I used to like to see how much whiskey I could drink. How drunk I could get without falling over. How deeply in love I could fall with an emotionally f*cked up unavailable, immature man. How far away from myself I could get.
I wanted to float away into oblivion.
I wanted to escape everything about my life, my heart, my truth.
I flirted dangerously with disaster, seducing the dark, wicked side of life to see what oblivion would taste like.
I wanted to spin into the blackest galaxies of outer space, far past Pluto, and find some peaceful place in the cosmos that didn’t hurt so much; a place where my pain wasn't real, where my heartbreak could be just a bad dream, where my sensitivity would somehow mean that I wouldn't feel a thing. I wanted to discover a vast, candy-coated fantasy that was full of only stardust and hope and dancing.
I never found that, because that's not reality.
Reality is more bitter than that, but it's way sweeter than that too--because it's real.
More than anything, I thought I had to escape myself to be happy.
I thought there was no way I could be rooted in reality and feel okay.
Flirting with disaster was my favorite hobby, an odd way of feeling deliciously alive---if only for a drunken, sloppy fleeting moment with the cherry on top of kissing a sexy stranger---and conveniently numbing myself to my truth.
Floating up to euphoria.
Falling back down to the darkest depths of despair.
Tongue-kissing oblivion in the sidewalks cracks of the in-between.
I wanted to be buzzed forever, that muscle-melty feeling when you have one and a half glasses of champagne, where your whole body is warm and fuzzy and everything in the entire world seems sweeter, calmer, like maybe we can handle this f*cked up, beautiful life after all.
But living like this is not really living at all. It’s feels a lot like dying. It’s one exhausting, desperate plea to run away.
And I had gotten very good at running.
I chased after euphoria like it was my job. I tumbled onto the outer fringes of oblivion. All my empty ventures never led to anything of juicy substance, which is what I really wanted, most of all.
But I didn't yet know that. All I could think about was what oblivion would taste like. I wanted to kiss galaxies laced with cocaine and cheap, hot love affairs that would hardly last the night.
I thought that was freedom.
I thought it was wildness.
That’s a cage more constricting than anything else in the world.
What I really wanted, wasn’t oblivion at all—it was the opposite of oblivion.
I wanted the wild, ripe freedom of soul.
I wanted a moment of finally listening to the naked whispers of my heart.
wanted to tap into the creative madness of my destiny and light the world on fire with paint-splattered words.
Yes, what I really, truly wanted—was the opposite of oblivion.
I wanted truth.
I wanted to dance on the sweetest, rawest energy currents of spirit.
I wanted to taste the profound, glittering depths of soul.
And so I did,
Meaningless nights out the town couldn't seem any more boring.
Cheap love affairs seem dumb and exhausting
I'm living for
The juicy, budding beauty of spirit
I'm living to serve soul.
And it's hard sometimes,
And it's lonely sometimes, but it doesn't f*cking matter
Because I can taste soul
And I don't need to run
I can sit still with myself.
If that isn't the best
Most delicious freedom