Ride It Out

The following are thoughts that played out in my head this evening.  Seriously.  Same voices that bring poems and stories become dark and twisted… or perhapsI’m in need of psychiatric care.

 

Why not?  Haven’t met a good therapist in years, I’m overdue.

 

It used to be all self-hate but I’ve evolved to the point where it nosedives at first (like always) then pulls up soon after.

 

Tonight was the first time it happened like this, though…

 

 

 

So you’re hating your life?  Ride it out.

 

Been there countless times before.  Ride it out.

 

Dream of driving off a cliff?  Ride it out.

 

Delete the story files?  Ride it out.

 

Go to the gym three times a day?  Ride it out.

 

Self-fulfilling destructive prophecies?  Ride ’em out.

 

Deactivate your Facebook?  Ride it out.

 

Delete this stupid blog?  Ride it out.

 

Drop out of sight until next year?  Hmm… No, ride it out.

 

Get quiet and withdraw from the world?  Ride it out.

 

It’s all part of this artist bullshit.  Ride it out

 

Sick of being lonely?  Ride it out.

 

Feeling lost and hopeless?  Ride it out…

 

 

 

You finally got a job.  Ride it out.

 

Your mother just stopped worrying.  Ride it out.

 

Didn’t give up on college.  That worked out.

 

You’ve almost finished a novel!  Ride it out.

 

Keep helping people who need help.  Ride it out.

 

Be kind to yourself again.  Ride it out.

 

What’s that on your wrist?  Ride it out.*

 

Read Steve Jobs eulogy.  Ride it out.

 

See all the good inside.  Ride it out.

 

Appreciate your unique soul.  Ride it out.

 

It’s okay to love yourself.  Ride it out.

 

You’re worthy to receive love.  RIDE IT OUT!

 

 

*The tat on my wrist is a short phrase in Spanish: “El amor es lo que importa”, a loose translation of the last line of my favorite Lenny Kravitz song, “Always on the Run”:

 

And my momma said, that LOVE’S ALL THAT MATTERS…

 

I’m a nutcase sometimes, we all have our shortcomings and I go through seasons where I absolutely can’t stand to look in the mirror because I hate every square inch I see.  But the seasons become shorter as time passes, little things don’t set me off into spin-cycle as often as they used to (even though it happened tonight).  I’m not perfect, my life isn’t perfect, won’t ever be perfect, not even trying.

 

I live a good life full of potential, hope… in-sync with the universe on my best days.  And on others I’m here.  But I don’t want to drink, get high, have sex… none of the sensory escapes.  They don’t help (me, anyway)…

 

A bad moment that will pass.

 

Ride it out.

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