Drafting

I've been overthinking it, I think. My mind and my writing have felt like either a cluttered mess or an echoing void this past year - sometimes both, sometimes simultaneously, sometimes neither because why not. I've spent eons waking up and trying desperately to comprehend how to leave bed, how to get dressed, how to function in modern society without running screaming for the hills and inhabiting a dark and musky dwelling underneath a bridge, grunting at passersby and throwing pebbles at scared children meandering too close to my hovel. There's been a lot of closed-lipped smiles.

I've begun what feels like a thousand writings, but in reality, there are only a couple lonely blog posts collecting dust and cobwebs. It appears as if what little creative, personal writing I've done has remained in the erratic corridors of my mind, cluttering my mental inbox, interrupting thoughts I thought were important but probably weren't. I haven't been able to write any of it down. It hasn't felt good enough, poignant enough, capturing enough.

Who cares?

When I look back at the photos posted the past couple years, all I see are smiles. Big bright smiles or tight-lipped smiles or Instagram smiles. They tell one side of the story, I guess, the elated, happy, energetic side. One side of the coin. I'm not ashamed of the side I haven't been posting about, but it's felt much too raw, too personal. There have been no clear paths in my mind, I've been running around in circles, getting lost, ending up on square one or even in where-the-fuck-am-I-ville. A lot of times has been spent crying in my car. I usually don't feel the need to capture those moments with a well-lit selfie, if you catch my drift.

I think I'll leave it here for now. For now. Now.
Baby steps, as it were.

So it goes.