Confront Yourself.

I have always been off-kilter. Offbeat. Unorthodox. Unconventional. To presently add a cherry on top, I have been hiding. I have been hiding away and completely isolating myself at a location that I am not presently interested in sharing for over one month in between my travels. I have been here before. I have a bed. My Macbook is with me, along with a couple articles of clothing. I have not shared my location with a single soul other than my family. The greater psychological depth and complexity of my self-analysis journeys have led me here. I wake up in the morning with the furthest from a kick-ass attitude buzzing with ideas and inspiration; cerebral hyperactivity has no mercy. I have been laboriously diving into the mental turbulence that I have self-inflicted deep into my skull that is maliciously choking the life out of the nucleus of my being. Presently, I am not a nice person. In fact, I am mean. I am a cold, mean and selfish bitch, which is more of a curse and affliction, rather than a gift.

I am eternally a paradox of inconceivable chaos. I recognize my own ambivalence. The state of inner commotion and chaos that emanates from overstimulation has left me wandering in search of remnants of frivolity in a desert of lucidity. From the outside looking in, my world is beaming with magic. I am the human being flooding your Instagram feed with photography of exotic locations, luxury resorts, an airplane emoji and philosophical quotes written by me. Yet, escaping my inner world through attending the afterparty of an event, hanging out with so-called rockstars, or observing behaviors of other human beings with the accessibility of bottle service at the club or conventional artificial havens that attempt to fill the void inflicts hostility within me and no offense, puts me at the level of stupor and swoon of those around me. My little pillow fort, my hermit coma, inactivity, hibernation and simply breathing; that is what intrigues me. For as long as I can recall, I have retreated to the fantasy worlds that I create in my mind. As a child, I played games where the kitchen would morph into a magically enchanted forest. My backyard wasn’t simply a yard, it was a sailboat. It is imperative to my wellbeing to get in touch with the questions that buzz away, churn and smolder in my mind. There are days where I want to succumb and creatively wither away into a dark reservoir of excruciating pain and a cornucopia of mysterious open wounds. However, there are days and beautiful encounters of inner peace, light, expansiveness and gentleness. And I can earnestly state that I cannot recall a day in which I have encountered the latter in months.

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Burning akin to a blustery, blazing fire rather than a slow, glowing ember has infringed upon the marrow of my bones. Soaring will always be ingrained into the core of who I am, but I am presently gathering twigs, decompressing and building a steady place to land. I crave creating a mindset that has toned down to such degree that the ants marching below my composed feet become the spectacle of the moment that I engross in. I presently perceive that my nagging psychological desire for constant stimulation is serving as escapism leading to an elaborate daydream constructed as a distraction. I have put an excess of mileage on my heart, mind, body, and soul. I am creating and craving a superabundance of space to listen to the truth that beats inside of my chest and internally integrate the billions of moments, experiences, thoughts, and connections that have changed my life. I am fucking numb to life’s sharpest arrows; I want to feel again. It’s time to dive into my alarmingly aching core, forget the ego and solemnly stand in the fire. I have to get back in touch with my heart.

I want to and will live a quiet life. I have built an inexorable supply of inner ammunition with unnerving grit as my gun. I fucking miss being perplexed by questions sprouting from sacred communion with the intimate truths residing in the gut of my inner life. I rest in the echo of neglect and stare into dirty speckles on the mirror from a self-absorbed place as a defense mechanism which allows my negative ego run ahead of me and self-fulfilling prophecies sabotage building a healthier, supportive colony. I stumble and swoon as I reach for a faraway moon within an uncharted inner galaxy from a state of rhapsody. I am ready to confront my demons. I am ready to add salt to my self-inflicted wounds to investigate buried clues and get further in tune while sanding out the grooves. I am ready to slow the fuck down and connect with my shadow self to integrate grains of raw truth taking root from deep within my core.

Here goes nothing. Literally.

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