I sit atop years of questioning, years of ‘being understanding’.. years of never understanding at all.

I wonder why you don’t tell me things, why you won’t say what you feel, why you only tell me what I want to hear.

I wonder how this will sustain in such a manner,

I think out of all of the moments i’ve felt this way, this time hurts the most.

the past is forgiven and forgotten,

still, the present me offers me little hope.

why won’t you just talk to me?

how do you care for me in these circumstances?

why am I the only person climbing over the wall in between us?

i’ve grown close with the wall. the wall is my friend now.

what is wrong? what is it?

North Nodes and South Nodes signify one’s personal life path. South being habitual while North being salvatory.

My South Node is in Sagittarius and my North Node is in Gemini. Every now and then, I find myself understanding these aspects differently than the last. It is a life path aspect so I can expect my understanding of it to evolve and deepen with time.

It’s already taken a while for me to actually understand what the nodes were. Then, for a while, I thought, oh okay, sagitarrius south node because I used to move around a lot and gemini north node because I need to work on my communication. It is much much deeper.

I think what I am understanding now is that, there had been this hunt of mine, a search for god.. an investigation to find where the divine is hiding so I could have a talk with it face to face. This is where I come from, literally and figuratively.

Today, as I walked along a bridge towards a 7/11, I was reminded of a conversation I had a few weeks ago and one that I had about 2 years ago.

“I feel like everyone in my life is so ‘out of sight, out of mind’. I’m never around so it’s like no one is ever thinking of me.”

“Everything around me reminds me of someone I love.”

You can take your guess on which is which.

I wonder if my streak of bad luck and disappointment has kept me running, searching for, if not a difference, a reasoning.. but a part of me knows where belonging is and.. what it feels like . I know that i’ve just been coping this whole time, that connection is truly out there, that my journey is one towards humanity and connection.. that I can spend my days taking my thoughts and feelings to god or the trees but how will they cultivate if not taken to other humans? Gemini energy isn’t as simple as talking and socializing, it is a dual one, it is curious. It gives as well as takes. Interestingly enough, I don’t crave an intense depth from people. I don’t. I’m weary of it, actually. Not that I think it’s bad but people do scary things when they have access to you in that way- at least in my experience.

My search for god is shifting. I look for humans. I look for life on earth.

My thoughts on this part of me are still premature but it’s all been ever so highlighted.

I will tell my parents everything from now on.

restraint for so long from so many, being underestimated and discouraged by the people close to me has affected genuinely every single decision I’ve made up until now. It’s weird to sit and realize that though my choices are mine, and may have began as a seed of my own desire.. my desire was never what brought me back everyday with the watering can.

and you know.. plants absorb energy, so yes, technically that plant did grow but not in the way I even wanted.

like wow, maybe I really am a contrarian. the rebel that my parents believe me to be.

the moment my chances look slim to none, when the world tells me I can’t or shouldn’t. I do. I come out scarred, I heal my wounds in the dark and I come back to rub it in the worlds face. I did it! and I’m okay!!!!!

but not only am I not okay but this is not what I want for myself.. not in the slightest.

what’s the use in the living if its all out of spite? wanting to die but deciding maybe i’ll just live even harder! its all the same loop.

Anyway, it’s not all bad,, it’s gotten me more than what I would have had I settled.. but I think it’s just time for new steps. a new garden. idk I don’t have a metaphor for this.

I think we all know enough about my troubles now, yeah?

Truth of the matter is.. these past two days have been the worst of my life. I’ve never had a worse time than now- well not right now exactly, because I am in warm pajamas, in a nice bed, eating the butt of a baguette… but about 20 mins ago I was coming home from having the worst day of my life.

However, there is a lesson here.. surprisingly.. and it’s not the one I was scolding myself during my entire journey home.

I simply cannot be everything for myself. I cannot. At this point, I don’t know if I can be anything at all. I’ve blurred the lines of my identity much too much almost in a way to be every friend i’ve ever had, every parent thats ever showed any care, any lover who had introduced me to new things. It’s more than just bending my identity, it then becomes pushing myself in ways that are not helpful. I’ve struggled with this for a very long time. I know where it stems from yadayadayada.. This cycle of being both the moon and the hermit has little balance to offer. I am easily swayed by emotions and a lot of times, I have every right to be.. and a lot of other times I don’t know if its valid or not to listen to them.

independence is important, and I would say that I am pretty independent but this doesn’t make me an expert on it. Of course there’s nuance but those no use in confusing myself any further with it. I live and breathe, I write this substack because I asked for help.

It’s all too complicated, unfortunately but i’m grateful for the two seconds of clarity that I have every now and then.

it’s not.

and I wonder.. often, if my constant attempt to balance the scales is making me better or worse.

(note: I got absolutely elbowed in the head yesterday and i’m praying that I don’t pass out typing this.)

Unable to fully commit to the creative process back then, my artwork suffered, it was okay but it wasn’t art (I can say this). The more I practice and apply, the more I understand the spectrum. The hyper-specific details will not translate without an understanding of abstraction and vice versa. I think. idfk. I’m speaking for myself, here. So, I suppose it also all depends on what kind of artist you are, how you think about the world, how your ideas spawn, etc…

A couple of years ago, I was talking to a friend about how we think of our creative projects very differently, he wanted to know how I meant.

I thought about it for a moment and said something like “I think that.. from the way you describe things that .. you start with a bigger picture and a full project and then zoom into the details that make it up. I think I am the opposite. I start with the details and zoom outwards. The details are what inspire me”. This may not make sense typing it like this but the response I got was “mmmmmm”.

I wasn’t wrong about myself though, this is kind of how I see and understand the world. I must get in there. Seeing the bigger picture is just not something that just comes easily to me, I mean.. we’re all made of atoms, right? I think that this probably plays a role in why I must sit with things for so long, with life lessons, I am kind of slow to understand. I need time. I often find myself considering every single angle and option and perspective before I land on one that I can say out loud and actually believe, like cada parte de mi ser debería estar de acuerdo & I can’t even guarantee that THAT perspective of mine won’t transform, somehow.

Understanding this now, I can see that the process of abstraction is one that would benefit myself and my work, greatly. Not only is it about breaking things down to their core elements but there is a large level of faith that goes into it. You don’t explain an abstract piece when presenting it, you must confide. To continue on the topic of understanding the spectrum, to me, anything can truly come full circle, because even if I do see everything, atom first, if I made a sculpture or something of a giant atom and titled it Humanity, 2026, this would technically still be considered abstraction, no? Agh, I don’t know. Everything is the same coin to me.. hey maybe I’m not so bad at this abstract thing, after all.

stellar and lunar, i’ve grown a major attachment to you so please don’t forget me or our morning songs.

and I won’t forget your grey little faces and the moments you climbed over my laptop and onto my chest.

or all of the unprompted kisses and the resting on my legs.

sweeties.

red wine, I mean. sorry, I just had a glass.

I thought I liked it.. i’ve never had this kind, it’s slightly sweet and that sweetness is what’s killing it for me.

I go into each sip expecting bitterness, ready to accept a tartness but with each swallow i cringe at the sweet undertone.

bleh.

it tastes like someone added agave to cabernet.

speaking of agave, I had some in my black coffee this morning.

I mean black coffee? who am I turning into? black coffee??? the only person I know who drinks black coffee is my diabetic grandfather.

speaking of which, my diabetic grandfather and I look insanely alike. I remember, growing up, there was a baby picture of him in the family living room, and I always thought it was a baby picture of me XD and I thought it was really random of my family to have the picture in black and white.

my grandfather turns 90 soon. I’m supposed to be at the party. I’ve always worried about the little time we’ve spent together. We were very close when I was young, before his stroke and before I learned English. He has his issues but I’ve always rendered him the closest, distant ancestor, he is literally the reason that I look the way that I do. I think sometimes we understand each other more on a telepathic level than a physical. I see a lot of my idiosyncrasies in him. Every now and then, he will trail away from the moment in front of him, look off, and suddenly start tearing up. my whole family tries to distract him from his own sorrow but, I don’t know if it does any good.

I often wish I could talk to my grandfather differently than I do. I try for conversation but he usually can’t hear me. Ever since my pandemic baking phase, what we usually talk about is what he wants me to bake him next, he’ll ask about my mom and her mom and I’ll tell him that I’m back in Puerto Rico but he never remembers and asks if i’m still with my mom in Boston.

The last time we had a full descriptive conversation, he was telling me about how he cheated on my grandmother. Referring to himself as a “monkey jumping from tree to tree”. She was in front of us. This is where we disconnect. I have a lot of respect for the both of them and i’m glad they are my grandparents but.. they should have never gotten married. Obviously, I speak from a place of privilege.

My grandmother traveled from Honduras to the US to learn english in order to continue the teaching career she had back home. She never learned english but she chose to stay in the states and worked at a jewelry shop that my grandfather owned in NYC. She was 24 and he was 48. maybe thats wrong. My grandmother lived with us in Puerto Rico so I always just assumed she was Puerto Rican like the rest of us? I don’t know if she liked being there, I can imagine that she missed her life and family back home. My dad will often tell me, though that I had a slight Honduran accent as a child from spending so much time with her and.. that I used ‘Vos’ *_* . My grandfather always had an open distain for Honduras. She began making trips over without him.

I have a picture from my grandparents wedding that I stole from my dad’s house. There is so much to know about them. I ask but it’s as if there isn’t much to it. We all have that in common I guess, minimizing our lives to avoid the complication of explaining.

but I think, maybe i’m not the only stranger in this family.

So yeah, my grandpa turns 90 soon and I’ve asked my father to gather all the family pictures. I’ve been connecting the dots through the pictures for a while now.

Sometimes, I’ll talk to my friends and say nothing of substance.. just the stupid surface thoughts and.. they start to give me advice.

I appreciate it, because there have been many times where I could use some comfort..

however, I seldom need advice.

some advice i’ve heard in the last few months that I did not need:

“practice detachment”

“stop being weird about love”

“just create”

“be content with yourself without a compliment”

these are all good pieces of advice but I think it highlights how little people know of my inner world.

“I can’t give you what you ask for”

“you don’t need that”

“just accept the help”

do I have “helpless and need everyone’s input” written on my face or something?

As if I haven’t been looking after myself this whole time, I mean, who are you people? and who the hell am I to you?

Look, I know that I’ve fallen into the helpless archetype many times before but does my ability to come out of it show nothing to you people?

When I converse it’s because I want to hear other perspectives and experiences and you know.. have a conversation. I want to listen and be listened to. I don’t need nor do I want a life coach. I don’t want my feelings to be fixed, or coddled and I do not want a therapist or a mom or a cop out of my friends.

Maybe this is all a bruise to my ego but it does reinforce this feeling that I have about the lack of humanity in my life.

It’s no ones fault. I suppose I am just fed up with the transaction of it all.

I know i’m not going mad, here, I know that i’ve always been really sensitive to the projections of others and I know that real conversation exists out there, I’ve visited a few, before.

still, I wonder who it is you all think I am.

This journey of understanding my personal voice had reached a plateau for a moment, it was an obvious one. I stopped participating in classes, my writing was bad and I didn’t know how to respond when spoken to. Thankfully, a simple shift in perspective allowed me to alchemize this into exactly what it is i’d been craving. I’d taken a moment to smoke before “locking in”. I didn’t bring my headphones, nothing to keep me company. My thoughts were staggered about my personal cravings and where they come from.. how accurate they were to what I really want out of life.. I mused entering a space, completely empty and how deeply I wanted to be a total beginner. I’d just had this encompassing urge to throw myself into the unknown creatively & relearn the things that maybe i’d technically already learned. The topic of theory vs practice was already one circling in my mind for weeks and during my smoke break it brought me not to a conclusion, but to an entryway. I need to suck so bad at something that I truly care about. I need to suck at absolutely everything. It wasn’t long after this that I realized.. I DO suck at everything! I really really do. God, I suck so bad, you guys don’t even know. I’d honestly never been happier to know it.

& though 2025 was full of the routines, calendars, vitamins and gym days which healed me,, I had been doing absolutely everything terribly wrong since 2026 started because,, i’m in it now.. this is the process.. and this might be the first time that I don’t want to give up because of my shortcomings. This might be the first time where I can’t be talked out of seeing the value in this kind of vulnerability.

This won’t be a conversation about manifestation, but if you know about it, you’ve probably heard the words “speaking it into existence”. It’s a square 1 thought but I’m truly understanding the importance of voice and how its the first step towards tangibility.

I’m not sure if I am properly communicating the relation to Before Sunrise, Theory vs Practice, me sucking and the importance of my voice but I hope you’ll stick with me.

I’m not sure what I expected from the film but I feel like maybe I was put in this timeline to experience such a movie. Celine was so relatable & I found her honesty to be comforting and inspiring. Both of these characters are not only fresh to one another but also to the city they’re in, to the languages they speak/hear, and the moment itself is in no way mature. fleeting and young, making it ever so vulnerable.

During my early days of understanding my creative style, I thought heavily about dialogical substance (or lack of) and I cared about song lyrics. As time went on, I began to learn the perspectives of my artist peers, who’d listen to melodies rather than lyrics and cared more about a film’s visual depth than it’s writing. I began to see my initial perspective as juvenile, not a reflection of true artistry.

That was my bad.

I think this silently rearranged how I view myself and the value of my voice and my word. Truthfully, it’s all important and I can now recognize that as both an artist and a human.

Last year I struggled to speak out of shame, and misunderstanding, maybe a bit of self loathing? boredom with my own struggles? this year I struggle in different ways. I have Invisalign now.. it’s kind of made talking a bitch. My mouth is all cut up, I have to open my mouth really largely to properly pronounce things and sometimes I spit.. it’s really gross. Despite this, it’s forced me to become more intentional. I’m not allowed to mumble or push past words and it’s made my pronunciation better in ways that I’m really proud of. this is a major bonus.

This morning, I not only thought about my journey with speech and communication but I vocalized it (video too long to upload to substack). I talked about the spiral/path before reaching the core in relation to conversation and I talked about vocal habits/inflections I’ve picked up, my feelings about getting loud, how perceptions from the world have influenced a shift in how I communicate, how my voice sounds in English vs Spanish, how it sounds when i’m sober vs drunk, my old voice classes and words that made real sense to me this year. so so much, its been wonderful to find some understanding in my journey and to reach an openness to continue on it.

something to talk about with my therapist, I guess.

i know it’s like a really unhealthy way to look at connection. and i hope to, one day, to shift my perspective, but I don’t know that I’ve never not felt this way.

I know that the really chaotic relationships had always felt like home invasions, but the nice ones.. comparable to fruit flies. you know, they’re quiet and sometimes you live life not knowing they’re there until you do and and you’re like fuck now i have to do something about this.

that silence, though, i love it. but to be witnessed.. it’s always felt like they all can see me struggling to put out the stove fire, keep the paintings up and brush my hair all at the same time.

& I suppose, I’d always feared that i’d never be an expression of my full self in front of anyone. Especially not those who actually wanted to be around.

I mean, naturally.. with my identity issues and all. I’d always had a habit of letting the ones i like down, subtly. I’d always say small things that i know would break their illusion of me. saying the opposite of what they like. beating myself up over it in my alone time.

bringing all the bad to the front, making sure they know this is who i am.. whether that’s true or not.

this summer, i’d really like to challenge this part of me.

i can’t let this new phase fizzle into a moment, or another false start.

i don’t know if being myself is an act that will require some sort of slow, everyday tending to, but i’ll do what i have to do.

in many of my old journals, you’ll find a page like this.

“elisha, i will not let our life go to shit. don’t forget it. love ya!”

this is my doggy paddle. the only reason i haven’t sunk. with tired legs and weak arms, i am here. barely.

for the past month, i’ve accepted that it is the public challenge that’s going to get me to float.

that, in this stage, it’s not about what i talk about with my therapist.. or how i talk with her.

Today is Thursday and I’ve found myself to be more articulate on Wednesday morning than i had been in the past 6 months.

6 months of having professors applaud my attempts, telling me it’s okay when i know there’s more inside of me.

In this stage it’s how i talk to the world. what my words mean, where they come from.

because up until now, i’ve been just a radio picking up on any frequency near by. spewing random shit. none of it correlates, nothing makes sense. blah blah blah.

my being is not substantial, i am nothing but just a bunch of stuff i’ve picked off of the floor on my way here.

but one day, it will be,

and if not, at the very least it will be accurate.

I often wonder why nobody wants anything to do with me.

more so, why nobody will tell me why.

a month ago, I demanded reasoning out of a person from my past.

“I told you why.. everything I said was truthful, whether you believe it or not”

am I the problem for not believing it, then? Am I demanding sincerity from a person who had had their story straight?

“elisha, what did you want from me?”

All this time, i’ve tried to figure out what it is that i’m doing wrong.. maybe i’m too overbearing

or

not expressive enough,

but truth is, i’ve been so many versions of myself and the outcome looks the same no matter.

I’ve been big and small and big and small and big and small again and still, nobody wants me.

I mean.. according to those who have left, i’m great..

and according to those i’ve kicked out, i’m awful for making them leave.

I just don’t care about greatness or being great.

I crave humanity.

I often fall in these dynamics where i’m either put on a really high pedestal or buried beneath the world’s shoes.

& the really memorable ones, you know, the ones that scarred, have tossed me between both.

Still, I believe and hope that one day, I will meet someone at eye level, and we’ll see each other, without the talent shows or competitions or party tricks.

though, i love a party trick.

we’ll spare each other of the identity fraud and let them become easter eggs to discover, later.

that is the way I like it. thats the way I operate.

“a conversation. a real fucking conversation.” I say. I was met with silence.

but.. I am hypocrite. such a hypocrite,

and it’s preachy of me to sit here and say that I crave humanity when it takes like 5 years to actually know me.

i’m sorry that I crave a slow burn in an algorithmic age.

On a serious note, sometimes the spirit of humanity exits my body in the middle of the night and all I’m left to do is twiddle my thumbs until she comes back.

I think there is a difference, though because of my phases, I don’t expect a lot from my personal relationships.. I just want to exist with someone else who is also existing.. but for some reason, my experiences have taught me to prepare for war before mingling.

making new girl friends is fun until they start attacking your confidence and character (the only things keeping me alive by the way), and they’ll fight with you over guys you never think about and they treat you like their boyfriend. it’s all too weird of a maze for me to care to navigate.

it’s hard. its all very hard and yeah, I can act but I am not nearly skilled enough to keep up with (what seems like) the rest of the world.

So, for me, a lot of these losses haven’t been true losses..

but the ones that have..

have yet to tell me what’s wrong with me.

3. Moon in Scorpio: similar to the earth’s core, you hold an emotional depth that no other human has reached and still, we all know it exists. Keep the lava boiling and open up on your own time. :)

4. Moon in Cancer: (my moon sign!) I’ve noticed that nobody understands the feelings of a cancer moon the way other cancer moons do. Shall we start a support group? ...please…

5. Sun in Sagittarius: To know a sagittarius is to love a sagittarius.. even if it’s just for the night. For your own sanity, expect nothing. (spoiler: they’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted, anyway. good luck.)

6. Capricorn Rising: Do we owe everything to cap risings? I think so. Do not sweep anything under the rug around them. They’re the type to lift the rug and make you face the dirt.

packing makeup bags.. experimenting with makeup looks. allergic reaction. dry skin. flaking. ew.

every outfit is so incredibly boring. I’m bored. my legs are bonier than ever and i’m confused.

Marisol comes over and it feels nice to finally talk to a person and not my wall.

we know each other.. and

she trusts me. she asks me for a tarot reading -and though I tell her I do not know how to read tarot, she doesn’t believe me.

she is right.

its so good to have someone there. not my wall.

my wall would never test my skill like this.. or tell me it believes in me. my wall would let me subscribe to all of the illogical things I say to myself.

I call my mother.

“oh! you’ve decided to grace me with a call today…

que haces?”

I roll onto my bed and prop the phone up onto the wall; I tell her about my packing and she assumes every nonsensical thing in the world.

“mami.. why would I be packing boxes to go to another country? that doesn’t even make sense.”

“I don’t know nena, you’re always telling me you’re going to run away to another country and never come back”

she’s got a point.

“pero mami, ponte seria, it’s like a month”

“I don’t know! what if you’re over there and someone offers you a job and you take it and you meet the love of your life and never come back”

IDEAL!

for once my mother’s words don’t sound like fear mongering.

still.. not to be trusted.

for context.. my mom has a track record of telling people (musicians, mostly) that they’re not going to make it.. and they usually do make it- legend status.

so the whole believing in me thing.. side eye.

but, could it be?

my biggest enemy is not my wall.

Lately, I’ve been reading fears and insecurities that I didn’t even know existed.

Things I’ve never cared about.. beliefs that were never mine.. have somehow taken the pilot’s position of my mind.

my wall is innocent and i’m repeating the cycle; corrupting it with my negativity.

the wall says nothing.

I am more than just one piece. am I not a person too?

the wall says nothing.

then I think.. perhaps this wall here is a mirror.. perhaps I am not a person but a walking wall. perhaps these words bounce around inside of me with no reason.

perhaps there hasn’t been space for anything else to come in.

I say nothing.

the wall says nothing.

perhaps I am going insane.

when does choosing not to accept less stop feeling like a villainous act?

one day my bones will feel comfortable sitting in the same place as my organs and maybe that day they’ll all agree on their gratitude.

so when do we all say what we feel? when does the truth stop being scary?

when do the bullies stop reaching out and checking in?

when will you apologize

will it change? how can it?

I can rearrange my room a thousand times but the feeling will linger.

reposition the bed, keep it by the window. I want that and this and you. organize the pens and pencils, put them in one place. they shouldn't be here. books in boxes, one day i’ll buy a nice bookshelf.

you people have eaten me alive. there is nothing left and still you gnaw. I have nothing to give, I have nothing.

but still, the guilt is all mine.

I’ll refuse the bandages. These wounds should know the taste of fresh air.

don’t offer me your coping mechanisms. I won’t hold my head high.

instead, unlock the doors. let disillusionment out, let it to tear me to shreds.

& if you find yourself staring at the edge with me. don’t make a scene when I jump.

heights were never a fear of mine.

there, I’ll know disappointment, understand it, feel and laugh alongside it. Meet the parents and look at it’s baby pictures.

i’ll be back.

etched.

What would Elisha do? I know what she wouldn't !

checking the toolbox and everything has worn dull.

every chapter. i’ve read through them. annotated. ripped out from the book entirely. brought the pages back with highlighted portions.

each formula, though they deepened with each phase, have reached the ocean floor.

who I was means nothing to who I am so why am anticipating its place in who I will become?

a dismantling of the present.. not like I hadn’t been praying for such a thing but still, the fight for peace, for freedom has and will be a long one.

so let me enjoy these last few moments. let me hug this version of myself, tightly as to remember her scent before she is never to be seen again,

is this still about me?

maybe not. maybe I should be hugging the moment goodbye, as I know this elisha is coming with me

and I know i’m not the fastest learner.

and because my surroundings can look like whatever they look like and I will still fight to be me

isn’t that how we got here?

It was factual, but I’d trained myself not to care. I understood my journey, my circumstances, my vices.

but as I cough and bleed and self remediate.. I can’t sleep. It’s so boring being sick.

Yet, if you walked passed my room, you wouldn’t know it. I’m laughing at Larry David on my laptop and fighting with the dip jar.

I wonder if i’m bleeding because I keep putting my laptop on my tummy?

I get good news and I tell no one.. I get good news and I tell a handful of people. People are supportive, my parents find it pointless, what can ya do? I get good news and I tell the guy in class who I’m doing a quiz with..

“goat” he says.

yeah.. perhaps..

I get good news and I feel like SHIT because i’m coughing and bleeding and this fucking jar won’t open and I haven’t had a beer in months..

I haven’t had a beer since,

since i’d gone out with a friend and realized that maybe we’re not friends the way I’d thought.

and before that, when I’d sat on a different friends couch and talked about school or maybe it was… when I hung out with that other friend and he made a move on me…

hm. none of these people should have my good news shared with them. I can’t even share a beer with them.

Plus, the beer might not help with the hormonal imbalance… or maybe it would.. as it is the independent variable, here… kind of.

I go through a pack of ginger chews and I think about my good news again..

yay.

how? how how

i’ll figure it out

ok

god, Larry David is such an ass. I can’t stop watching.

entire episode of Curb later and the jar is open.

and I celebrate way harder than I had for the news.

For the tiniest amount of time i had trust in my direction. Enough trust to close my eyes.

Now.. i feel like… a loser.

Nothing is enough. Everything falls slightly above or slightly below average, depending on the day and I can’t even bring myself to care.. as long as it gets done.

I’ve stretched my arms out and dislocated my shoulders all to reach nothing but the light switch in my room so that i can finally sleep.

All i can do is sleep.

I’d spent an entire day having multiple panic attacks and sleeping.

sickest routine i’ve had. sleep, cry, throw up, drink water, try to eat so that I don’t pass out, throw up at the idea of food. sleep again.

My body is revolting.

I’m not technically doing anything wrong, am i?

It’s weird because.. I don’t think lowly of myself.. but I’ve become absent in my own life.. Again! After everything.. After all that work, i’ve become the crumbs that stick behind no matter how many times you sweep.

If it’s biological and if my only answer is to let it pass then I will do that but i cant stand to lose another year of my life.

Soon I will be older.

Soon I will have another epiphany about the things that are painfully obvious.

Soon, I will try to take back my life.. again

Soon, the world will punish me for doing so.

Soon I’ll be back here complaining about the same old shit.

It seems that my personal definition has slipped,

My questions have worn thin. I don’t care to ask.

None of it means anything unless it’s in front of my face and I can touch it with my fingers.

I don’t care for enlightenment or tedtalks or internet psychologists. I squirm.. &

the past feels disingenuous to me, I barely remember it, anyway.

It’s alright. I don’t yearn for childlike feelings,

I am still the person I was as a child and I still have feelings.. I think she’d back me up on this.

hm.

Weirdly enough though, I do feel 16 all over again. Everything I experience now seems to be an extension.. some teenage fantasy for 16 year old Elisha to squeal at.

Maybe it’s being in this city.. maybe it’s the hair.. living in the same neighborhood that I used to escape to.. hanging out with Xuchit.. dressing the way I used to.. . feeling lost.. roaming.. not trusting the adults around me.

It’s dream like, it’s hazy. Yet, I’m touched. I could cry.

Looking at my circumstances in third person

.. I mean.. 16 year old me was kinda on to something… many things, really.

If we do exist in cycles, then 17 is next & i’ll find reason in my existence & then 18- i’ll be really healthy and hot and productive & if I’ve learned absolutely nothing and I experience 19 again, god strike me.

So.. what is tangible to me? feeling and seeing and touching.

along with breaking and building and molding.

clay, string and sand. goosebumps and stretches and handstands and even more so, the head rush that comes with it.