Psychedelic Silhouette

It’s funny, my priorities from a few years ago, even last year really have changed. I’m not the same person anymore. What used to be the end all of everything now is truthfully meaningless. A burning love that was as toxic as it was precious burned out leaving me both confused and wounded. I can’t look back and regret what happened because, well, despite the craziness, good times were had and these experiences are what helped shape me into who I am today. My priorities have changed. I’ve grown up, found a different career that I’m enjoying and looking to excel in. I’ve taken on new projects, shed old “friends” and despite the ups and downs of my moods, I’m more in control than ever. No medication helps in the long term, so I've just come to terms that this is just the way I'm supposed to be. It's not like it matters to anyone anyway. Most people don't stay long enough to see all the sides to me. Like an 8 sided dice, I'm always rolling, the numbers always changing; high or low. It's my turn to throw the dice once again...let's hope I don't roll snake eyes again. One would argue that it's medication that is helping me now to balance and focus, but it's me more than anything. I'm working hard towards goals. I've met new people who are interested in me, not what I can do for them or what can they get out of me. Its a change. I've learned a lot over the past 15 years about friendships, relationships and everything in between. Do I know everything? Of course not. But I feel like I'm at a place in life where I know a thing or two more than when I was younger. I've come to the realisation that I can't be everyone's friend. Nor do I want to be everyone's friend. You can hear the saying "It's better to have a few good friends than a lot of shitty friends" but it doesn't mean anything until you experience it. And it's harder than ever these days with social media. People posting going out with groups to gigs, galleries, museums, wine tasting, parasaling, rim job lessons-whatever the fuck people are doing these days and you know what? It doesn't mean anything. Going out with people is great, don't get me wrong, I had a blast last month going to see Steve-O's Bucket List Tour with a good friend, but all these people, all this? It's nothing. It only feeds these delusions of grander and caters to these weak-willed, look at me people. People with good self esteem don't go about on te internet posting about it on every platform they can think of. You know what it screams to me? "Hi, I'm desperate and pathetic." One could argue that of my blogs, making that point because they are mostly reflective things of my experiences, but I don't share everything o my blog. There is pleanty that I keep to myself or my small circle because the internet is not a diary, although sometimes when I get caught up writing pieces it feels like it. I love to share my adventures so that people will go to these places and will enjoy them and will make those precious memories that they dearly want. I'm not out to rub my adventures in people's faces, it's to show them there's more to life than sitting around on TikTok, YouTube or whatever the fad is at the moment while sitting in their bedroom or in their mother's basement. Get out and see the world. It doesn't have to be anything big and fancy, just something. Get a different point of view. I've found that by doing this, it's helped me to build on relationships of every kind. I keep develing back into my Philadelphia trip last month. It doesn't even feel like last month. It feels like it was months ago, nevermind the fact that I was returning home roughly a month ago to the day I sit writing this. (Sometimes I sit on blogs for a while, I don't know if just needs to feel right.) I felt so good there, alive. Sure, I tossed and turned occasionally, but nothing like this past week. I feel this sense of disconect from everything and some new realisations have really hit home. I will never reciece in return what I put out into the world. It's something that I've been struggling with for a while now. I always believed that if I was good, decent and helpful that I would be rewarded or at least not experience the amount of shit that I do. I thought a new group of people would give me what I've been looking for, but it appears as if I've once again overestimated people. I think of my alone time, in a large city where no one knows me and I'm okay. I don't feel any type of disociation or iscolation from people I consider friends- And that's the problem. I would give anything to rewind back to when I was boarding the train for Philly. There's something about travel that gets me going, get's me excited. Always has and probably always will. It doesn't feel like I should have left for Philadelphia. It feels like it should still be before Christmas. I should be sitting in my tee and boxers watching I'll Be Home For Christmas. The past 5 months have been more or less a complete blur. Time feels like it's racing; almost as if there aren't enough hours in the day. I've never really experienced time moving this fast before. I've been at my "new" job almost a year now. 10 months. I honestly can't believe it. It doesn't feel that way, depsite all the time that I spend there. Each day feels the same at work. It more or less is. Production, clean up, gummies or label product. Wash, rinse, repeat. I've probably said it before and I'm going to say it again, it all feels like it's the same day over and over again. Part of me is inclined to believe that I really did die and all of this is just purgatory. I don't know if one knows that they've died, but who's to know what alive really is? We have no way of knowing for sure. We can't even pin point what alive is. Biological functionings working doesn't need to mean alive; death could be the passing on of a soul into life. Reverse the process. We don't know and there's no way to know. These are the kind of deep thoughts I have when I'm home alone late at night. Time feels empty to me. Each day feels like a repeat of the same thing. The same meaningless drivel. It's not that I don't enjoy being alive-there are parts that I do enjoy, it's just that I wonder why are we alive. What's the fucking point? Over the past ten years, I've found myself wandering down the corridors and mazes of existentialism. Sometimes I can come to terms with things, sometimes I can't. It really depends. Maybe this is just the depression talking. I should be looking forward to my UK tour, new adventures, new blogs, the possibility to meet new friends when I hang out with old friends, but I'm not. I'm just tired and. feel like when I come back there will be nothing to look forward to. Looking forward to things keeps me going. These little escapes help me deal with the immense stress that I'm under.