—;

The daily check in|

My doubts serve as an additional sense. Maybe? Whatever. This is how I am currently doing at the moment and just like everything it will surely change. I feel seen. Open. Yet cloudy at the same time.

I feel that I'm being forced to walk a line of conformance with my arms tied above my head. Should I falter... I will be doomed. Arms tied. My balance must be perfect.

However, that is the beauty of life, the essence. While I will fight every inch of my being to never walk the line of conformity, I applaud the part of me that feels it can drag me to it.

To begin once more, almost reborn? Does that make any sense in the slightest? Or am I crossing the threshold of denial. solutions, I want solutions. Will that put out the festering and flora and fauna fire inside of me? solutions.

Riddle me this...and achieve this to the point where my eyes sink in. What am I gaining, if there's some thing to benefit? Retreating into my own mind creating conditions that haven't and won't appear. Crazy? possibly. Insane? it truly is a piece on the splitting facet. So many matters at bay—my fingertips stained in within the blood of what may be. ...it is simply that, what could be...

Where's my Jacob Marley when I want him? Am I too forging the chain link by link, yard by yard? Where are the three spirits with the intention to help me alternate my ways? I'm calling out— I'm yelling in. I am full of light and rain. Extra solar than rain, more tears than ache, and this...like many different writings is an ode for development. Angelina! you are okay. it's going to all get greater later... And remember later doesn't mean today, tomorrow, or next week— it just means later.

10/2—

I am beyond myself in these moments of what is and what isn't.

No longer mindful of how I come across to others.

I need to avoid repeating my sorrows. As a result, carry the haunted pain with you forever.

My eyes hurt, and my ribs hurt. Heart filled with sorrow, but I'm still left alone by my own thoughts.

How is that even doable? Have I turned into a was? Is my new identity just a reimagining and a pale version of who I once was?

Cannot reproduce these feelings.

where am I? now not bodily. Mentally I need to realize where I am at. How am I still breathing above the tide? I sense like I am suffocating in my very own doubts. My very own doubts are to strangle me into some other realm if i'm not careful.

So where does that depart me now? Itching for ink, itching for a experience of comfort. where's my stash? that's what I need. To open that stash, put on that record, and inhale life through a haze that's not me—however a part of me. Yeah, I have gone back on my phrase and who the fuck cares. I need to know who I am and where the fuck I am.

My future self will shake her head in disappointment. And i'm able to shake it together with her— I want a way out, a way in, a place to belong. an area in which I don't experience as if i'm drowning in myself.

Sunday: Sonntag.

||Journal entry—

Inhaling each time I exhale, I somehow still hold my breath. Although I'm confident in myself, I have the circus in my ear. I still am...okay. I’m on a journey unlike any other—riding a wave of past literature passions and building new relationships every day.

In a very narrow sense, I feel 'seen' more than ever. But it's not through that I have seen-there's not really much there to see. I have been taken by storm every day. Yet I do not want to be too obtuse because that would jeopardize my journey.

As well as terrified, I'm also unafraid. I'm happy, as well as sad. I'm privileged, even if I'm rebellious. Pushing the envelope, stomping on the tip of my toes... I know I'm rebellious, but I don't know what to call it.

Each conversation should be open-ended; but I do not want to overdo it. Round Robin circles... I can't escape the circus. It's up there and it's loud. No romanticization here; just the truth.

There's a good chance I won't do another Sunday entry. That's okay. Nothing is ever going to be the same and nothing will ever be different --but still the same. So let me leave this entry open ended. I'm leaving it up to My Future self to interpret.

𝑀𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑢𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑑. 𝐴 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑠. 𝐿𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟. 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑢𝑛𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑. 𝑌𝑒𝑎𝒉, 𝑡𝒉𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑. 𝑆𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡𝒉𝑎𝑡. 𝐼 𝑎𝑚... 𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑑? 𝐷𝑖𝑑 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝒉𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒? 𝑁𝑜𝑝𝑒. 𝐴𝒉, 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝒉. 𝑌𝑒𝑎𝒉, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑑. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑏𝑦 𝑡𝒉𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑐.

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒔, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒐, 𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒔. 𝑻𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆. 𝒀𝒆𝒕...𝑰 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎.

Heeeeelllll yeaaaaah.

Don't ask me "wyd" i really just be in my room going insane and being a danger to myself

Auroras glow above Jupiter and moon, 1981

Ron Miller