Bad and Boujee (I was listening to trap music when I was writing this post, I know it’s spelt bougié grammar nazi)

You know you’re fucked when you start googling “How to keep up witty text conversations with your crush.” It shouldn’t be that hard, right? But I’m jumping the gun, digressing even before I start. Pushing away the more serious thoughts that send a sharp pain shooting through my brain whenever I begin to think of them.

My life is fucked up. Well that’s a bit too dramatic. I think I’m trying to say I’m fucked up inside. Irrevocably, irreversibly. There is something that shattered within me and the glue I used to put back the pieces have created an alien form that does not go with who or what I am. I feel it every day, like misplaced ichor floating on top of the real thing. Like oil floating on water. Jesus. Fuck. I can’t even begin to say what’s going on because I literally cannot put the events into words and I am woefully inarticulate when it comes to my emotions.

Why is it that I am most creative when I am in a state of angst? I used to ask myself this during my particularly low days then I discovered that I am a master at making my pain disappear through overwhelming myself with creative activity. This round though, it’s not enough. The cracks aren’t sealing up, they’re creaking and groaning under the weight of unacknowledged thoughts and repressed emotions.

This post is going to be a series of disconnected thoughts that try to illuminate my general thought process. Fuck making sense. 2016 hasn’t been my year. No. Not at all. I’d like to say it fucked me in the asshole without lube but that would be an understatement. Okay, the cursor has blinking at me for the past 10 minutes. My sister is snoring behind me. I get irritated by snoring, I am a very light sleeper, but even when I am awake it’ll grind my gears. Anyway. I am bereft of words to express the emotional anguish I am undergoing. The only person who got close to understanding is no longer in my life. My doing of course; because I’m that human. No but seriously, how do you become strangers with someone who’s seen your soul? One day at a time. You unravel the points of contact that had both of you intertwined so tightly that it felt like your pulse was one. Then one day you wake up and realise that the barrier that hides who you truly are from other people is back up between you two.

I was in a long term relationship, three years almost. It was a relationship that made me grow immensely, in ways that I could not imagine; especially emotionally. As I said, I am not good with emotions, mainly because of the way I was raised *insert sad childhood story here* One thing I discovered very early on in my childhood is that I am very sensitive. Very very sensitive. I feel too much, to the point it consumes my entire being and manifests physically. Now being that person and the way I was raised messed up my emotional IQ. I quickly had to learn how to “hide” my soft underbelly. It got easier as the years went by but I did not realise the damage I was doing till it was too late. Wait, what’s the point of this sob story about my emotional ineptitude? No, it’s not to whine about my life changing breakup, (really, it’s not) I think I’m trying to work through my convoluted thought process. And why my chest hurts and why there’s a lump in my throat. I think it’s because my method of dealing with hurtful events changed from crying to burying stuff deep down and letting it out in increments till gradually over time it stopped hurting. This time I guess I have to increase the size of the increments because it’s fucking choking me. Culpability, what-ifs, reconsiderations, bitterness, feeling like an idiot, betrayal, misplaced accountability and a plethora of negative emotions are swirling around like a fetid cloud. I need emotional Febreze©. I can feel myself making wrong decisions on purpose because of this and I’m reveling in it.

I deal with everything alone. Alone. It has never been lonely because I have me. It was easier though, even if a fraction of the problem was shared. It felt…human, connected. But now inner me wants a vacation. At the wrong time. Where will I disappear to? What’ll be on the other side? This ambiguous style of expression is soothing and vexing at the same time. I want to say it all, scream it all, rend it from my skin, exhale it on my breath, sweat it from my pores but it’s stuck inside. Stuck. Fucking STUCK. It is everything. It is nothing. It is the beginning. It is the end. It is indeterminate.

I am afraid. I am afraid I will never be able to BE as other people are. I am afraid no one will ever understand why I am the way I am fully. I am afraid all of this is in vain. I am also unsure as to what I have expressed but I am due for a life crisis, 25 has to manifest in some sort of way. Do you exist to live or live to exist?

On a lighter note:  (Bad and Boujee – Migos ft Lil Uzi Vert)
“Raindrops, drop tops (drop top)
Smokin’ on cookie in the hotbox (cookie)
Fuckin’ on your bitch she a thot, thot, thot (thot)
Cookin’ up dope in the crockpot, (pot)
We came from nothin’ to somethin’ nigga (hey)
I don’t trust nobody with the trigger (nobody)
Call up the gang, they come and get you (gang)
Cry me a river, give you a tissue (hey)
My bitch is bad and boujee (bad)
Cookin’ up dope with an Uzi (blaow)
My niggas is savage, ruthless (savage)
We got 30’s and 100 rounds too (grrah)”

Judge me harshly 😏

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