Someone told me this week that I was ‘living the dream’. I thought it was a joke. They weren’t joking. Living. The. dream.
Because I changed my life in some ways, because I ran away, or moved forward, or however you wish to see it. Because I went my own way, in more ways than people realise. Because I did it alone and far away. Because I left my comfort zone, hoping for more. Because I made it…make it, sound so great. I’m pretty good at that by now. But look at Facebook..isn’t everybody these days?
So let me say this…if this is anybodys dream, then they have their standards set WAY too low. It’s just different. Period. And tonight, it’s far from a dream, it’s fucked. Last night it was tolerable, the night before intoxicated, the night before that similar, a week ago confusingly fantastic, the week prior very messy. It’s volatile at best. I’m volatile…at best. There’s lots of confusion and pain, anger and complication. Because that’s what people are. Complicated. And that’s what they do. Complicate. They take something simple and complicate the living fuck out of it.
And some days, when it’s grey and rain soaked and cold, all you want is love, and comfort, and to just feel warm and pain free. Just to feel once again, like everything might be alright. To have a moment that you can stay safe in, and not notice the world feeling like it’s crumbling down outside. Just a moment, where it doesn’t feel like everything is so damn hard, and forced, and fucking complicated. Just one moment, where somehow you…matter.
There is no dream, there are just degrees of change. The dream has disappeared. There are sunny, good days, filled with smiles and distraction. There are days where I laugh and joke with friends, socialise and explore the world, and days where I want to be far from it all. And there are days I struggle to even breathe. I breathe, because the ratio of good to bad days is as volatile as I am, and the thought of not knowing what comes next wins. I breathe because hope is not yet exhausted beyond possibility. I breathe, because there are still moments, and as fleeting as they are, they are worth breathing for. In and out.
So, I sit here and write this to calm myself, and get it out and away. I write, and draw, and make…to fill the time between moments, and in doing so, create new moments for myself. And I regain control of something that masquerades as momentary peace, but looked at more closely, is possibly just numbness. And I try to sleep, so I can wake up, and maybe the new day will hold more moments…