How did I get here?
And what am I doing?
How did this happen?
And who decided to trust me?
What do other people see in me that I don’t?
And how do I keep ending up with responsibility?
What is it within me that keeps on going?
And how do I thrive on a lack of sleep and a night filled with seemingly impossible dreams?
Who said that I can’t do this?
And why did I ever think that I never deserved recognition?
How can I continue on in life and not demand the attention I deserve?
And can I really be proud of anything I don’t set my mind to?
Who said this kind of life was not possible?
And who said that dreams don’t come true?
The dreams I dream are achievable,
And the life I want to live is within my reach.
The feeling of achievement is not foreign to me,
But the joy of celebration is something I rarely allow myself to feel.
Because I know I can always do better,
And I know I can always do more,
I know I draw my own limits in life,
And I feel the pressure of my ability to dream exponentially.
I know this life holds experience I am unaware of,
And I know that there will always be a will for me to carry on,
Because I can’t imagine life without the chase,
And I don’t know where I would be without my dreams,
That keep my feet moving and keep my brain churning,
And the fire within me forever burning,
And the mind within me forever yearning,
For the life that I breath into myself.
How can I not continue on?
And how can I not accept this opportunity?
What is a life without challenge?
And who said that dreams were reserved for fairy tales and children?
How can I not embrace this wonderful change?
And how can I not celebrate the person I know me to be?
I don’t know what I am writing about any more and I have no idea what direction I am headed in. The two appear to go hand in hand. Once I lose track of my inner compass than all hope is lost for what I project and create in the world I function in. My college best friend visiting helped remind me of where I came from, but after three days of talking, I still don’t know what direction I am truly headed in. We discussed our dreams and the possibilities and have plans for years down the road, but I still don’t know what I will be doing tomorrow. I know eventually where I want to end up, but finding the next step to take seems impossibly overwhelming, so instead I stepped back into the bottle this weekend — and the worst part was that it felt good. Nostalgia made me want to become the person I used to identify myself as, the one who could drink half a bottle of Jameson and rally the troops for a good old fashioned dance party. I loved being that person in costume again who was the life of the party and attracted all male eyes in the room. I miss dancing on tables and meeting new people every night. I wish I had money to carelessly spend from a job that I couldn’t care less about. I want to be healthy, but a larger part of me wants the easy way out and to not allow fun to pass me by in life. I am young and reckless still and I have the luxury of being able to afford it now. I know it won’t last for long, and that one day I will look up from a bottle and wonder yet again where all of the time has gone and crave for it to be returned to me versus forgotten in the dark corner of a bar. I want to strike a balance but I have always been into indulging extremes. I love and hate that person I was known as in college, and I can’t stop talking about her. I love telling her stories and reminiscing on the audacious things she said. I wish I could reunite with her over something besides a bottle of whiskey but that seems to be the only thing that draws her out. I know I am past the point of no longer caring about my body, but it is so easy to forget that over the course of a drunken weekend. I have dreams that I don’t want to discuss when intoxicated and those dreams start to slip away the longer I slip into oblivion. I start to second guess myself with every decision to sip on a bottle, but grow more confident in my decision to not care the longer I do it. I see how addiction can run deep, yet I want to continue testing the water. I wake up knowing nothing more than that I am hungover and I am satisfied with that. I am fine with a reality that I live one day at a time, until it has happened too many days in a row — until the haze has began to overtake reality and I am lost in a fog that never seems to clear. I am terrified of and love drinking, and I hit my biggest highs and lows in moments when I have a bottle of Jameson in my hand. I brag about my practice of self-hate as if it is a badge to wear in my twenties in order to distract others from the fact that there are bigger dreams I am not accomplishing. I pretend that finishing a bottle of whiskey is my biggest life goal for the evening, and I fully commit to my purpose. Dreams no longer exist in the face of drunken stupor and it lulls my mind into peace versus aggravating it the way I do when I am sober. It used to numb the pain but now I know that it is only deepening the wound and I can’t seem to care about the consequences. What has happened to me? Or has this always been happening? I want to cry and drink and hide from myself in the face of others. I want to pretend like I don’t have issues and that every day is a happy go lucky experience. I think that if I can fool others than maybe I can also fool myself. I know these things aren’t true, but it has never stopped me from trying. I want to speak the truth and never know what it is all at the same time. I try too hard to hide my struggle from others when I should be facing it with their support. I have the kind of friends who will support me through anything, yet I do not allow them to. I want to wallow. I want to struggle. And I want to always remember that I am not perfect and I never will be. I want to only invite love into my life, but I want to hate myself while doing it. I want to be a pillar of support for others but I want to crumble when it comes to facing my own challenges. I want to be everything any man ever dreamed of, and never give myself the chance to be happy with anyone. I know I deserve better in life, but there is a part of me that never wants to obtain it. I want to spite myself in spite of others and say that I meant to do it all along — because there is a part of me that does mean to do it. I don’t know why it exists no matter how much I have tried to stomp it out or understand its existence. I wish I could wake up a better person, but I never see any amount of change when I look at myself in the mirror in the morning. I applaud and tear down myself all in one fell swoop of a glance, and am left to move on with my day in a state of confusion with no clear purpose. What is wrong with me? And why do I always have to ask that question? Why can’t I be happy with reality and move the fuck on with my life? Why do I always have to dream?