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Written 11/28/15

Insecurity and eyes that can't see the truth have hit me, strong and hard. Have you heard of body dismorphism? The disease that keeps someone from being able to see what they really look like. Even writing that sentence fills me with sudden self-loathing and the thought of why the fuck would anyone want to read this shit?

I know it's not reality or at least not the only reality but there it sits. Like an elephant on my chest. Inescapable with a choking scarf of such familiarity that the disdain for not being able to do the things I know will help bring me out of it. Blech.

Written 12/2/15

So many words careen through my head and yet nothing sticks to the page. I'm drowning in self-consciousness.

In high school I fell in love with the athletes and the actors. The ones who would lose themselves in whatever they were doing--eyes fixed on the basketball hoop, unfazed by the crowd. A looseness in the body, at ease and in an element. Completely embodied, outside of the mind. Ego-less.

A month ago I was completely unconcerned with what people though of me. I felt such clarity. I knew who I was and what I wanted, without a doubt. It was heavenly.