Drink your juice.

[robotindisguise:fuocoanonymous]

Cat Power — Sea of Love

I have a tendency to fall into anxiety spirals — not in a crippling way, but in the normal, garden-variety sense that I’m constantly triple and quadruple guessing things I’ve said days after the fact. Every assertion I’ve made, joke told, laugh dispensed. I wonder if I’m misrepresenting myself. If I’m making people feel included enough. If, when I left the room, the loneliest person there felt better than they had before I’d met them. If they felt seen.

There’s something that comes along with being hypersensitive and young that’s basically a constant state of brimming over. I never feel like I’m in a 100% location. That you could pick me up and take a sip and know what the hell I’m talking about just from what’s there at the time. Because there’s that constant turnover. The sensation of being the oldest person and the youngest person in the room at the same time. The stupidest and the smartest. Never just a foot forward, but somehow every foot. In every shoe.

And as soon as I start feeling like I can’t pinpoint myself on a map, I start feeling different. Not defective, but… I don’t know… molecularly incapable of being something that will make sense to people. And what if I’m so worried about seeing everyone because I don’t know how to see myself? What if it’s some trite, quarter-life bullshit like that? And the brain races and I run through the mental card catalog looking for some sort of Dewey Decimal for this space. This landscape. Too early for sleep but too late to do anything on a Monday night. There are canyons and mountain ranges — entire topographies I can’t access because I’m being shortsighted. I missed something, somehow.

Music helps.

Music shuts me up.

I have a good heart. I have a good heart and I’ve never meant to hurt anybody. And some nights it’s enough to just remember that and trust in what’s gotten me this far in the first place.

(via rillawafers)