To write is to fear words

A year ago I would have told you that I've been searching for inspiration, looking for that next whirlwind to throw me into something overwhelmingly expressive; yet I never would have imagined that what I would encounter less than a week ago, was that thing.

I've been trying to be strong by attempting to drown myself in daily comic relief and by keeping my life moving forward. Yet here I am again at fucking four o' clock in the morning deeply in thought as I realize that the momentum I've been pushing through with is all because you've lost your life, and I feel it's only right that I push forward with mine, if only for the sake of allowing the memory of you to breathe since your lungs have ceased to do so.

What you're reading now isn't even close to what I've scared myself from writing down. It doesn't even hold a candle as a vigil. I don't know when I'll be comfortable to share it yet I know something musically is going to follow and I have no choice in that matter if I plan on moving forward.

There's something about the subconscious...

There's something about the inner desires of a person when something tragic happens...

There's something about expression that can nearly scare you to death when it comes from such a deep, recessed and dark place.

I'm only remaining vague because of the sentiment and fragile nature of the matter, out of deep respect and love, and I pray that everything works out okay.

You will always be in my thoughts and your memory will live on forever through your loved ones and I'm so sorry that there was nothing more that I could do.

I don't want this to haunt me, so writing about it is all I can do...

Life /līf/ (noun) - a perpetual disaster

Is life only worth living once you've made poor choices to learn from?

There's moments in time where you face what seems to be a never ending montage of unfortunate events, and lately that's been the driving force in my day to day.

Less than ten days ago I was feeling on top of the world for the first time in years. I was happily cruising through my day to day and doing what made me feel good whenever I wanted and what made me feel alive whenever I needed it.

"Just go with it."

That was my mantra over the past 6 weeks.

"Just go with it."

It's still haunting me. 

I'm dealing with an inner battle daily just to keep it going, because it's the only thing that seems to make sense anymore. 

I got my ass handed to me again, this time even worse than before; yet in a different place, at a different time, under different circumstances. I turned my own life upside down because I felt I could get away with anything, that I could do anything, be anything, become anything, and live like nothing else matters. 

The struggle that is facing me is keeping that attitude going when everything I know gets stripped from me. 

I've been catapulted out of my comfort zone and in my darkest hours on no sleep for 3 straight days I made poor choices in trying to handle moving on. Lack of sleep breeds lack of judgement, and lack of judgement breeds preying on those who've been trying to help you out to the point where you don't realize you're putting strain and stress on the ones you care about who are trying to care for you back, be there for you, and do what they can for you.

It's been awkward. 

An awkward month reduced to an awkward week reduced to an awkward day and an awkward series of moments within that day. With each reduction it seemed to be getting better and better but it was just an avalanche of awkwardness snowballing into itself until it got so big it rolled off the edge and exploded into nothing but debris and powder.

Do we sometimes mistake awkwardness for awesomeness? Or do we simply get so caught up in the moment that any awkwardly awesome interaction becomes a dreamy haze waiting for the air to clear and open itself up to reality again?