Note: I wrote this spontaneously during a bout of insomnia spurred by an overactive mind: the night before, I had finished a life-changing piece of fiction that liberated me from previous writing fears. It is abstract, messy, and different from my usual blogs, but it is relevant in its early morning authenticity. (:
I feel so much—more than I want, more than I understand. But I am nothing but alive. I feel the breath in my lungs, the black of the night, the reality of failure. I feel the light rain on my skin like a scintilla of some feeling; I feel everything.
Whenever the walls creep in too close for comfort, I escape into sky. I spend hours outside searching for sanctuary: I walk in endless circles until my ankles bleed, listening to lame music and mulling over deadlines; I spend hours lying in the grass, unbothered by curious insects; I drink my coffee in rocking chairs and think of nothing but the moment and the hushing of pain. I feel safe here, wrapped within the limitless depth of the ever-changing sky. I feel the soft blue reflected deep within me; I feel the clouds swallowing all of my apathy. I chase the sunset every evening, as I feel whole when the dying sun eats me alive with all of its desperate color. In those moments, I am. I exist, and that is enough. The light warms my skin, and I am revered, restored. This is plenty.
Life hurts. In so many ways, it does, and it hurts for everyone.
I attend one of the best high schools in Mississippi, and I love it. I have accomplished more than I ever dreamed of (and deserve), and so many more months remain. I near the precipice of my true beginning, of my own unapologetic existence in this vast, horrifying world, and I do not fear the strife that awaits me. In my dorm, I have two drawers overflowing with snacks, and I now have the ability to play “Jump” by Van Halen on random keyboards. I have dreams and aspirations, and I am balancing my stress with creativity. I am surrounded by people I care about, and I want so much. I want to succeed; I want to awake each morning; I want to be alive.
But my sleeping schedule lies in anarchic ruin. Every minor grade is directly connected to the state of my future. Radical changes manifest in every aspect of my life. I have no stability. I have no certainty. I know nothing but deadlines and stress and the need to escape. I want out of my skin; I want to rid myself of every worry, every doubt. An incessant river of chaos rushes within me, and I feel it bubbling towards the surface of my control. I feel so lonely or so crowded at times. And I long for my junior year: I never wanted it to end, and time felt so infinite as I indulged in every moment of this new adventure at MSA.
But I am alive.
There is something so powerful about resilience, about the will to adapt and overcome. And I feel this every time I submit an essay I panicked over, every time I close a hundred tabs. I feel this every time my head hits a pillow after midnight, every time someone smiles because of me. I am alive in this moment, and this is enough. The pain is necessary because it is a good pain—the kind that results from feeling too much and aching to accomplish more than humanly possible. It is trying.
Throughout the years, writing has served various purposes for me, but it has always existed as an escape. As I forget myself in my work, I feel the words escaping me, this year. I feel them growing more bold, more bare. Every piece is of desperation, for I am beginning to relinquish all that I have, all that I am, to the page. I am beginning to surrender to myself and my fear. I am escaping. I am no longer bound by the same insecurities. I am beyond myself and my fragile understanding; I am the words I speak. My fingers punch the keyboard, and I see myself for what I truly am: a living being. The stress evaporates, I slip into a comatose state, and I emerge hours later feeling not quite like before. This all sounds quite pretentious, but I am in love with slipping outside of my body and just being. I exist only as a writer in those moments (meanwhile, the piece is about tacos…HAH!).
You are more than your pain, your past. You are everything and more. You are indomitable. You are your own artist, your own home, your own breath. Fall in love with the little things, and you will feel full. Discover your own meaning, your own truth. Surrender. Trust in the strength of vulnerability. Learn to let your heart die, sometimes. Learn from everything that surrounds you, and you will understand. You will feel full.
This blog was so full of life. Thank you for sharing it with us. I too, find myself outside walking and walking. I try to find meaning in the littlest of things.