October 22nd 2020 Thursday 5:55am

Got that angel number today. Maybe it means something. Maybe it is time to present my ideas to a larger audience. More that the ideas, the way in which I explain the things is what really matters and what I am generally fearful of. I act as if I have to take a writing class or be validated by some authority first before I can post something showing vulnerability that would actually be critiqued. Isn’t that kind of what I want though? Some kind of crowd sourced editor. Posting over two months worth of content is really great, the commitment to the practice is admirable. Yet there is still a sense of not doing enough, even less detrimental a sense that I can do more, and if I can then I should. Should, could, would, will I really though? Or am I going to continue only writing to myself from altering perspectives that always become meta over analyzations of writing patterns about over analyzations of behaviors. It’s readable enough, I guess. The absolute lack of pride in any area that may be considered artistic is based upon more shit story. I had a thought this morning about seventh grade art class. I barely remember the circumstances except I thought the teacher was mean and I never got a really meaningful piece of art back. I also didn’t make it a big deal to get it back either. That was a defining year in my childhood. I strayed away from artistic endeavors and began to ride bmx bikes more often. Not only did my world shift, the whole world changed that year. I always marked that year as a turning point, I abandoned art, started riding bikes, and gave up on school work. I never really thought about how the twin towers falling could have affected me through the collective since personally it seemingly didn’t alter my ways of being directly. It really wasn’t until 2008 or so when I saw loose change and the seeds of skepticism were planted. Seeds that have gown into a full blown belief system based in making sense of nonsense, and making nonsense of sense. Regardless of all the wacky presumptions about conspiracies that year was a turning point not only for me but for everyone. I want to pinpoint some exact instance where the shift occurred, but it probably wasn’t just one thing. Fuck, I just wrote and erased several sentences and I want to proceed so I figured I would write about the process I am seemingly having trouble with. I feel like I would do better at bullet pointing the reasons why seventh grade was so meaningful. Also I don’t want to make it seem like one thing was more important than the other. So there was 911, riding bikes more often, the art class, general social anxiety due to not really fitting in to any sports or academics in school, and a specific moment when I got a C on an English paper and my dad was not thrilled about which seemed to be when I stopped caring about schoolwork, writing, and general confidence in my abilities. All kinds of shit seems to stem from that moment. I feel like I was crying out for the things I needed and wanted, but I was scolded for not already having them or figuring it out on my own. That is where so much of my story stems from, some meaning wrapped up in wanting and needing things, not getting the things, even at times being scolded for wanting and needed and then the result is me shutting down, freezing, with holding, and becoming spiteful about the whole situation. I want to cry about it, I want to feel bad for myself, I want to wreck my life and destroy everything to get back at those that I feel have been wronged by, but in the end it’s just me, alone with my misery and sorrow still wondering what the fuck happened and how the fuck do I nurture, love, and care for that hurt inner child that just wants to feel like they matter. It feels hopeless, but that doesn’t mean its true. Just because you have a shit story that you tend to believe and act in accordance with doesn’t negate all the other awesome things you have accomplished. Focusing in on one hard time that seemed to define you when faced with certain obstacles can seem hopeless, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of generating love for yourself ongoingly in spite of the apparent bad times. You are so good at withholding in spite of how you felt you were wronged, maybe that energy can get shifted to withholding the belief that who and how you were has to define who and how you are being now. Withholding how much you let the stories define you out of love and compassion rather than holding on to a dead frozen moment that for sure ain’t necessarily so. 835

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