Phoenix is detox, Sigur Rós is existential, and both are authentic beyond the expanding borders of the universe. I think they are my food and water.
I didn’t event realize until recently, but I have slowly become my own therapist. I started complaining and ranting to myself, because dumping my paranoia onto others didn’t feel right. To a point, self-complaining was great, amusing, and even funny- but only to a point. So I stopped, because it didn’t feel right.
Don’t get me wrong, I get stressed, I feel overwhelmed, I think things are unfair, I get mad or sad or dull. I still get swamped and sometimes it feels like the light at the end of the tunnel is an artificial one that’s running out of batteries. And then I complain. But the difference from before is, it’s a lot more muted, and it’s fleeting. It’s like I’m treating myself as I realize I have a problem, or soon after.
…which explains why I’ve been scratching my head about the fact that I rarely seek friends for help: most of the time, it’s for trivial things when considered in the long run, and in those cases I don’t need it. When I’m totally booked and papers are flying and my grades are playing cruel tricks on me, there’s nothing anyone else can do for me other than sympathize for a bit— I have to take the reigns. That being said, when I truly have difficulty larger than what I usually experience— that’s when I seek others for advice and aid, friends, family, external help. And that happens, too.
I still have a long road ahead of me, and so much more room to improve myself, but I’ve grown so much more than I ever realized.
Complaining drains you. A drop is normal, a spritz of ranting is perfectly healthy, but never get teaspoons mixed up with tablespoons.
Complaining is the only way some people know how to communicate; it’s what they feed off of, it’s how they grow. But oh god, it drains the life out of me.
I’m going to my mind palace.
Later when I get better at this, I’ll make more mind palaces.
And right now I probably sound mad, but this is brilliant.