The battle.

Chronic insomnia has plauged me for many years. Stupidly, I get on my phone for hours on end when I lay down, which I'm sure adds fuel to my sleepless flame. Dumb. The upside to this is always feeling creative and inspired to write. As I lay here next to my snoring boyfriend and as my cats scury around, I am compelled to write. As much as I strive to be humble, it occurred to me tonight that my life has not been easy.

I'd rather not go into all the sappy details, for some of them are difficult for me to even talk about. The truth is I am exhausted, my energy is depleted. I told myself I could be strong, that I must be strong for myself, my family, my friends. I put a good game face on, denying the severity of the matter at hand. I'm really good at faking it. For a while, I think I had myself, and everyone else, convinced. In a sense, I'm one of strongest people ever. I try brave on once in a while and sometimes it fits me like a glove. The fact is- I'm not always strong. For far too long now, I've denied my pain and my strife. Attempting to avoid the agony I've known over the years and the brutality I've encountered has pushed me to the limit mentally, emotionally and physically. I'm completely spent. My soul is broken. 

I can't explain it. It's virtually impossible and tragically with that comes a level of estrangement that makes it seen that much more bleak. The thing is, I can't and won't feel sorry for myself. That's the prideful habit my father passed along to me. I've done it. I wore it like a dress. When my mother passed away, I milked that crutch of sympathy like a succubus in rapture. How pathetic could I be? It was exponential. I felt everyone should have pity on me because life dealt me a shitty hand. Reflecting back on myself now fills me with shame and regret. I should have been stronger. I should have taken the blow with more grace. There is no right or wrong way to deal with grief. The best way I can describe it is- if someone cut your achilles tendon by surprise. You collapse. Grief buckles you to the ground without warning and most people bellow with intense agony. I bellowed for decades and I licked my wounds so long my scabs turned to infected pulps of embarassment. The sadness I conveyed echos through time like a somber melody I cant forget and I hate myself for it. 

I think once I was around 28 or so I wised up. Yeah, I know thats really old to have a reckoning. However, I'd say having it at 28 is better than being 45 and living in your parents basement, even though it's not far behind in shamefulness. Maybe it was my impending third decade of life that was looming closely in the distance or maybe it was saturns ascension. Who knows. Either way, it was time. The solum sadness I had nursed for decades ran it's course. I was pissed! All the years feeling sorry for myself that accomplished exactly what?! ZERO! Nothing! Not a goddamn thing. What a nightmare! I decided then that I couldn't go on that way and that I had to suck it up and change my sorry ass ways. 

So I did. I stopped with the pity parties. I stopped self loathing because it was just tacky. Fast forward to a little over a year ago when again tragedy struck- I didn't know what the fuck to do. Obviously I was devastated but I desparetly wanted to be strong. I tried. I acted as if. I now see how much I shut off. I pushed all I felt away. It was just too horrible to deal with. I didn't want to feel anything. I just wanted it go away. I felt like I couldn't breathe. Some people probably would have turned to some destructive manner to channel it but I didn't. I tried to drink but it really didn't help. Drugs didn't really do shit. I just tried to forget, as if that was even fathomable. It wasn't and it isn't. 

Here I sit- with a mountain of grief and I feel like I'm at the foot of the gallows, looking upon perhaps the greatest challenge of my life. I feel I haven't really begun to tackle the bulk of it. Sure, I've grieved. I've allowed myself to be consumed with the darkness and let it's ugly truth trickle down. As excrutiatingly painful as it is, somehow I always turn it off. I either get angry with myself for being so weak or it's just too unbearable to feel. I don't know what to do with this hurt I harbor. I feel I'm buried by a burden I am petrified to even speak of. It's frozen in time- a time I replay in my head over and over looking for a solution that would never work. I am lost in the what ifs without dealing with it head on. I ride on the coattails of my own contempt like a melancholy puppet. AlI really know is that this demon has come to battle me and test my will in every way possible. I'm not ready but I will fight. 

Tonight.

I've enjoyed tonight.

- I trained legs then did an hour of hot yoga. [Tomorrow will be my 100th class!]

-  I juiced some lovely greens.

 - I made some banana bread pudding for my boyfriend that was epic. [also my first go at it]

-  I read a bit of 'spin' which I highly recommend if you are a science fiction dweeb like myself. 

-  I drank a few new beers. One local jalapeño beer that was decent although I can't remember the name. Also a Sam Adams beer called 'new world' that had a champagne top. It was delightfully light and Belgium-esque. 

- I also had some interesting conversations with my boyfriend about Pantera's early glam metal band, how accutane makes you suicidal and how the misfits are to tool what a perfect circle is to Danzig. He said it was a bad analogy but I disagree. 

- I watched a few good movies as well: big daddy, dazed and confused and now I'm currently watching the shining with I could watch over and over. 

Sorry for the bland, overly narcissistic post but I'm content [and buzzed] and I wanted to document it. Hope your night was equally as satisfying!

You are perfect.

It's hard to find a balance in life where you are not overly miserable and not overly elated. One motion and you're teetering on the edge of either of those things. I guess it wouldn't be so bad to be overly elated but I can't say I've ever actually felt that. I have but not for an abundant amount of time. The sad reality is I'm unsatisfied with myself currently but the really unsavory part is I haven't been satisfied for a long time. I want to be. I try to fall in love with every moment that I can take a few steps back and be overwhelmed with beauty. Yesterday, I took a drive alone, put the windows down, some spellbinding music on and just took it all in. It was beautiful. I love spring here. It gets amazingly green and there are bountiful wildflowers all over the place on the edge of the freeway and at almost every stoplight you encounter. It's like a fairy tale! I was so deprived of vegetation and scenery for years that it really is awe inspiring to me anymore. It's like discovering it all over again which I truly enjoy. 

I don't know why it's such a struggle for me to find contentment. I'm never happy with myself but I don't know why. I should be. Maybe I don't value myself enough. The other day at yoga my instructor said something that really struck a chord with me. We were laying in Savasana and she said 'notice this feeling and every sensation you feel. Everything you are in this moment is as it was intended. It's perfect and you are perfect.' Such a powerful statement. It's true though. We all seek to be some version of perfection we have gathered in our mind through years of media manipulation and other peoples opinion of what they think we ought to be like. It's just not right. We are all perfect. If you think about the mechanics of life and of the human body, it's sheer brilliance and centuries of science behind it has barely scratched the surface of all we are capeable of and made up of. Fuck aesthetics. Why is it so impossible to obtain contentment? Why can't we be okay with who we are? Why do we always battle ourselves to be something 'better' or 'different'? I, for one, am the worst with this. I always find some flaw to beat myself up over, neglecting the totally awesome things I have to offer [like a rather squandered singing voice most have not heard. Sad.] We are worth more than fitting into our skinny jeans if we eat a few too many cookies. We are worth more than avoiding trips to the grocery store due to a bad skin/hair/body days. We are worth more than avoiding human interaction for fear of being hurt like a little bitch. I'm a serious repeat offender of all aformentioned things and recognizing that seems rather embarrassing and childish. But hey! I guess I am a girl after all! [Dont tell anyone.] But, yeah, you're perfect just the way you are RIGHT NOW. Don't waste the good things because you're clinging to sucky ass shit that doesn't matter. Because, in the end it really doesn't matter. Maybe you're like me and you blow things insanely out of proportion for no god damn reason and then realize later how stupid of you that was. Stop that. Take a drive through the country and get your head on straight. Maybe if I did that constantly I would achieve everlasting contentment but then eventually I would find something to be dissatisfied with. What can I say- I'm a perfect jerk. 

Time will see us realign

I remember getting lost in a world of bittersweet wonder. You weaved your words of clarity into my chaos. We achieved hive mind. I considered you my blood. Family. Does that mean anything now? Are we too estranged to find each other again in this life? Will we one day mirror each other in another dimension as we try not to trip on the string theory? 

Joe Rogan for President

If I were to look back on myself 10 years prior, I would probably simultaneously be amused and shocked at the human I've progressed into. I've changed. I would say for the better but I guess I'm a bit biased, eh? The main thing I strive for every single day and strive to convey outwardly is dissolving my ego. The ego seems to be the root of all problematic epidemics in the world. The lust for power and greed that has plauged man kind for centuries all stem from ego maniacs. One of the most effective ways to crush your ego is having a psychedelic experience. Joe Rogan is an advocate for hallucinogenic experiences to open your mind and tap into spiritual realms we may not find elsewhere. He is an eloquently articulate guru on all things about pushing the envelope of consciousness and the pineal gland. 

He's just a badass about the things he is passionate about and he doesn't hide behind what's politically correct. All the rules are thrown out when he speaks on global and national issues yet, he does so with such poignant words. It is never crass. I mean, he's a down ass mother fucker. No apologies. No walking in egg shells. Yet, he dispels all the convuluted, majority held beliefs with grace and ease. 

It's refreshing to have someone of notoriety, who is also a well known celebrity, to be behind things that are impairitive to much needed paradigm shift our society lacks. I only hope that his influence can penetrate the deeply manipulated population that the media has a choke hold on. He celebrates his humanity yet he is intelligent enough to know there is more out there than what meets the eye. In every way he is a huge influence and inspiration to me. Joe Rogan restores my faith in humanity. 

Watch this interview: https://m.youtube.com/watch?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer&v=BEbPpt89HVk&feature=youtu.be&utm_medium=social&utm_content=buffere04c6

He talks about all the things I'm passionate about and then some, brilliantly. 

Shitspiration

Recently I've taken up a healthier lifestyle. I've been healthier for years but this past year I've really focused on stepping it up. Naturally, I've found Instagram accounts to inspire and motivate me and there are plenty of good ones. But, of course there are also plenty of accounts that are complete and utter trash. I'm talking about the fitness accounts where there is a half naked girl constantly posting selfies for 'motivation'. Bitch, what the fuck?!

What exactly does posting vain pictures of yourself constantly do in terms of motivating? How does being a complete narcissist inspire anyone? No one cares except ignorant thirsty dudes trying to hit on chicks that would never talk to them. I just don't get it. If you work out and bust your ass to get shredded that's definitely commendable but what's with the need for gratification? Why do you even need a progress picture and furthermore why do you need to post one [or multiples] every fucking day?! Please stop. Also, I just don't understand some of the skanky outfits bitches wear to the gym. Why?! I wear shit that makes me look relatively homeless and I genuinely don't give a fuck. 

Now, you can call me a hater as they all do but the truth is- I do hate it. It's tacky and not motivational and a disgrace to the fitness industry. If they would actually post work outs or tips and techniques that would be acceptable. But no- it's memes they don't research, pictures of their butt and/or tits, and food they think is healthy. So sad. What's worse is that a lot of them don't even know shit about fitness and so many naive people look up to them only to be misguided. 

I just wish people could stop portraying a fake lifestyle and being elistist when they don't really know fuck all in terms of health and fitness. Just drop all the psuedo-motivation disguised as an excuse to post selfies constantly only to have their ego stroked. You are worth more than half naked photos that cheapen your integrity. Fuck 'fitspiration'.

Hesitation

I refrain from writing the millions of passing ideas and thoughts that enter my mind at even given moment. I've never understood why really or questioned it until recently. The reality is, I'm petrified of being judged. As stupid as that sounds, it's the truth. There is an infinite amount of formats to write in. The thing that is quite liberating is the notion of fleeting moments and feelings. It's kind of like a song to me. A song captures a moment in time, a feeling for a split second, hour, day or year. The thing that is truly beautiful is, it is just a feeling and it can change or pass. Much of the music I like seems to capture a moment I can relate to eloquently and it really displays that feeling or mentality beautifully- even if perhaps it's not a beautiful idea. Just because it may be filled with anger or sadness doesn't mean that it's permanent. It certainly doesn't mean it's all that a person is about or encompasses. I think that's one of the biggest misconceptions about the written word. People write to vent. People write to understand themselves. People write to put their feelings in perspective and try to learn and grow. It's not the gospel. It can change and it can pass. I've decided that moving forward I'm going to do my est to write more and not hold back or be afraid of judgement because at this point in my life it's for me only. And if someone can get something, anything, out of it, then that's even better. But for now- I think I'm long overdue on being a but selfish.