I am not who people think I am.
I am not who I think I am.
I don’t think I ever was the person I’ve thought myself to be.
So who am I?

I ponder these things a lot lately, as I sit staring at this blank screen and wrack my brain for things to write about. It has become so hard to write anything here. Every night I sit down and try to find a way to start, but I can’t. I just end up going to LJ and tossing a stupid entry in there and make myself satisfied with that. Because I am lost. Because I don’t know who I am. Because this is the only safe and honest place I have and I don’t want to face honesty right now.

Thing is, I am on pins and needles…on the edge…blurred. Anything that describes agitated disorientation is what I am. It’s not even the usual things…the job, the Queen, the sporadic and chaotic love life…no…though these have been issues lately, they are not what’s gotten me in such a tizzy.

It’s the end of another year.
It’s the approaching of my thirtieth birthday.
In a year and two months I will be thirty.
Fuck…where has the time gone?
Where has my life gone?

They’re not even depressing…the thoughts clamoring in my brain…they’re more…enigmatic than depressing. When I was 15, I thought I would be a mom struggling with 2 jobs, writing mediocre poetry that only I love and understand, and juggling an asshole boyfriend at this age. And that’s what gives me pause. That was my vision of my life. At 15, even my dream life was in fucking disarray. The only real accomplishment that I figured I would achieve is getting my degree. And that’s for shit, now. I only care about that when it rains, and even then, only when it’s kamikazi rain. I didn’t finish college. According to records, I never started. I have to pay the bill for a dream that never was.

I think of all the possibilities and mistakes and all I feel is…muted. Like someone turned my sound down and lost the remote and all I spend my time doing is looking for the remote instead of just screaming until I’m heard. I think that’s all I need to do. Scream…and live. Stop looking for love, stop regretting the past, stop wallowing in despair…I just want to stop, scream, and live.

Even after saying that, you know what my dream life is to have when thirty rolls in? I just want to have a job, a nice place to live, some cash in the bank, and the ability to still daydream with the best of them. Not exactly screaming, but surviving…and hopefully somewhere in there I’ll be living.

So why is it so hard to find the words to write here every night? Because that little bit I just wrote now has my mind swimming with the thousands of things I can’t bear to formulate into complete thoughts. This isn’t the whole truth because I don’t know the whole truth. This isn’t sadness or anger or resentment…it’s just my life…muted…while I sit still in the silence and try to find who I really am