As the words pour out

Spring comes, the cycles of nature, longer days. My mind finds meaning in all that it sees, connections are made. Sleep disappears. I have read four books this week, all of them after midnight trying to conjure up nod. Terrible idea, all it did was making me write essays about what I read. I wish I had been this manic when I needed it...

Forty hours awake, fifteen hours asleep. I feel nothing, just my heart trying to escape from my chest. My usual sensitivity has disappeared. My emotions seem superficial, I can brush them off with a single thought. But my thoughts are not single, they are many, they multiply in a single second.

Life has been so vacant, and unsuccessful lately that this state of nothingness and exhilaration is perfection. I get to fill my days with words instead of things, rather than spending money I spend time. I think a lot. And I suddenly know success is relative. This manic self has been unsuccessful in achieving certain things, and yet I sit and become a prolific writer, and I am alive. I have no idea who I want to be but I am free! Even when I am screaming for sleep to come I know that I am free, my monster and I made a deal a long time ago, she is free to roam and I am free to write.

I know my life won't be what I thought it would be. I know I will probably not be a mother, mostly because I am still refusing to play normal. I know at some point soon I will need to pick a path and stop jumping from side to side, but it has been fun so far. No blaming the monster anymore. She keeps getting the stick.

"My friends are all adults, I´m still a teenage girl" I suppose that depends on how you define adulthood I say...

Playing house does not an adult make

For a long time I've said I'm not a grown up, the truth is that I have been since I was a teenager. And every time I say I have finally grown up I am paying myself a disrespect. I may not be following the rites of passage my peers equate with adulthood, but we are fools if we think that this society subscribes to just that one view.I did follow my peers before and that led to pain, it led to failure. Today, I am both the most successful woman I know and the biggest failure. Only because I cannot let go of the messed up standards imposed on me.

As I sit and write, which is what I do most of the time these days, and I watch the hours go by, and the cigarette buds pile up, doubt clouds the racing thoughts. I spend my days alone, and I find myself in solitude with only my monster for company. In these circumstances it wouldn't be difficult for someone like me to imagine a different world, to live in fantasy, where all these struggles lead somewhere, where this identity becomes whole eventually. And yet, I know all that is a fantasy, and believing in that would make me a child.  One by one I've ceased to believe in all the untruths we were told. What will happen when I run out?

I am done with lies.