ESC
I had something else written. Something about reclaiming my identity as a woman. I'm not interested in the discussion anymore. I'm just like that. I will conjure up practical ideas that I believe in, but they pale in comparison to expressing abstract thoughts when I write. No, they're not really abstract. I'm not a mysterious person, it's just no one ever asks the right questions. There's no one that's brave enough to see me in the way I need.
I've been watching Life is Strange videos again. People say Before the Storm didn't live up to their expectations, but it's probably my favorite in the series. There's this one scene where Sara's backstory is revealed that makes me tick. It's deeply uncomfortable because I know what that's like. I know what it's like to have a mom that is constantly running away and people see it in you too. It's funny how I never got that nurturing, that stability, yet people still feel it's in their right to compare me to her in every way. There's not a single original idea I have, is there? No, that's not true. It's that the people saying it are shallow. I want to escape too because I'm sick of it: the shallows. The entitlement. The burden. They have no idea what is going on in my head and they never will. They're not interested anyway. I feel like if they truly were, they wouldn't compare me to my mother in the first place.
Why on Earth would you post this on the internet? Well, why not? I'm a human before I'm an artist, or a writer. I'm only professional in my responsibilities, my hard boundary with work. I'm a lucky person in the sense that my purpose is tied with my self interest. I'm young and everything is new, and I'm talented enough that I don't worry about what I'll do with myself. My satisfaction is another story. You should stab me and see what bleeds out. I am fully convinced that wherever my blood spills flowers bloom. I like it like that.
Where would I escape to? I can't be too tangible, existing, if I don't want to be tied down to something or another. Then the world goes grey and the urge to escape gets louder. I want out of what, I'm still unsure. I express it in silent little ways. When I flirt with a stranger, when I tag a bathroom, when I budget for my IPA and my chaser. Fate is real if you allow it. I see the fruit it can bear, but those roots are tangled. I can't believe I have to see through my entire life. I can't believe I share a world with all these people.
I've never been impulsive, or no, that's not true at all. There's just too much stigma around the word. My risk taking and my inspiration gets diagnosed as something from so and so. I have the nerve to tell you that I think my brain's response to life as I know it is completely rational. A hookup I had was shocked I was so confident in announcing I believed I was a genius. What a dipshit.
I think about the end of the world all the time. Sometimes in the dark I think about who I'd sacrifice for what. I'd never do that, I love it here. I love you so much. I just want to drown out the noise. I carry escape like candies in my purse. Sucking on the shell knowing this only lasts a moment, yet everyone is dying for it.
