Addict for dramatics.

Heart-strutter maintains a fairly steady separation of church and state. Acts of free will vs. mandated acts. Things you like doing vs. things you must do. Which is church and which is state depends on your personal beliefs.

However, seeing as this blog is my home away from home, my (semi-)secluded respite, or otherwise at least a hotbox of my nonsensical emotions and thoughts – I should forgive my bowdlerization. Besides, hotboxing does lead to a more elaborate and hyperbolical analysis of any given expressed notion so memorialized within its depths. The key here being memorialized as this is a free-roaming internet and also you can’t necessarily erase things completely from it either.

But I guess my basic point is to say that I should not  omit certain parts of my life because they are the less pretty bits. Though maybe that would mean to remove, “vaguely” as my crowning adverb in the blog’s description.

I think my blog has shifted into a very Tumblr-esque existence as of late because all the things I would want to talk about are of the non-vague, non-pretty kind. And those sorts of things have a tendency of being obligingly brief and temporary.

I think it’s easier to portray an idealized version of your ‘self’ as social media so aptly proves. We capture the great moments because we know those will be worth remembering and sentimentalizing. The bad parts carry so much stigma. We’re supposed to be happy, we’re supposed to be successful, we’re supposed to suppose (that other people are achieving all of those things, so should you). But truthfully, life isn’t that kind of beautiful (perfect). Life is beautiful because it is imperfect; it harbors change and evolution — it’s a moving picture not a static photo.

Honestly I think this particular post was spawned by a friend, who hopefully won’t mind my quoting:

I also feel like I’ve been censoring my writing more because I want to appear happy. This is because I actually am happy, but I’ve been ignoring my other emotions. I guess I felt it’s been too happy a time for anything to go wrong.

Right. Life is just ‘supposed to be’ happy, otherwise we are not succeeding at it. But why? It takes a smart man to know he has failed, but a wise one to admit it. Admitting makes it real. So often failure and hardship is only temporary, so why admit it, asks the smartass man.

Maybe I’m just saying that problems of the “first world” variety deserve as much expression as the truly hard problems. After all, our individual “truly hard” is relative and different. Some people could survive one thing over the other. You push a bird off a cliff and instead it soars. Or slide a flapping fish into the water. We’re all differently made. Writing about the things we cannot survive, even temporarily, is acceptable, so long as the writing caters to you and no one else. Writing isn’t a show or a showcase, when it’s honest.

So I’ve hung a portrait of a girl that listens to music and loves film and fashion but that’s halfway dishonest. I’m also a girl that needs guiding authority but can’t follow orders, a girl that is suddenly unsure about her passions, a girl that internalizes everything then explodes like a firecracker, a girl whose first loving relationship is far from perfect (life is not that storybook). All firsts require trial and error.

So here it is:

For a month I haven’t been working. For longer I’ve been struggling with sometimes debilitating depression, again. These situations are not new, which make them harder to excuse. Shouldn’t someone learn from their mistakes, not repeat them? But I think my record’s hit a crooked groove and it’s repeating the same line all over again. It’s like I’ve been transported back to 2012 when I was depressed and not working for a period of six months.

This can go two ways: you fall down, and rise up again. But when you fall again, you’re falling from higher ground. Splat! Like a second attempted suicide from a ‘better’ height. The second time it’s a harder fall. The silver lining: at least you know what to expect and you know what it takes to get back up/stay down. It’s going to be harder because you’re trying hard to retrace steps but hopefully not end up back at the same place.

The second way: you get back up because you know you got up the first time. Like an ongoing collection of varied bell-shaped curves. Good times/bad times/good times, etc. This just isn’t a good time. But it’s important for motion to continue to get onward and upward for the next available vertex.

Take a ticket, please. We’ll call your number soon. So long as you act, react, and accept that you must take a ticket first, you are being proactive. But if you wait and fail to move and act, you will never go up, you’ll stay just where you are. Sometimes you don’t need to go up anymore, or can’t, and you stay content with your current situation. Some people are that way. Mediocrity comes to mind.

I don’t accept mediocrity. It’s time to build systems (not goals). The building blocks to the completion of goals are systems. Like an elevator to the penthouse. The elevator goes up, goes down, but is so structurally sound as to take you back to where you need to go.

So why did I take all 20 pills I had, so instinctively, a week ago?  Granted it was half the lethal dosage but I never stopped to question what I was doing. One moment I had the bottle in my pocket and the next I counted them in my hand and swallowed? The moment happened so fast. I stopped to consider nothing. I just crawled into bed. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. I slept for nearly two days.

It was the start of my period that eventually got me out of bed. Blood was excreting from my body saying, “you’re hurt” and this is a normal bodily function. I’m not saying this is an analogy for justifying a would-be suicide attempt but at least that feeling hurt/pain/sadness is normal. It’s the reaction afterward that counts. You allow the bleed to come and go, not stop it altogether.

“My world is fire and blood,” where everyone “is reduced to a single instinct: survive.” – Mad Max

And that’s how you go on living. You survive. We are born and bred to survive. Once you stop surviving, you die. But in all the spaces between you survive countless times, even times when you think you just won’t. But you do. You do. You do survive in the end. And what you don’t, will kill you. But until then – if you are breathing, you will survive.

As the world fell, each of us in our own way were broken. — Mad Max

And do you see? Memorializing, sentimentalizing, writing in digital ink, the words take on such heavy meaning. One moment in time converted to 1,200 words. The hyperbole is astounding. But it’s all true.

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