I enjoy the stillness of the night. One day, I believe I might sail across the ocean. I’m afraid to, but all the more reason to do something. Overcoming fear is not just about courage, it is about understanding that the revelations one will discern from escaping comfortably are more valuable than never unveiling them. I’m scared every day of everything. It’s healthy. What is scariest is nothing. By doing nothing we cease to be anything. I want to do a lot of things in life. So many, I doubt I will get to share them with anyone. I wrote out a few memories I shared with someone important to me during yesterday’s “arts and crafts” hour. It was therapeutic, but it also reminded me of the compensation one makes in love. I love to do it if the person loves me for it. I think people often want, expect, desire, and believe in too many things. Moderation in all things, even moderation – Oscar Wilde. Believe me, I was done about an hour ago, but I thought why not be naughty and write my little heart out past midnight (when the good demons come out). I’m so used to routine it is killing me.
Write. Run. No more Fun.
I would know. I am averaging too many words a day. I can’t stop writing. Even when I don’t feel like it, I know I will do it. It is worse than an addiction. It’s a prescription that if I don’t oblige I will go insane. Similar to love. I miss my old best friends. The first ones I ever made before I knew what friendship (or love) was. Those are the people I accept most. Why do people have to die, so I can live in paradise? And why must the paradise of youth always come to an end? It is a question I am facing for the first time in my life unlike anything I’ve ever overcome. I hate questions because it’s always about the answer, never left open-ended. I’m so ready to betray myself. I would happily be unhappy, but that is what is so hard. I am trying, so hard, to do the thing I love, even if I hate it. I rush things out, like a breast pump that will surely dry up. I wonder if most people feel as uncomfortable as I do every night before I try to go to bed. I couldn’t sleep I was so excited (for what I am to write, but day comes and I push it off like nothing). I blame a lot of things. Nicotine withdrawal is going strong so I can live a long life of misery. Just the scent makes my blood boil with mania, but it’s good for me. Shows how far I’ve come. Not yet, better than a hundred days, but I’m on my way. My blood circulation is overwhelming -in my brain and my jubblies. It is like a car waiting to come home, the drive is more important. Especially when you get home all alone.
Ben Bonkoske 