Originally Published January 23rd 2018
I’ve beat myself into a dull submission. I don’t feel the motivation to read or write or breathe. Nah, I’m just feeling melancholy and poetic. It’s only the first full week of classes and I feel overwhelmed. It is like most things in my life. As soon as I get close to a tangible end I sever the rope. Maybe I’m afraid of progress and the outcome of opportunity. There are too many thoughts. One says, “talk about how you rely too much on people and always have”. Another whispers, “tell about how you drive people away with anger and cruelty”. A third screams, “none of it matters, so why are you still typing?”. I don’t hear voices. They are simply my inner thoughts. Sometimes I think the voices, external voices that is, would be comforting. Though abusive, I’d finally feel like a true victim. For now though, the thoughts are just that, intangible and taunting, with my own voice.
Where do they come from? From me? My environment? That old question of nature and nurture. I just hope it’s not me. I don’t like the me that snaps on a dime or can’t talk to her roommates for fear of saying something overly cruel. They are beginning to become scared of me. Not in an intimidating way. The three of us know my limitations. Oh, recap, I have two roommates at this time in my life. One tall ex-football player and the another, a feisty woman. Richard and Mariah. What a pair! I could write about them forever. However, I have a larger concern at the moment. I don’t pretend that they are afraid I could overpower either of them. It is not a physical danger they wince at. They begin that treacherous walk on the eggshells of my unpredictability. For at any moment, my mood can go from sunshine to electric storms.
Sometimes it is best to ignore a problem than to confront it. They do it very well. I’m surprised by two things. One, that I held out for so long. So long in fact, that I almost believed my cruelty to be false. Who would be so cruel anyway? I am. Two, I am surprised that they tolerate it. Yet, I am not surprised by that. Like I said, sometimes ignorance and denial seem like the easiest solution. It is not, by the way. Ignorance makes pain fester; and pain, in my case, makes a snappy and paranoid Lizzie. That’s the other thing. I don’t know if I truly believe in truth. How can we be real when this society values reputation and achievement which is often facilitated by charm and the social graces, while simultaneously destroyed by those magical factors. I’m sleepy. Finally. Look at that. Another cesspool of regurgitated thoughts. I’m sorry for the stream of consciousness. Again, that is not my intended method, but sad women will do what they will.