The Truth, Take One

I'm angry, like proverbially, and I don't know why and where from. I'm angry with my parents for showing me that thoughts trump feelings and the only way to be is calm and collected and in control. I'm angry that my Dad told me he doesn't believe in unconditional love. I'm angry with Noah for sleeping with me even though he knew that I was piss drunk. I'm angry with my brothers and sisters for screwing up and leaving me to be the good child and the successful one in the traditional sense. I'm angry that no one listened to me when I told them I was sick and didn't want to be alive. I'm angry that I've forgotten how to write with soul. I'm angry that my mother allowed me to parent her, and made so many excuses for Dad's rage. I'm angry that he has always been so volatile, and that I see so much of myself in him. I'm angry that I can't forgive my family. I'm angry that I've made myself invisible. I'm angry with Jack for using me, and Chris for not having enough guts to love me. I'm angry with Dad for getting sick, and for telling me I had to get published and find love before he dies. I'm angry about not being trusted and not trusting myself. I'm angry that I've been an adult since grade school, and now don't know how to get loose without drugs and alcohol. I'm angry that I've chased color from my life. I'm angry that I'm so afraid, so perpetually. I'm angry at all the people who look past me unless there is something to gain from me. I'm angry that I'm so refined that I can't cry, can't drum, can't write, can't scream with wild abandon. I'm angry that there is never good enough. I'm angry that somewhere somebody told me I was fat and ugly and I believed them. I'm angry that my life is in pieces, dichotomized, and right now I miss the smart cosmopolitan parts. I'm angry that I don't know how to be nice to myself. I'm angry that I can't say no, and my boundaries are weak and easily circumvented. I'm angry that I am so often afraid.



I'm scared so much of my day that I think I've learned to ignore what it feels like. I'm scared I won't find love. I'm scared I will be found out as a fraud. I'm scared that I don't deserve to be here. I'm scared to be abandoned, and that I won't find the connections that I crave. I'm scared of the next adventure. I'm scared that I won't have enough, financially, physically, spiritually, emotionally. I'm scared of the blank page. I'm scared of not knowing, of not being able to make everything make sense. I'm scared of not having a plan or six. I'm scared when I camp by myself. I'm scared of falling short, of having nothing to say, of doing the wrong thing. I'm scared of forgetting, languages, experiences, past lives. I'm scared of displeasing. I'm scared of settling. I'm scared of being overwhelmed. I'm scared to death that one day I will wake up in the morning and not want to be alive again, and that I won't realize what has happened. I'm scared that I am not strong enough to keep myself well. I'm scared that my brother will drink himself to death before I ever really know him. I'm scared of open space that can't be filled. I'm scared of confrontation. I'm scared when I think about what will happen after Open Sky. I'm scared of limbo, being stuck and in between. I'm scared of loosing control. I'm scared of the things I can't just explain away. I'm scared to give feedback. I'm scared to show people how I feel. I'm scared to tell others that I love them, scared to get burned. I'm scared that if I don't learn I'll never get what I want.



I want wild abandon. I want color and fire and passion and boundlessness. I want adventure, and I want fearlessness. I want sunshine, and I want to be outside. I want to be part of community, I want to know where I belong and that I am part of something. I want handwritten letters and long train rides. I want to know that I am loved and that I am enough. I want to love myself and believe it. I want to be comfortable being compassionate, more than being fair and just. I want to look beyond the book. I want to know what my greater good is, and how how to ask for it. I want to wake up in the morning and be grateful. I want a love that is nurturing and genuine and challenging and comfortable and open and that I don't question. I want to be grounded, to own myself, and to know that I am doing good work for the world. I want thinner walls, so that I learn to not take everything so personally, and so that I feel safe and secure. I want to feel at home, no questions. I want to allow myself to dance, to yell, to make music that no one has ever heard before. I want to be barefoot. I want to know who I need, and who to let go of. I want to skip the head more often, and go straight to the heart. I want to grow my own food. I want to travel more, and learn from the cells outwards. I want to know that I am using myself to my utmost capacity. I want less apathy, and more excitement. I want to terrify myself so I know that I am doing the right thing. I want a plan. I want to fly by the seat of my pants. I want a dog. I want right now to be enough. I want a story to occupy me. I want to play more music unabashedly. I want better posture. I want to be giddy and ridiculous. I want to not worry about money. I want to find a way to travel, to live abroad again while making money. I want game. I want to not want. I want the stone between my heart and head to go away. I want to reach out, and have my challenge returned. I want to be inspired and inspiring. I want to embrace the next big adventure. I want to not be afraid anymore.