Articulating on The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I’m a cerebral type. Finding relief in journaling around sunrise, the world around me groggily waking up as the sounds of automobiles crank up, car alarms blare, people driving by in haste or lackadaisically. Coffee and light blue American Spirits cigs my companions. I root through the incessant worries that plague me. I’m manic depressive with addiction issues. Sometimes moving at a snail’s pace in circles it appears. But there’s a human behind my façade. Witnessing everything with curiosity now (not judgement or intolerance, though sometimes it can’t be helped). Hard to fathom my first attempt was at 24. I am 40 now. Living modestly with my two rescued cats during the height of the pandemic. I still crave forgiveness and yet through relationships with others is where the mirror is put right in front of me. I see me as inherently human, lovable and instilled with the life force that keeps me here and I need not perform to be loved, just existing is enough. I feel dotting my journal is a man self-actualizing. Realizing maybe there’s more to life than goal tracking. Making days count matter. Not being a hermit or not spending all day on Twitter doom scrolling. But I love creature comforts and exploring my city. I was denied a first date because her ex was also bipolar. Battling injustices or micro-aggressions are what I do best. Try to challenge the status quo. I didn’t let it hurt me she denied me, but I’m an emotional creature and not impervious to pain.

I’m not in writer’s block but maybe writing prompts can help jolt me to write about different aspects of my journey. I don’t want to relive my 30’s or 20’s. There are dramatic scenes of existential dread I deny myself the luxury to dwell in anymore. Letting go while allowing myself to feel less anxious and LIVE and maybe even thrive without overthinking stuff would be nice. And that’s why I put pen to paper to give myself the space to.