in highschool, my close-to-retirement history prof once stopped a lecture to say, "dysfunctional family? find me thisfunctional family." this moment could have been in my movie too. a sort of comforting light flickered out of my oversized clothes, my angsty hair, and the rest of my teenage aura. right. yes. everyone goes through shit. all the 'art' i became interested in, music, film, television, books, what the fuck ever - my favourite stories were the ones where people faced their life in fucking shambles. and this early, not selfless, but very un-selfish, realization that you should not judge your shit as worse than others, might be what's responsible for my current, abnormal, wise, adult-like attitude. and maybe this is how i came to think i could change this family, from it's freudian complexities, and it's cultural value, and all the wrong words that meant to say love, but never fucking did.
the other day, i had a terrible thought. fuck i can never just say what happened without telling you why it happened because it all feels so goddamn integral to me. anyway. i don't know. at some point in my earlier adolescence, i decided to start smoking, probably to be cool more than anything else. and it turns out i had a lot of anxiety in me too, and i was convincing my stupid little brain that these cancer sticks made me feel better (did i mention i have a terrible fear of cancer?) and so i smoked. like a pack a day. like in my bathroom, with a hot shower and the windows opened, because my parents would blow their shit if they found out. and then one day, i must have realized i was happy, or something. because i started to freak out about the end. like, end, end. life end. what happens when you die? and after reading the briefest paragraphs on all these complex religions, i decided we were all probably going to go into nothingness. death was nothingness. and this shit freaked me out. but because i didn't think about it, the unfortunate way i looked at it, was that my consciousness was going to exist or whatever, and this consciousness was going to be stuck in a black space. this seemed to be nothingness, and that sounded fucking brutal. so in this way, the end sounded fucking brutal. and also, have i mentioned how terrible i am with endings as is? i can barely get through a season finale, let alone a series finale, let alone, fucking death. so i freaked out, and i stopped smoking, and i was sure that the goal was to live forever. and life went on, and things were good, and bad, and great, and awful, and everything it's supposed to be.
i dismiss my fear of cancer, because a couple years ago, i realized the meaning of my life was to someday have children, and i started living for these unborn children. i started being this kind, forgiving, and loving person, and it was working out great, and now i think that no matter how much you try, you're just a number, and i guess, i dont know, i don't see these unborn children in my future. so why give a shit for them? it's not they probably wont happen. it's not that, i'm tired of being so fucking wise. i've been alive for two decades, and i already have more balls to be brave for my (non-existent) children, than your average fuck up does. it is fucking exhausting to think like this, and so i dismiss my fear of cancer. it is exhausting to do the right thing, to even know what that is, when i have no reason to believe it makes a difference.
the other day, i had a terrible thought. fuck i can never just say what happened without telling you why it happened because it all feels so goddamn integral to me. anyway. i don't know. at some point in my earlier adolescence, i decided to start smoking, probably to be cool more than anything else. and it turns out i had a lot of anxiety in me too, and i was convincing my stupid little brain that these cancer sticks made me feel better (did i mention i have a terrible fear of cancer?) and so i smoked. like a pack a day. like in my bathroom, with a hot shower and the windows opened, because my parents would blow their shit if they found out. and then one day, i must have realized i was happy, or something. because i started to freak out about the end. like, end, end. life end. what happens when you die? and after reading the briefest paragraphs on all these complex religions, i decided we were all probably going to go into nothingness. death was nothingness. and this shit freaked me out. but because i didn't think about it, the unfortunate way i looked at it, was that my consciousness was going to exist or whatever, and this consciousness was going to be stuck in a black space. this seemed to be nothingness, and that sounded fucking brutal. so in this way, the end sounded fucking brutal. and also, have i mentioned how terrible i am with endings as is? i can barely get through a season finale, let alone a series finale, let alone, fucking death. so i freaked out, and i stopped smoking, and i was sure that the goal was to live forever. and life went on, and things were good, and bad, and great, and awful, and everything it's supposed to be.
i dismiss my fear of cancer, because a couple years ago, i realized the meaning of my life was to someday have children, and i started living for these unborn children. i started being this kind, forgiving, and loving person, and it was working out great, and now i think that no matter how much you try, you're just a number, and i guess, i dont know, i don't see these unborn children in my future. so why give a shit for them? it's not they probably wont happen. it's not that, i'm tired of being so fucking wise. i've been alive for two decades, and i already have more balls to be brave for my (non-existent) children, than your average fuck up does. it is fucking exhausting to think like this, and so i dismiss my fear of cancer. it is exhausting to do the right thing, to even know what that is, when i have no reason to believe it makes a difference.
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