two way street
i couldn’t tell you in expressible words how much i hate the ugly repetitiveness of my day to day life. Getting up, being cold feeling my cold dry skin. I know what everyone including myself thinks, her life is probably great, what the actual fuck would this yuppie scam have to know about real struggle. Well inner dialogue, if you must know. Shit sucks. I have ample means, I have a good education and I should feel lucky for my own skin on my own self sufficient body. But- as one does, I digress in my own self loathing. As I eat a half of a pot brownie I realize, I need some kind of release. Some kind of MEDIUM to project the inner dialogue that dictates the shit I do during the meandering 24 hours of my stupid days. Well- Okay, for starters I’ve finally found what my work and my life have been missing- A true treatment for the dialogue that seems to be ruining my life to an extent. That does not cost 195 an hour. I’m pretty sure that Freud motherfucker had something to do with deciding that the brain was composed of like the ego and something else, hmm.. maybe your subconscious, well that sounds right anyway. Anyway he believed and preached some belief that they were always in conflict, And I think I’ve correctly diagnosed myself with that shit Freud was responsible for coming up with. You can see this pattern throughout my life, the wrestling I have had to do with the two voices in my head. (Lol, not in a psycho scitzo way.. well not that I know), well what does it matter. When I was in fourth grade I was pretty good at writing, but every time I had good ideas I would either double write sentences, worry about what people would think of my writing to how many awards and recognition I could achieve with this one paper. And always during this conversation I would fuck up and write a shit ass paper. Every. Time. The theme through my life thus far is, I have always been motivated and shit but I always get way ahead of myself, and since my ego can’t deal with being responsible for that, I push it onto this never ending conversation in my head. And because of the imaginary devil and angel on my shoulder I crumble and thrive off the good and bad forces. I either day dream it away, hold onto the thoughts until they ash every thought around them, or make me say something I wouldn’t. Being the human on the receiving end of this; I feel like every fiber of my personality is gilded and misshaped. My life is a lie, if who I am is the product of a never ending battle with myself. I’m not sure that I have ever wanted to be the recipient.