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Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying

Jan. 12th, 2018 | 07:41 pm

Sitting in an airport bar after a rough morning slash week slash month slash year... Heart racing, arms shaking, sweat dripping... Double fisting water... Keep 'em coming...

A song I haven't heard in ages floats through the air and makes me laugh to myself. I do need to get away from here. I am dying.

The urge to flee has always been strong in me. Now more than ever. I wrestle everyday with what's safe and what feels right. They are at odds.

When I was younger I didn't even consider safety. I chased what felt right and was held by nothing. I've gotten old. I've gotten comfortable... with routines that make me uncomfortable... with those golden shackles tight around my neck and wrists. The way they squeeze makes me feel like I can't breathe. Makes me feel like I'm going to collapse. But I keep breathing, I keep pulling; trying to escape, while daring them to grip me tighter.

We're doing this for the future, right? So we don't have to work until we die? So we can go where we want and do what we want. So our future is bright and we can lay around on beaches with margaritas in hand. So we don't have to worry.

What if I told you that what eats at me the most - what keeps me up at night and makes me want to scream, laugh, sob, and jump for joy simultaneously - is that there is no future? It worries me to know it would worry you. I keep those thoughts to myself. Not pushed to the back, lately they're front & center. But I keep them safely to myself because I know once I speak them, give them life, I'll have to chase what feels right.

And nothing does.

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out with the old, in with the new

Jan. 1st, 2005 | 03:59 pm
mood: optimisticoptimistic
music: the stills

it's the perfect time to cut old ties and leave the past behind.

this journal is friends only.

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