Strange – A Review (of myself)

**Fair warning.**

This blog is strange.

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Hey. Can we have a real conversation?

You know, one of those talks you have at 3am with your best friend. One of those talks you have with your mom after you think you’ve failed a test. One of those talks you have with some random stranger because they’re there.

Last night, I was kept up by a singular thought. It ate at me and ate at me, I was trapped.

See, there’s power in choice, decision, action.

And so, I was thinking about that last night, and I was thinking about the decisions I’ve made. And the things I’m afraid of. And the things that have been done to me, not by choice, but by chance.

So, last night I was obsessing over the problem of leaving. The problem of saying goodbye. The problem of ending something.

I’m not in the market to lose anyone. And I’m not in the market to hold onto to anyone who needs to go. But I am in the market to rip this diseased tissue from my heart. To finally exhume the coffins of last year, the year before, and so on.

But for whatever reason, last night, in all my obsessing, I came to the realization that I was the one who left.

I don’t think I ran away. I’ve been on the other end, and I certainly didn’t see myself leaving like that. I want that to be clear. I just think it’s ironic that, for so long, I’ve wished I could say goodbye to all those shadowed memories, long since covered in rose petals, playing cards, and crumpled napkins, but instead of saying goodbye to what was in my head, I said goodbye to what was really there.

Did I have to? No.

I should always remember that it was a choice. If I forget, remind me, won’t you?

But did they have to? I’m not sure. Take it up with whatever God you do or don’t believe in. Whoever is first can ask.

I don’t know why I can’t ever seem to find closure. I think I’m there, and then it’s gone. I think it’s in my hands, I think I’m breathing it in. But when I finally have it? I realize I’ve been chasing my tail this whole time. That there, in my hands, and there, in my lungs, is nothing except the already abundant nothingness that was there before.

These thoughts rob me. They take and they take, and they never give.

I’ve gotten used to it, I just hand the burglar my belongings, tell them farewell, and hope they have a safe drive home.

What I’ve just described to you is the beginning of a negative feedback loop. The start to a cycle of depression that begins with a single thought.

This blog is heavier than I wanted to be today. But I’ve been burdened with a fog and I just needed to share. Please, don’t carry any of this with you. I want you to know that I’m doing well. That this was yesterday’s problem. There might be a new one tomorrow, sure. But there probably won’t be. That’s called hope.

Also, while we’re talking. Have you ever thought about how intoxicating open water is? There’s something about the still, yet shifting waves of a river, a lake, or the ocean that really just pulls me in. I suppose that’s the invisible tide churning below the surface. Its hands reaching far from the banks and deep into the pockets of my own mind. I just can’t tell if it puts me at ease or makes me sick.

I guess that’s what I get for looking at the East river from my train’s window.

Alllllriiiight. Well. Dang. This wasn’t what this blog was supposed to be about at all.

Sometimes, you just gotta write, I suppose.

Take care, and have a great rest of your week!