I am lost. Not like totally lost, lost, but lost nevertheless. A theme of my life it seems, though I certainly am not getting nowhere younger. Just more solid around the edges I suppose. In a couple of months I have a flight…for a “new life” with a “partner” but that really is daunting actually. Because with the apartment search there is still no real “place” to move to, nor is it actually “new” because well yeah because again it’s again Berlin. Truth be told though…this is my last time to “live” there. I don’t summon that my life’s timeline is endless in these attempts and well at times one must accept one’s growth and keep it moving. My mega illusions,innocence, and blind trust have faded circa last summer anyways so now I’m more of a sober version of a recovering me. At last, that at least is good.
I cry. A lot. I cry a lot, and sometimes, daily. Well today I didn’t cry yet. Mental anxiety is a real foe I tell ya. It’s a real culprit and an
In a different life. In the one where I could have made the choice and had the inner strength to hold on to something I would marry myself with music. But my timeline is seemingly fading. Some freedoms are calling me to face that well…it’s not always magical after all. I thought I mutated into sorrow a version that I don’t know of me, some foreign object. But I understand now that I must honor me in all forms. And even in the one that has been affected and a result an ONGOING progress of a sum of everything. A whole whopping 30 years full of story lines.
Speaking of which an accumulation of my shit through this timeline has to be shed. Because well, if Berlin is not working out I still ain’t coming back to the folks house. We have also reached an end in my soul and parting ways is the healthiest for everyone to be honest. No animosity, nothing crippling at least but consequential of seeds you plant in relationships with your children do catch up with you. Because, well, they grow up and turn into “adults” someday. My adulthood has been knocking for 10+ years now and well, it certainly has settled itself in house already and I must let it all just soak in. But like on a 24 hours a day basis.
I’m shaving my hair btw. Amazon promises a Thursday delivery date. I’m taking the clippers to my head then in a few days it seems.
It was so hard. So, so, so hard. When I look at old pictures of me then in Ghana, especially with Kiska. I feel how hard it was. How do you ever go back to being “you” when “you” pushed your boundaries and “your known to yourself, self” to parts “you” knew nothing about? I mean I pushed and pushed, until I did’t know what was pushing and for what. So a year + a lifetime of post recovery is not surprising after all.
Aight ya’ll let me go live my life a bit.