Nowhere to go and I’m getting there fast. That’s a lyric from Beanie Seagel. That’s been my life for a long time. Running away from writing. Running away from doing the work. Running away from being uncomfortable.
Previously I found comfort in gambling. I could spend 24 hours locked in front of a laptop playing poker. Now as I am in recovery for that, the devestation that brings is printed on my mind. So that is the last place to run to.
So I run to weed. That’s a familiar place. Buy a ten bag, smoke a joint to myself, fall asleep, wake up do it again.
Eventually the weed runs out and all I’m left with is a full stomach and an empty feeling of guilt and worthlessness. So can’t run there anymore.
Then I run to porn. How many times can you masturbate in a day? Not more than ten….eventually my body can’t do it.
Worthlessness and shame.
The life of avoiding work is more tiring than doing the work. It’s a boring existence of procrastination and delay. Of self hatred and guilt. Of projection of what people will think and using excuses to do nothing. A world of options, yet no intentional choice to follow one path.
A world of idealism and naivety.
Fear has ran my life. I thought I’d cracked it when i discovered it. Yet it’s clever. It’s like Mystique from X-Men, takes the shape of somebody familiar just to get close to you and stick a knofe in your heart. All these things I knew how to do them. Yet they wrapped there arms around me and slowly strangled the zest I had.
The beauty is I have the control. It’s funny I laugh sometimes aboutt his – nobody put a gun to my head and said be a writer. Nobody said go after the path of sharing your message and make a living from it. Nobody told me that transforming lives through words was the way to go.
I chose to do this. I chose to do this. I think that deserves repeating. I CHOSE TO DO THIS.
So my feet have come to a standstill. And I turn around and see what I’m running from. And there’s nothing there. False words and contradictions.
There comes a time in every dreamers life where you either shit or get of the pot. Where you become a professional and take your craft seriously – or you might aswell just pack it all in. Sitting on the fence and fucking bout just gives you a sore arse.
How do you do that? Well I think that’s what I’m going to explore. I believe a choice is made. I’m tired of running. No more.
Now I’m going on the offence!