hereweareagainyearslater-blog

[hereweareagainyearslater-blog]

thinking about the big things

It’s wild how I never even doubted the fact that I would “make it.” The fact that if I worked hard enough and kept in doing the things in front of me I would achieve something.

It’s so crazy! I never even considered the fact that I might not achieve even a stable life, much less a successful one. Not even judging success by a big house and fancy car, just judging it by doing what I set out to do.

But I’m in a field where most don’t make it, most drop out, most can’t survive on it, most don’t make the company or do the job.

And real talk? I’m not even good.

That’s the tea. I worked my ass off year in and year out, never even consider in any other option and I’m not even good.

But here I am. BFA in a field where everything is competitive and I’m not even good.

What am I going to do.

[hereweareagainyearslater-blog]

i am not a fish

2.20.19

You’re… different.

A statement I’ve heard time and time again. Sometimes I embrace it- fuck yea I’m different! Other times… not so much.

I am different, but what does that mean?

Why am I different, how am I different, how to I make it a choice instead of a default, how can I be a human like everyone else?

I am different. There was a time I resisted my impulses entirely, kept to myself, never spoke, and was so locked down that I didn’t even know who I was.

That wasn’t normal either. Do I just have two settings? The previous setting isn’t one I think I could go back to either honestly. I’m too far gone.

Wesley told me I wasn’t a dancer. I was a choreographer. “You don’t want to dance anyways, do you?”

He isn’t fully wrong. I have a passion for creation, I love being the force that brings art into existence. Maybe performing someone else’s work isn’t my passion, maybe being on the exact count isn’t why I wake up in the morning, maybe the feeling before I go on stage is not of light butterflies asking if I’m ready to go, but of a deep dread of knowing I will mess up and I will be depressed afterwards.

But- movement. Movement is my passion. I love moving, I love dancing, I love the pure investment in the sensation and the release of everything else. Movement is my escape, but in class it’s becoming just another stressor.

Not because I’ve gotten worse- but because I’m finally at the point of recognition. I am a senior in a BFA program to get my dance degree. What the fuck am I doing if I cannot dance?

A phrase I hear far too often by good willed individuals trying to explain why I suck is the Einstein one about judging a fish by its ability to climb a tree. That’s why I suck in class- that’s why I am so different.

But the thing is, I’m not a fish tryna climb a tree? I am a dancer. Trying to dance. I am a human, trying to be a human.

Why is it not working? Why can I not dance, why can I not create an image of a regular human?

Who let 16 year old me choose to be a dance major? I just had to blindly choose what made me happy at the time- of course I would. I was not good at dance. I am still not good at dance. Senior year of my BFA, after 5 years in college and two associates in dance, I am told I am not a dancer.

So what the fuck am I doing?

If I am a fish trying to climb a tree, where is my water? I guess I passed it up because it wasn’t exciting enough. Wasn’t a bad enough decision to draw me in. Maybe I was on land thinking it would drown me so I spent all my life barking up the wrong tree.

[hereweareagainyearslater-blog]

when

2.23.19

When did life get so complicated?

When did it become this incredible plot with these subtle nuances woven into every action? When did my past start to overwhelm my future and when did surmounting obstacles become an undoable task? When did this anxiety start, and when did it go from the surface value anxiety of a little kid just picking up the external habits of family and when did it become so deeply ingrained in my being that I cannot imagine a life without it? When did everything go to shit? And how much longer will we be here?

I need to know. I am anxious and I am afraid.

I am 21 years old and I know that older people will say that that is just a drop in the barrel but by my calculations that is likely about 25% of my life, and that means I should have at least achieved 25% of the things right?

I am 21 years old and I am lazy.  I am scared. I am anxious. I isolate myself and then play the victim. But I isolate myself because I believe I annoy everyone. Or perhaps I don’t believe that, I just know I really cannot tell who fucks with me and know doesn’t, I know that my social skills are not up to par and I know that this is clear. I know that I am a different type of human and I know that for just once I would like to feel what it’s like to be the same. I know “there is no same” but I know there is a same and I am not it. I would like to know what that is like. I would like to know the feeling of not questioning my place or my stature or my actions or my words or my body language or my style or anything else I would like to know what it feels like to know where I stand and who I stand there with. I would like to know what it is like to feel I have a place at the table and a place in the room, to know who likes me and who doesn’t, to know who admires me and who pities me, to know who my friends are and who is fake. I would like to know what people mean when they say the things they say to me and I would like to not have a constant pressure in my head and constriction around my heart – the feeling off anxiety the feeling that my heart is beating too fast in too tight of quarters and the feeling that my brain is filling with fog – dense and heavy and unable to process things the way they are meant to be processed. I am tired of felling alone and scared and unable to fucking communicate how I feel. I am tired of the – dare I use the cliché- mask that I put on that I never know whether or not works. I am tired of constantly questioning – in endless fucking circles- what things mean and why I am the way I am. I am tired of being me I think is what all this boils down to but honestly here’s the deal I have a romanticized version of me in my head that I honestly have grown really attached to. I’ve known her for as long as I can remember and she is honestly one of the best people I know. She is artistic and creative and funny and quirky and selfless and hardworking and lovable and friendly and vulnerable to a point but still mysterious ya know? People like her and she knows it. Not in a stuck up way, just in the way where she isn’t afraid to ask to borrow an egg because she knows they’re not thinking “oh my g-d I already hate this bitch and now she wants a fucking egg” even if all they do is smile and say of course. A me who isn’t perfect but she tries really fucking hard when I don’t try at all. A me who is less anxious and stagnant and stupid. The idealized version of me is actually smart, but not fully because she was born that way mostly because she doesn’t waste her time and she loves learning and all this sucks because it’s like a trait that I wish I had or often traits I do possess a part of but then in her it just makes so much sense and her life isn’t so gosh damn messy and full of the little things throughout the day that make me want to puke. I hate me as me but I adore me as the version of myself I want to be.

I hate my social media I haven’t posted in a long time because I started to craft this version of me on there the best I knew how and honestly I’ve really tried to pretend to be there- to measure up what is without a doubt the version of myself that I think I could be if I wasn’t such a lazy unmotivated person because honestly who has an ideal version of themselves living in their head but not just that an idealized version of themselves superimposed on every day situations in real time- a constant reminder of every thing I should be beside a desperate reminder of what I truly am. A constant call to action that I have spent my whole life ignoring- receded further into the imaginative world of who I could be without any of the real life actions to make her happen. And sure I have made the most minuscule of progress. Or so I thought but lets be real I really just got academically stupid and added depth to an already hugely built up pile of anxiety.

[hereweareagainyearslater-blog]

Back At It

So.. I am back. Ready to overshare more than ever.

Here’s to online anonymity and a late night high and lonely, I am starting a tumblr blog once again and I am ready to make long and dramatic text posts that no one is ever going to read.