Failure by Design

It took me an hour of having my shoes off to realize that a good number of my toes on each foot were bleeding. And how did I miss this, not feel it, as I smiled and giggled to all those strangers for hours. I imagine it happened when the cart of a distracted mom ran them over when I was on my break. Yup, both feet. I didn't look at them though, because I was in a hurry to get back to my register. I even forgot it happened.

It wasn't until I crossed my legs to cuddle into the big red chair that I have made my bed for the past week that I saw them. They don't even hurt though. They are cold and numb because I won't turn the heat on.

Now to discuss what I'm really thinking about:
We each determine our own purpose in life but we only have so much freedom from ourselves. Almost anything is possible. It's like standing on a cliff and being scared of falling off, but also being afraid that you might throw yourself off. Mostly, because what's stopping you? And that thin line between you wanting that ultimate freedom to actually do anything that you desire collides with your fear of having all your freedoms ripped from you. Therefore bonding you; you're never free.

I can't rationalize any of it. It's a great anxiety either direction.

It's like a constant fear of just living while fearing death. It's an absurd and meaningless world. And an internal battle ensues within me over this lack of true freedom because I'm bound to this person that I've created through enduring experiences, which may or may not reflect what's really there.

I need to let people in. I've got to let people in.
I can't talk about it all now. And all the reasons I can't.
But there are just things. Like my favourite nightmares. And all the things that make me feel more fluid. And the way my eyes cry at night but I don't know why. None of it really matters to anyone else's life though. So I'm not going to subject them to the fragile, formless puddle of what I've made my reality.

I've pushed myself too far to go back too. . Just wishing that there was some way I could have my innocent view of the world back. I just want to remember what happy really feels like. And not the happy I get when my I'm done being crazy. I wish I could remember what it feels like to not just hate things because they exist outside of my idea of what efficient and necessary advancement is.

 I just want to remember the warm feeling that lacks the rigid edges of usuality.