”I had a dream that the world was ending a few days ago. What’s up with that?
Seems kind of out-of-place to me.
I feel like I need to be somewhere else and I’m not talking, like, metaphorically, I mean right this exact second in time. Don’t you fucking hate that? Especially when there’s nowhere else to physically be able to go? (Maybe that’s just my problem).
Talk about being between a rock and a hard place and with a different side to it, even.
Not being comfortable in the place you call a home can be a real huge shit on the brain. I don’t mean like, waaah-I-hate-my-life-here-and-want-to-move-out kind of uncomfortable. I mean the kind of uncomfortable where you’re almost literally itching to physically walk out the door and just start driving.
The right-this-second, spur-of-random-feeling, my-head-hurts-and-I-think-I-might-actually-puke-in-my–toilet uncomfortable. The almost-pissed-off-for-no-reason uncomfortable. The nearly total and irreversible bad, bipolar mood uncomfortable.
And that really blows because I’ve lived with other people and never felt this way. At least not anywhere near usually. I don’t even think there’s been a time to record this kind of brain splooge.
(Ding)
(Then it’s gone. As quick as it came. Like nothing ever felt a hair different than before.)”
some sketchbook; c.2008
younger, strung out me used to catalogue every thought and event from back then and i’m thankful for that now. it’s actually reading these that makes me go back into trying to do that again.
reading a lot of things. things like how my family and i never really did click. things that sounded similar to things now.
ever look back into your old writing, your sketchbooks or whatever and it’s you who ends up explaining your current life mysteries to you the best? albeit dramatically, but explanative nonetheless. really raw reactions and every day normalities that weren’t normalities at all.
augh, gives me the weird shivers
v.
Artless Valentine 
I’m sitting at work and found myself catching up on your posts i missed. I know that uncomfortable feeling all too well. Sylvia Plath said some shit along the lines of writing to create a place of solace for your mind when you don’t physically have one for your body (or something close to that), and that resonated with me. It’s almost like nowhere really feels like home until I’m already gone. When shit goes south in my head I’m always like “i dont want to be here but i dont want to be anywhere else either.” I love your writing so much
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that means a lot to me, thank you.
it’s weird when you find the most peace from your head by studying what’s going on around you in depth. i’ve re-read soe sylvia plath recently and her dark writing’s really been hitting notes. it’s insane how coming to writings later in life totally take on a different meaning, it’s fucking eerie and sometimes revolutionary. peace of mind makes peace of life but it’s all like wrecking ball when your brain’s as loud as your problems.
not finding peace at home was the worst thing, i come to realize. i’m sitting in the dirty jersey now trying to make a nest and even though it’s like some crazy obstacle course it’s probably going to be the best nest i’ve ever had. be my own, at least yeah?
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