I am so tired. If I can pull out one full complete thought from my mind, it’s that I am so very tired. In every sense of the word, I hold true to it--tired in mind, spirit, and body; I am exhausted. I haven’t written in a while because writing has made me feel too vulnerable, without any clear cause; simply a voluntary discomfort. The feeling of unnecessarily exposing myself hasn’t left me, but a more pressing need to talk has overcome it. Maybe it’s not talking I need to do, maybe I just need to listen. I realize I expect too much from those around me, but I don’t know what to do with my unnatural expectations. I don’t know how I am to cope with such a shifting force. It’s a paradox of sorts: if I consciously battle my surroundings, and what I expect, than am I lowering what I think for a cause? Or am I selling short? I stress the concept of “just being” constantly, but how do you actually just “be.” I don’t know if I can find the energy to care, I seem to lead quite the lethargic lifestyle now, and I am okay with it. When you take time and place it into an autoclave, well, you lose a lot of perspective. It’s hard, this depleting supply of self-awareness, it’s especially hard when you feel isolated. Which might be begetting this constant tiresome life of mine, or is it the tiredness perpetuating lonesome days?
The momentous step all my peers and I were apprehensive about taking has descended and passed. We are finally high school graduates. The feat itself is nothing to stumble over, a high school degree is expected, it is in my family, at least. But nevertheless, the accomplishment comes with an expected mood; people are supposed to have pride in it. I know there are many things I should feel, but I just feel unfinished. I walked away from the campus that controlled the last four years of my life smiling: they couldn’t control me anymore. I walked away feeling a little less than accomplished, and a little more than fulfilled. I am glad I walked away, but I don’t believe I said a proper goodbye. It’s a funny thing about me, but saying goodbye makes things final (no matter how definite the situation already stands). It’s a finality that begets disconnection, and I don’t deal well with truncating anything, no matter the discomfort it caused.
I know I am ready for change, it’s a gradual realization I am coming to. I love what surrounds me, what I engage with here, but it is not my home. I struggled with having a disconnection from my house and my home earlier this year, but I’ve come to terms with the divide, and found I am okay with not having a concrete home. There’s nothing that I must come “home” to, because my "home" stays with me.
"I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both make me feel a little less insane."
