Out of Touch

01

jan 01, 2021—
journal entry

I've made it a point to start a new journal at the beginning of every year. Not that I'm the type to write a lot but, over the years theres been a build up. Shit happens, you suffer through it, then here comes the next train boarding passengers for a nice and warm trip back to hell. Choo Choo mother fuckers!

People really think you can somehow forget and make new meaningless resolutions because it's a "New Year?", pathetic.

It's all bullshit to be honest.

But I suppose we'll see what happens, right?

Maybe I can gift this to the person I marry and call this a quick quid pro quo. I'll have a present to give and they'll be able to read through all my trauma, bad sex experiences, and moments I wish I could hold on to longer. How fun.

. . .

This is really dumb isn't it?

I dont write. My emotions are just trapped in an endless void, all mixing together giving off a visual of bright purple and red while all my demons and poor life decisions mesh together. Creating some sort of fucking monster that'll eat me alive till I lay in my death bed wishing I could of yanked it out through my throat.

There are days where I lay in bed feeling as if it's the end. Like all of my past is trying to seep out of my ears but my subconscious won't let it. I wonder everyday why I have that feeling in my chest and on my shoulders. The one that's almost suffocating? The feeling that makes you want to cry and rip your hair out but also stay completely still as if scared to plummet into that EXACT void. I'm paranoid it's some sort of set-up.

I'm always tense. My heart always feels heavy and I feel my pulse in my pillows. The one coming from the main artery in my neck.

You know what's funny? I never knew what that noise was. I would hear a light thump in my head bellow my ears and wonder if there was a huge bug in my pillow. I would smack it a few times and fix my position but that thump remained.

Then I realized it was my heartbeat. Something that signifies I was still alive. Breathing, blood pumping and that flowing warmth radiating off my body. My stupid heart acts as if there aren't 20 stones trying to topple onto it like a team of football players. Those heavy ass quarterbacks really want it to pop like some ugly pimple. Who knows, maybe my mind and body are stronger than I think huh?

Cant believe I just imaged little football players crawling through my rib cages trying to deflate my organs.

Whatever.

Where will this stupid journal lead us? Not a fucking clue.

Part of me so badly wants to just chuck this journal out of the fucking window and light it on fire with a blow torch till it becomes nothing but dust. Fried like a failed s'more.

And the other part?

Fuck.

The other part of me wants to make myself vulnerable within these lines. For someone to read my thoughts, witness my worst. For all my emotions to be locked in someone else's mind to the point where they can recognize them coming out of my mouth. Swallow the key and become sensitive to all my triggers, lather themselves in everything I am so we become.. connected.

Almost like my soul is inside them, picking at their ear like some sort of insect they can't get rid of. Like the one in my pillowcase, you know?

Right never mind, that sounds repulsive.

On an ending note, whoever you are reading this.. we might not see each other now but maybe someday we can end up in the same story together.

What do you think?

:)

Cheers to 2021.
— unknown