Fact: I am ineloquent.
I feel like since I stopped writing I have so many feelings and words and weird screwed up expressions that as soon as I am asked a direct question I fall to pieces.
I am not fun at parties.
It’s frustrating because I love to talk. I like to hear what people’s stories are and to contribute and part of me prides myself on being someone with something to say. I think I have good ideas. I think that I have a grasp – maybe not a solid and firm grasp, but still a hold – on what is happening and how the world works and I am in control of the way I think but if you ask me I couldn’t tell you.
How am I?
I always flutter, screw up my nose, hmm and ahh and gesture before settling on good.
The real answer is “I have no fucking idea.”
I am treading deep water in a tropical storm – and even though I am getting through it I have no idea how. The work I have to complete is piled up around me and I am so concerned about how to get through it successfully. Yet I’m also maybe the smartest and most capable I’ve ever been, so if there was a time for me to succeed – it’s right now.
My relationship, or more pertinently, my lack of is a bloody mess. How can you tell someone who doesn’t love you to act like they do? How can you carry something dying for the fear of losing out? How did I get into the worst ever situation anyway? I hold things too tightly I guess. And I’m not a casual love.
My friendships are fine but also, they’re just fine. Thanks for hanging on to me even though I’m messy and can’t explain myself.
I think ultimately I want more. I want spicy gum and car warmed water and the feeling of freedom where you can sit and when you breathe you can feel the oxygen in every part of you instead of just circling the same narrow route in your chest. I want to have a tan and sunburnt shoulders and freckles definitively over my nose instead of just the sallow promise of them. I want a black flowery tattoo on my forearm and my hair to be salty and sandy so I have excuse for why it’s always unbrushed. I want to understand my people the way that you can when you’re alone and you’re together. In the way that is card games and warm beer and promises about tomorrow. When in the messiness of choosing to love each other, you can choose to let it be easy.
I have friends from intermediate who are getting married! They have little babies and houses and people who love them and I am so happy for them. But I’m also so, confused about how they got there and I am only here. Still in school. Still treading water like my life depends on it – when in reality my life is just this.
It doesn’t depend on me fighting to stay afloat – it fully consists of me doing so.
My life is the water, too deep beneath me. It is the overwhelming anxiety that if I stop I’ll drown. And yet it is this weird grasp on my own ability to keep treading, this blind optimism that I will make it through this, and the weird heavy satisfaction of knowing I am deeper at sea than all the love that I abandoned to get here.
I out swam everybody. I’m winning a game that I chose to play.
But how am I?
Deep water, deep blue, deep grief.
But still floating.
On top of the world.
“I’m good, how are you?”