Hesitant

I wonder what would happen to my appetite if I began eating in the dark? Maybe I would find I am much less hungry than I assumed, or I'd just lose the fork. Regardless, I keep thinking about ways to "trick" myself into curbing old habits. The old habits are distractions, pulling me away from my potential. It's time to stop fooling myself and kick out of the hallucinatory life I've made. Dreams and reality are blurring together far too easily- is this what people do to cope in a world they don't understand? A world they resent?

Without an anchor I have no way of knowing my reality versus the world; thank goodness my anchor is just a phone call away. My pathetic life is spiraling toward something I don't understand, and worse, something meaningless. How do I stop being competitive and self-depracating long enough to see the truth?! I will continue to falter and fail, sabotaging my opportunities to avoid delving into more distractions- but perhaps the "distractions" are only relative to the skewed, negative world I live in. In other words, my familiarity with depression binds me from reaching beyond the average effort. Every once in a while I see far beyond the line, like a brief patch of light that shines from a old flickering streetlight. It's as though if I kept walking toward it, without closing my eyes, I could walk right through this heavy veil and stay in the soft light where I have glimpsed the possibilities many times before. But I turn away, unworthy. Others better than me haven't dared to cross the threshold, so what gall must I have to dream it for myself!

I am a failure- every motion I make in my life, I can feel the wrongness, as though I was never meant to be here, like I am taking up the space of someone else. Is every person supposed to exist? Really? Even if I laugh, I feel that I am laughing where someone else, someone better than me, had meant to be laughing. Is this other person myself from some other time, maybe? Or is it a dramatic reflection of my conflict to be comfortable with myself? It could be both, as though the one laughing is meant for the person who is deserving, the one who cares, and the one who is taking the place is just a shadow, a dead end, a decaying body with a living being trapped inside. Why do my laughs seem to tighten my throat as though in a constraint, like I am not allowed to let go any more than I can suddenly know all the words in the dictionary?

We must suffer into truth. I guarantee that this has no vision in the American dream.

If the world is so accepting, so bountiful, then why do I feel so hesitant to claim it?