Somewhat About Me

August 2015

First, I really love writing.  I love the way words string together, and I find the art of it quite cathartic, but I honestly have no idea how to write about the chaos that is my life without sounding like a pretentious, ungrateful middle-class teenager.  I suppose, to some degree, that is exactly what I am, so here is a glimpse inside my mind.  I write about the concept of reality often, and that is because I struggle to understand its balance.  I figure reality can be narrowed down into three parallels: the outside looking in, the inside looking out, and memory.  The outside of reality looks at its own reflection, and then to others and asks, “Do you know who you are?  What will they think of you now? Do you know how you got here?” The inside looks up at the outside, always a few paces behind, and aimlessly shrugs her shoulders.  The inside of reality is perpetually a mess, striving to remain unbothered and focused while she nearly self-destructs.  She prays for chaos to leave her never, and she puts herself in misery looking for inspiration. Yes, I have characterized this aspect of reality as a female because everyone knows that females are infinitely more complicated.  Lastly, we have memories as souvenirs from the battle between the outside and inside.    Memories are tricky because they tell stories from our trauma, and they colorfully paint all of the places within us that we’ve chosen to repress into black and white.  They taunt us with their intangible yet definite existence.  The trouble I have with these three concepts is that I can never decide which reality I want to affect me and live vicariously through me.  I speak of this choice and then I remember that my very existence is controlled by a great and divine power, and I actually have no influence over what I look at from the inside, what looks at me from the outside, and what experiences alter my perception.  Anyways, being mentally so scattered all of the time is physically exhausting, so I will end with that.