Tell

When I feel purposeless and anxiety like to say Hi.

 I’m struggling. Well, to be quite honest I am always struggling. “Am I doing what I love?” “What’s my purpose?” Who am I, really?” “Am I happy?” “What or Who makes me happy?” I possess a superfluous outpour of questioning and curiosities and anxieties and insatiable lusts for mental somersaults over muffles and muteness.

So, how do I get outside from what is pouring inside my head? How do I escape the music, the repetitive chorus? Sometimes it feels more chaotic and confusing — then hypnotic, lulling. It’s this constant hum and hiss and vibration and rattling that echoes and resurfaces to remind me that I don’t know why I am here. I am perpetually lost. What am I suppose to be doing? Yea, get a job. Create Structure. Discipline. Work Ethic. Duh. That’s the American Way. You work and that’s your worth and your identity and your self-gratification and the reason to get out of bed every morning. It also fits nicely into our formula: we need you to buy buy buy and produce produce produce so you can buy buy buy more more more. Numb yourself with dollar bills and rid yourself of dollar bills so you have to go and scrounge for more dollar bills. The numbing is a sign of it working. Choice is not freedom. Freedom is standing in that line. Freedom is keeping pace and the Wave of Relief that you don’t have to ignite that cerebral cortex located above your eye sockets and you can blend in. You don’t have to deviate. There are no need for flashes of light or sparks of fire when everything can be dim and beige. The herd is moving, keep up. 

Or, maybe, my struggle is my mind’s gift on full display. My seductive, insane, over-the-top, beautifully terrifying mind. It shows I am thinking and therefore living, versus trodding with the pack and safely coloring inside the lines. Breathe. Embrace. Keep Going.