Destroy What Destroys You

How it Ends.

Looking for things in all the wrong places. It’s my trademark, my MO, my worst laid plans. If I could look behind me, visually see where I’ve been and what I’ve done, what would I see? Charred black pieces of me, with etchings like burnt wood, a trail of regret and sorrow. A trail of failings. Some pieces resemble whole logs. Like pieces of driftwood that are so big, you wonder how the water had the power to push them so far up the beach. Pieces that are big enough for a whole family to perch upon, their feet burrowing in the sand to steady themselves. But despite the soaking of the water, the safety of the surf, when it comes time to light the bonfire on the beach, they burn all the same. In the end, they all burn.

Is that really learning? Is that what life has taught me? If so, then who’s fault is this? Am I supposed to blame myself, because ultimately I’m in control of my life? Or am I supposed to blame the people in charge of teaching me along the way? The ones who were there to point me in certain directions, promising me that it would always be true and right and okay if I just went that way.

Don’t we all just do the best we can? Even if they taught me to steer myself into masochistic circles, could it have been because they didn’t know how to do things any differently? In that case, there was no saving to be had. I was behind from the beginning. In my head I think: if I can figure out the source, retrace my steps and see where the misstep was made, then I can make it better. I can fix things and make up for lost time.

How am I 26 years old and having a full-blown, self-absorbed, wholly desolate, existential crisis? The Internet and our faux inter-connectedness and the forums, and the blogs, they don’t help me feel like I’m not alone or that this is normal for my generation. They make me feel more isolated and in my head than ever before.

I feel so fucking fatalistic. So cliche. And so tired all at once.

I don’t know if it’s the graduating, or the weariness of the last year finally setting in, but I feel restless and old. I feel like I’m missing something. I feel like I constantly have to be moving. Forward motion. Maybe that was my problem all along. Relentless movement. Perhaps stopping is whats in order. Why does it terrify me so much? Its as if I am afraid what will happen, what I will see, what I won’t, when the dust settles. If I’m being honest, I already see it all. I just don’t want anyone else to.

I feel trapped and free and so tired of thinking and technology, and looking backwards and straining to see forward. Being a human is really fucking hard. I think a lot of us scoff at that, and to them I say: you’re not paying attention. And to me they would say: you’re paying too MUCH.

I don’t know anymore.

I have spent almost all of my twenties in relationships. In school. In shitty part time jobs. Being broke. Being lazy. Being manic. Doing good things. Not saying enough ‘I love you’s ” and a few too many leaps. Making bad decisions (typically all at once in landslide formation). Crying a little too much and worrying way too little. Not drinking for a half a decade and hating myself for starting again. Analyzing the bad more than the good. Being co-dependent and then a little too independent. Proud. Dishonorable. Neglecting my writing. And then bulimically spilling my guts out into the universe with the bitterness stinging my throat and burning my eyes. And now here I am. With all of that behind me and what in front of me exactly? I don’t know whats next.

I am afraid Terrified.

The relationships are gone. The school is done. And now what?

I never thought when I finally got here: I’d be alone. I hate that I’m not strong enough to say its okay. Because it’s not. I miss being with someone. I feel like it’s not nearly as much of an accomplishment as I always wanted it to be without someone to celebrate and share it with.I wish the old me, the younger me, would have been paying more attention. I wish she would have been able to hear me now.

I don’t want to make any decisions for awhile. I feel an urge to get lost so maybe I can find something. It sounds like a bad line from a Plath novel. We all know it never works.

I hate being typical, and I fear that’s all I really will be. My honesty doesn’t come off as sexy, it just comes off as weak. But really, it just IS and the opinions and judgements are my real issue.

I always felt like I wouldn’t be here. I would pass through this phase and move on and it would be better. I’m so tired of carrying this mantle alone. I just want to hold someones hand and do it with them. The silence is oppressive and suffocating. And inside of it a voice is asking me: “What if this is it?” What if nothing I want ever comes true like I thought? What if in my rush to avoid settling…..I ironically end up settling? God is a real joker sometimes I guess.

I came to Detroit in a rush. I came here in awe. I came here broken down but I just didn’t know it yet. And now I want to leave.

So much of what I loved about this place has become too much. I’m trying to look at it and see it from a different perspective. I am trying to look at it like an adult. I’m not really even sure I am one yet. But I want to be. And the view from that side is a different Detroit. Even now, even in my misery of sorts, I am hopeful. I want children. And a husband. I want the trappings of life that most people here don’t want. For them—that’s fine. It’s not good nor bad. It’s just not for me. I don’t fit in here. Maybe I never did, I was just pretending. I don’t fit in and I don’t care to, to be honest. I love Detroit fiercely, but I’m not in love with it anymore.

And to everyone who says I can’t love this place if I don’t stay: I tell them to grow up. That mindset used to insult me, and now it’s just reeks of immature absolutism, which just turns me away further. Even deeper still, it hurts my feelings. I sacrificed and slaved, and loved this place just as much as they did, if not MORE. Moving away doesn’t wipe my experiences away and negate them. It’s so difficult to put into words how I feel about this place.

So in the meantime, I write in my journal and maybe I will get better at doing it online too. I run away with my Best Friend and hope for better days. I will keep on living, and breathing, and struggling and somehow: hoping. Even in dark nights when I want to run away, I will stay. I will try. Maybe one day I will really believe the only truth there really is and be okay with it: change is the only thing we can ever know for sure.