Currently: Drowning

In insecurities around Substack, writing, and life that reach a gentle conclusion

While journaling…

Lately, I’ve been doing a version of Morning Pages every day, and this time I dove into my shame and frustrations as an aimless writer and human. I felt the need to share this entry because of the cathartic clarity I gained at its end (some light edits have been made for clarity). Let me know where you land once you’ve finished.

I can’t wait to read your thoughts. :)

April 7, 2024

I feel like dying again. I had the WORST scroll through BOTH Facebook and Instagram. Even YouTube! They all made me feel worse about myself and of course, I HATE it!

I hate how aimless I feel. I’m SO sick of getting advice from people (granted, I’m searching for it externally) from people who have SOMETHING… ANYTHING already foundationally in place to be able to confidently make even the bones of the foundations of a plan for their life.

The ones who have an inkling of understanding of what they want for their lives. Whether it’s practical or sporadic, they have a DIRECTION.

A WANT. A REASON.

And here I am just uncomfortably floating along, hating every position I try to place myself in, in the middle of the sea with no land in sight. There’s nothing in my horizon that makes me want to work toward swimming TO anything!

I don’t see a THING! In front of me! It sucks! I feel hopeless!

I’m just floating. And I hate it.

I don’t know what to try next. Doggy paddle? To where?

There’s nothing in front of me.

I see nothing that makes me wanna push for my life.

To SWIM for my life. Why? Why would I want to? What am I swimming for?

There’s nothing out there. Nothing I can see, at least.

I hate not seeing a damn thing but this ocean. It makes me relax too much because the weight of disappointment that this is all there is to life—nothingness in vision and feeling—makes sinking easier.

It makes letting go easier.

It makes giving up easier.

But damn my buoyant body. I’m still here. Not so much unwillingly.

But not much willingly either.

I’m here. Existing in the middle of the ocean.

With no direction to swim towards. So I stay floating. Sad that all I see is sadness reflecting back at me in the water.

Everyone else sees me. My face falls the more and more I look outside myself for someone to come save me.

So I try saving myself, but there’s nothing to grip to that makes any sense to me.

I don’t know what to do next, but to let myself keep floating.

But all the mean words I say to myself about myself and my life again, makes sinking easier.

I don’t wanna sink. I want to live. But I don’t have any reason to.

This isn’t my death note, or my death wish.

I wish I wanted to live, but I’ve gotta find something to live for first.

I haven’t found it yet.

But I’ll stay floating until something hits my head.

Knocks me off my feet.

Wakes me up.

In the meantime, I’m sleeping.

I wish I could sleep for a looooong time.

Until things get interesting. Until I can find that elusive anchor I’ve been looking for.

That’d be nice.

I’ve gotta remember I’ve felt like this before.

It’s been a LONG time since I’ve felt things so strongly.

But I’ve been this hopeless before. I remember. The more I dig the more I unearth from memories’ past.

I remember writing about the bleakness and darkness and hopelessness.

And I made it out alive.

This feels slightly different though. I don’t understand this one.

All my desires and dreams died with my mom.

Everything except writing, and I hate that I can’t churn out pieces like this unless the moment just hits me.

It feels unfair to me for the people who pay for my work, that pieces come when they come.

But it’s how my brain works. I’m most proudest of my work when it waddles to me like a newly walking child.

I can’t force that child to walk.

They walk when they’re ready. And I’m proud of them for it.

But I don’t know how proud those who believe in me and my work and my craft are of that same child taking its dear sweet time.

Or maybe I wonder if supporters are mad at me, the parent?

It’s the not child’s fault that they’re not ready. Maybe it’s better they place blame on the parent.

The birther.

Because she should be in control. More disciplined.

Should be able to crank out more. More bang for the precious bucks invested in me.

I have people investing in me, and I feel like I can’t deliver in a time that I “should.”

I feel a lot of times I’m not worth anyone’s time.

But I weakly and half-heartedly am trying to change my mind about myself.

It’s not working, in this moment.

But that’s all this is. Just a moment.

It’ll change. Just like everything else in life.

We’re guaranteed change, whether we like it or not.

What’ll we do with it? That’s on us.

That’s OUR responsibility.

And I guess mine’s too.

It’s my responsibility to change all the stories I tell myself.

Including what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

What is it that I WANT to do?

What can I set myself free from?

What can I give myself permission to do?

Maybe float here. In the middle of this vast ocean. And let it be okay.

No longer choose to sink myself with sharp words I pierce myself with.

No longer flailing and fighting for an outcome I can even see.

Maybe I give myself permission to just float.

Let something soft hit my head.

Let something gentle form and grow.

Let myself have a chance to breathe for once.

Stop letting lies about how life should go weigh down on my chest.

Yeah.

Floating can be fine.

I just had to let myself allow it to be so.

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Something snapped in me like a new glowstick that day; I felt anew and vibrant about life when I finished writing that entry. It made me throw the last of my perfectionistic “should”s out the window.

In the near future, you may see more “time-sensitive” experimental posts because of this journal entry. No more trying to get the right time or order for things I wanna try and share!

I polished this post up and scheduled after the solar eclipse and it was such an overwhelmingly humbling and beautiful moment… It really puts into perspective how small our insignificant life worries are. It left me in awe.

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Could you relate to anything I journaled on? Tell me your thoughts below.

Let’s start a conversation.