Today I slipped in and out of consciousness for over 12 hours...was rather unprofessionally ditched on photographing a band's promotional shots (when they'd sought me out to do it? so silly.), and knitted 6 inches of a scarf.
but in all honesty, that isn't what I did today. I physically did those things but my head has been somewhere entirely different since well into mid-day yesterday. This has happened too much recently. My body is in a single physical location but my head is in another. Last night ended with a breakdown into a show of vulnerability that was not only uncalled for, but devastatingly exposing. I've developed this habit of holding things inside of my chest, catching them with my breath until the pressure builds and I have to let it out. Usually this release is at far more controlled and convenient moments, but last night was a mistake. I haven't cried in front of anyone except my father and mother in years.
Yesterday I was thinking about people, about friendships, about love. I was thinking about peace and quiet and order and the lack of all three inside of my life. I was thinking about the past and how relationships failed and friendships faltered. How I spent years searching endlessly, wildly, for someone to love and be loved by and ended up breaking off the most important pieces of myself into individuals who don't remember my name or hold any importance to me. How lately I have everything I wanted beating down my door but it's only a ghost from the past want to love a fellow ghost and not a girl. How I feel heavy like granite but fragile as porcelain and my nerves are shot to loud noises and caffeine overdoses. I was thinking about disappearing inside of crowds of people and never coming back. What it would feel like to dissolve into the background and go about my business. About being forgotten. About abandoning and abandonment. About how I've become incapable of trust. About mistakes.
I was thinking about wanting hope, but how all I've got left are empty pages and words wispered to empty walls.