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a thought chain

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Summary

this is a chain of thoughts written at 1:41 a.m. and published at 2:30 a.m.

Genre:
Poetry / Other
Author:
ktp
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
5.0
Age Rating:
13+

a thought chain

this is a chain of thoughts written at 1:41 a.m. and published at 2:30 a.m.

i'm tremoring, and i can't decide whether it's due to my anxiety medicine or my anxiety. sometimes i tremor when i feel too much too. it's a problem.

like once i was talking to a guy about some insignificant problem. i got real worked up. and he saw me trembling and assumed i was very upset or something, because he looked at me funny. then i had to explain everything. it was strange.

y'know what else is strange? my infatuation with drawing patterns. the repetitive motion. the swirls and loops, the lines and dashes. that's all i want to draw. it's peaceful. it's numbing.

i think a lot of my writing is based on patterns. patterns of language, patterns of people, patterns of life. it's too much to think about sometimes for me. it becomes overbearing. am i writing something new? am i simply rewriting something from the past? just with a slightly darker character or a more shallow cause?

i want to dye my hair. but by some extreme extrapolation or chain of thoughts, i feel this would be too revealing, too rebellious of me. for a long time, i've been the quiet, submissive girl. submissive to friends, significant others, parents, society's ideals. but i want dark hair. with pink or silver or some shit in the front. i'm getting real tired of covering myself up. to be honest, i'm fed the fuck up.

i'm juggling too many expectations, even if the bar is quote unquote "low." even if I don't need to be a millionaire, i need to be something. people tell me i need to be something. why? what is something? what if i don't want to be anything? what if the very definition of being something is so irrational, so wonky that those who feel they are something need to define themselves as such? for why? to make the nothings feel insignificant? if the somethings are something, what are the nothings?

what if i just want to be me? something, or nothing, or anything? and maybe me isn't a six-figure job or a college degree. and maybe me isn't an 18-year-old at their parents' house. and maybe me isn't straight. but i want to be me as in me. and to be honest, i have yet to figure out exactly what that means. all my life i've conformed to what is around me. i anxious-adapted, per se. i blent in. but now i want to shine, and how? who knows.

i really like the phrase "sensory overload." i strongly feel that so much of who i am - and who i am become - stems from sensory overload. i'm overloaded right now. in a dark, silent room. there is still too much. i need less.

if i don't have my routine, i'm overloaded. and if i'm not inebriated, there's no way i'm going to that party. sorry. i want to learn how to keep up, but i'm not sure i'm built to.

what am i built to do? sit here and write? sure. but i feel trapped in my body more often than not. from the short, slinky stature to the female me in a male-dominated world to the physical disabilities that literally define what i can or can't do, it just doesn't seem like i'm built to fit anywhere. i feel a lot like a sore thumb. or, i guess, a hitchhiker's thumb. i stick out. this combined with my lack of interest in literally anything? am i built to even exist?

something that makes me giggle is my music taste. it's pretty broad, i guess, but i feel like a lot of people wouldn't pin most of what i listen to on me. things have changed in the last years. i've changed, I think, and so has my music taste evidently. i also often wonder what my music says about me. is it too strong? too aggressive? is that me?

a small part of me hopes that by writing more, i will find myself. i will find purpose, somehow, by simply putting my personal thoughts up in public in some way, shape, or form. i sure hope so.

will people like my writing? does it matter if people like my writing? why does it matter that people like my writing? can't i just like my writing for me? no, because there is no monetary value for self-love and appreciation. therefore, what value? not here, at least. maybe I'll move to my own, little plot of land and make some new rules as far as self-love and appreciation go.

but ha! i certainly would not be able to be the president of my own land. who would i appoint to be said figure? i haven't a single clue. i'm not too certain as to what i value in public figures, so how could i choose one?

voting.

oh man. voting. please vote, i'm serious. but also, and i phrase it this way intentionally, take your best educated guess. i know, hefty advice coming from me (see: what am i built to do?), but for real. don't stress yourself out over the deep-rooted integral technicalities, despite how integral they may be. you can and certainly should acknowledge these technicalities, but ultimately, words are words. campaigns are campaigns. they are not a contract. they are not a dedication. so what if mrs. whozeewhatsits says one thing? what matters is whether or not that one thing is executed.

this also goes to say: don't beat yourself up over something bad happening after you voted for someone. how were you supposed to predict the poor outcome? it's not like poor outcomes were what you wanted when you elected that individual. you had no way of seeing into the future. let it go.

i have an assignment for my nonexistent philosophy class. the assignment is as follows: define the typical teenage experience. additionally, define the typical life experience. additionally, define living.

for the record, i've never been in a philosophy class before, but they truly seem interesting. id partake heavily, but i'm not too sure where an english and philosophy double major would get you. i keep being told that it won't get you very far. but this is me, i think.

i guess i, a subliminal nothing, am not going very far.

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