From September 1, 2020

Sometimes I get discouraged because I'm trying to look at too much of the picture. Trying to see today, tomorrow, next week, next year. And the truth is that I'm making it all up anyway. None of it's real. Only thing real is what's right in front of me. There are times I question that. That's where I am today. The voices in my head are busy. They get really busy sometimes. Sometimes I don't fool with 'em. But sometimes I do. They caught me today. That's how easy it is to slip. For me anyway. I let that one negative thought in and entertain it and before I know it I'm spiraling. I'm canceling plans. I'm under the covers. I'm in tears for no reason in particular. The voices are slick too. Way they come in easy. Sprinkling doubt. But then I add the spices. I start agreeing. Then the fear sets in. Then embarrassment then rage. Then I'm right where the demons want me. I start seeing myself tearing up art. Deleting my blog. Throwing away journals. I don't do it. But the vision is clear. Today I decided to write it out. Maybe I'm not the only one. Perhaps you have a different vision but it's all the same thing, ain't it? If this is you too and you're reading this, I just want you to know you're not alone. I get like this at the worst times. This thing is not convenient. This thing is loud. This is a thing only you can hear. This is not a thing you can often track. I don't know what happened. I haven't been sleeping well. That's step one for me. I've been doing too much. That's two. I've been worrying about things I can't control. Three. And maybe I would feel this way even if I didn't hear about the brother who got shot last night on 109th and Budlong. Maybe it's trying to figure out a life outside the hustle. Because $10 books and $70 paintings was cute in my twenties but now I feel like the stripper grandmother in the club still tryina prove she got it. Not that there's anything wrong with stripper grandmothers in clubs. Stay focused. Maybe it's all the isolation. Maybe it's my birthday coming. I'm always emotional around my birthday. Maybe I'm just tired. No maybe there. The problem though, for me, feeling this way is that my brain is not set up to see this as just a moment. I guess that's what all the prozac and lorazapam and lithium and all the other psych meds I flushed down the toilet over a year ago was supposed to help me with. I guess. Problem with that though is I no longer trust myself with pills. I swallowed a bottle and thankfully I lived to tell about it and maybe I won't get another chance like that. So there's just me and my feelings and these good prayers. When I can pray. The pressure though. The pressure to look happy when I'm not is immense. I put it on myself. I'm clear about that. Like I have something to prove. To myself. To the world. I don't know. I'm trying to prove to all the therapists and psychiatrists that I never needed any pills to begin with. Some days I'm right. Then there are other days. Other moments. Like now. It's a funk. It's just a funk I'll get out of. I keep reminding myself. I have to remind myself because if I don't the choir in my head will have me believing nothing is worth it. Nothing. I know that's not true. I know. I know I'm not by myself. I can't feel this all by by myself. It's just a moment. It's just a funk. Funks come and go. Funny thing about funks and moments though. Like every other nightmare they sure feel real. Sure feel permanent. When was the last boogieman you didn't run from in a dream? Maybe a part of you knows you're dreaming, but that other part, that bigger part triggers your dreaming feet to get out. And so you do. You run. You run until you see for yourself that you are safe. I will wake up from this. I will see that I'm safe. Right now though, I kinda believe the voices. I dated a man years ago who told me (in a fit of hateration) that I wasn't who I think I am. That's what the voices tell me too. About my life. My poetry and art. About everything. A small part of me knows that this is a dream and that I'll wake up. For now though, I'm running.