blog vomit

my friend and i call sorting out our emotions through posting blog vomit. it just comes out of your gut. you can feel it rising and whether or not you want it to, you can't take it anymore, and it comes up. it's rarely pretty, but you often feel a lot better after.

yesterday this did not happen. it started off as blog vomit, but instead of the relief that it usually brings, i found myself having written to one giant question mark. an emotional blogging hangover. a blangover.

i have dealt with this before. there is no advil, no water, and no trip to McDonald's after for some greasy food. sometimes the relief of writing is in the catharsis. sometimes the relief is in the clarity it brings. sometimes, it forces you into decision-making mode. the danger here is that your angst to make a decision doesn't always mean that you know what decision you should be making. normally getting to this point means you are making a decision that 'defines' you, and possibly the course of your life. but staring at your writing is often like staring into a mirror. sometimes, you aren't thrilled with the image, or even recognize it.

so what do you do to scrape back to the image of who you were, or where you want to go? you take life by it's roots and rip them up. you get real. you get honest. you get balls. you vow to rise above the pain that is self-inflicted. you drop that which serves as a cover for something deeper. this way you don't have to face what you are scared of.

when we aren't being so valiant in your self improvement efforts, these habits stick around. sometimes we cut out people that force us to be honest. their sobering honesty doesn't even let you get to the point of word vomit. sometimes we hide behind a series of bad habits that allow us to fall into delusion, just for now, so we can forget the pain. so we can forget who we are on a daily basis. so we can forget the feeling of failure. so for that moment, we can be rockstars. so we can forget the image of what should be. so we can forget the fear of where we are going. so we can pretend.

i'm only 22, and i'm sick of pretending and playing games. i'm sick of picturing a life i want and not simply living it. i don't have any right to lecture, but also, nobody has a right not to listen either.

'i step outside my minds eyes for a minute
i look over me like a doctor
looking for disease
something that could ease the pain
nothing cures the hurt that you bring on by yourself,
just remembering, just remembering how we were'

-k.