I am now isn't exactly far from where I was ten years ago.) Still, here I am, just as clueless on what it is exactly I am running on and where I am headed as I was when I was seventeen. I barely made it out of high school, and all that was on my mind was -- well, there really isn't any delicate way to put this -- how to end it all. What it was that pushed me towards that point, I can't remember now.
By sheer force of will, I picked it all apart and scattered each little piece in hundreds of secret pockets in my mind. It took a fairly long amount of time, and networks and nodes of interlocking mental walls were built, but I got it done. Precariously held together, but still, done. Occasionally I would remember one piece, but never as a whole, leaving me wondering why I ever thought about killing myself in the first place, "Oh well," and then I'd move on with what I was doing at the moment.
The effort had its trade-off, however, and I'd felt it only the past couple of years or so. I was too intent and focused on forgetting and moving on that I'd never really paid much attention as to where I was headed. Now that I'm dusting myself off and pretty much done with the past, I'm left in the middle of a vast open field with nothing but the clothes on my back and a "What next?" text bubble floating above my head.
BUT. Strangely. I am not afraid. Like I said, I am one lucky, sorry bastard. I used to be less aware of it, but now I think a major reason why I am still here is because... YOU PEOPLE FEED ME. Many, many times I've felt like crawling back to the muck from whence I came and just will myself to stop breathing, but every time -- EVERY~TIME -- something happens and my plans of a quiet curtain-fall are disrupted. Sometimes it's a simple "thank you" from an acquaintance. Other times it's a major booze-fest with close friends. But each time and whatever it is, it pulls me back and I get voices in my head telling me, "This is worth it. You can handle a few more bruises," and they push me back into the ring.
So that's where I am. Twenty-seven, unemployed, purpose-free, clueless, wandering, but still breathing. I have learned to trust in whatever the Universe throws at me by now, be they people or circumstances, to dodge and-slash-or roll with the punches as deemed necessary.
Of course I won't leave out the usual Birthday bitchin'.
There is always a nanosecond of clarity before the jump, or even before impact. Everything I have ever learned from everyone I have ever met adds little dots of clarity in my eyes, for which I am very, very thankful. Here's to life, and all its beautiful messes.
