Existential Anxiety

The existential anxiety of not knowing where I belong, or what I believe about home or really where I’d go if I wasn’t going where ever the fuck it is I’m going… which is seemingly everywhere and no where.
Working on making a plan for the next 5 months that involves driving around America, playing music and meeting new people. I have no idea what else to do with myself and I’m still not totally sure this is what I should be doing.
But, well, I’m already doing it. Booking shows, spending hours and hours on the internet contacting complete strangers, not getting a lot of shows booked. Getting in touch with old contacts and making plans. Writing emails to the ones I hold close that say things like “I miss you too” and “I don’t know when I’ll see you next, but I’m coming to find you”
It’s already been 5 months since I left “home” and I really don’t have any idea what home  actually is? A neurotic space where I can pace and wonder and worry and build my mind up to a million concerns?
At least I know I feel better, in most ways, when I’m in motion. But for some reason, I always have this strong feeling of longing. A deep loneliness that can’t be soothed or pacified. A confusion. A misplaced heart that beats irregularly.

Somethings change, somethings stay the same.

Some people will be missed and some people do the missing.

Where do we go from here?


Emo night, no cover.

Sometimes I get hit by a wave of sadness so hard and fast that it feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Taking the wind right out of me and leaving me disoriented and in pain.

There’s so many people I’ve loved over the years, and now I’m sitting here in my room at 2:44 on a Friday morning wondering how so many friendships just faded or went on hiatus.
How so many people can fail each other. How much someone (me) can miss because shit went sour and then went even worse.
I’ve made mention to leaving, to change, to running away.
I was so fucking broken when I left that I didn’t know what else to do. I spent three years drunk as fuck and shit got bad. Sometimes it was better but worse than before. Other times it was just worse.

I came out of those years yet again wondering what the fuck happened. Again destroyed even further with hurt, pain, lies, abuse.
I came out of those years with a fucking drinking problem and a concussion.
Some more scars and chips to put of the list of shit I’ll never, ever fucking let happen again.

What ever friendships I had saved from before those years really struggled to survive them. I lost more friends because I was broken and becoming more broken. I was hurt and becoming more hurt. I was losing myself and for all I fucking cared I was about to drowned in the bottom of a 20 pack of Caribou green and set my self on fire with a pack of Canadian Classics. Preferably every night. Or die trying. Hopefully.

And now I’m sober. I’m trying to give up smoking.

I’m starting to see folks around that I haven’t seen in years. It looks like a lot of people are moving out this way. People I used to be closer to and miss dearly. I’m terrified to open back up again, I’m not sure if anything has actually changed. Some of them still hold parts of me. Some of them I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive. Most of them probably don’t give a fuck about me anyway.

I miss so many people so fucking much, but maybe it’s better off like this?
Maybe some of the bridges need to stay burnt.

Tonight is a night of sadness and loneliness.
Of remembering the ones that are lost to me, but not gone.
Tonight is for missing you and wishing I could erase the hurt.
Wishing you would come and hold my hand like you used to.

Tonight is for mourning parts of myself that are better dead.
For believing in my ability to find strength even in my darkest times.
Tonight is for honouring the feelings I have and respecting that I can miss people who hurt me deeply in the past.
It doesn’t make me a contradiction to have feelings, It makes me human.

A Mantra.

Working for a living actually brings you closer to death.
I’ve been working every day, not fully living, crawling closer to death. Or, at least that’s what it seems like.

I’m wondering if I’m doing it to avoid how I feel, or if the reasons I’m telling myself I’m doing this are the whole truth: sometimes money buys dreams.

Maybe I’m doing it to cope? Maybe it’s because I don’t know what else to do with myself right now? I feel in limbo. I feel impatient. I feel aimless. I always feel scared.

Soon there won’t be any more work till spring.
I fucking quit (maybe?)
“Fuck work. Don’t work if you don’t want to.” -Keith (he pays me for shit). Smart.

If I work enough, then I can become working. It’ll destroy me.
Take apart my mind piece by piece and lose half of them.
Maybe I’ll find new places inside myself, like a walking meditation, like an introspective mushroom trip.
Maybe I’ll just find that dark space that sucks the life out of me through my rented hands.

And I wonder “is this better than drinking?”.
Don’t answer that, I could barely finish the thought.

The answer is yes, if it’s a choice between the two.
The answer is no, if it’s a question with more than two choices (because the other choices could be better than work or drink and there are a lot of them).
The answer is: I guess so. If it’s what I need to do right now to be safe. If it’s because I’m lacking the fight in me to do many other things. If it’s easier than choosing something different when I don’t have the mental stamina to choose. If so many things and stories and deaths and near deaths and sadnesses ride my mind. If sometimes all the heartache of life gets through and into my deepness. If it’s only temporary and I’m conscious of it. If it’s because sometimes surrendering myself to hard challange and fighting to make it through is a different way for me to feel real.

I need to feel real.
I don’t feel real.
I’ll feel real again soon.

Yeah, it’s better than drinking.

I wonder how I can live in such a mental duality so continuously for so long without tearing myself apart and becoming two people. I’m so strong and resilient. So sensitive and emotional. Today, I feel both hopeful and hopeless. I feel present and very far away and outside of myself.

My room mate and I have been having a continuous early morning conversation about how nothing really matters.
Nothing Matters: A Mantra.
In a world where everything is so subjective and fragile and momentary, what actually matters? Do your bills matter? Or what you had for lunch? That you had to work today? Does it really matter if you quit your job? Burn all your notebooks? Yell at the ocean? What about if you do the dishes? Clean your room? Run away?

How you feel matters.
How you feel about everything is really the only thing that matters.
Feelings matter.

But what if you can never totally tell how you feel? What if something happened to mess up how you understand your feelings? So, now you never know if your feelings are lies twisted around inside your mind, tying up your heart all fucked and knotted in your throat. So you try to be the best person you can be but never know if you’re actually letting yourself be true. Are you really trying?
Choking on your own heart beat, confused and at a loss for words. Wondering if anything matters, wondering how to feel real.

What if you don’t know how to feel things properly because some time in your past you were made to believe that your feelings are crazy, made up and wrong. You’ve spent so much time trying to untangle those lies that your fingers bleed from the rawness of undoing the knots. Blood has gotten on everything. It’s smeared across the panorama of your ideas on how to feel and it obscures the details. It makes you wonder if there’s more that’s been obscured, but you can’t quite tell. How many details do you miss? How many forgiving’s can you give before you find that walking away was a better idea? How late will you be to leave? How intensely you feel, but what do you name these feelings? What if you’re just trying to be good, but you’re actually being too kind? Too sensitive? Too insensitive?
Can you trust yourself anyway?
Should you trust yourself…?

So, if nothing really matters but your feelings, and you can’t trust your feelings, what the fuck can you trust? and if you can’t trust something, how can it matter? fuck.

I feel nauseous.

I feel tired. I feel avoidant. I feel dishonest with myself. I feel restless and over worked. I feel like it’s almost time to go. It’s almost time to do. It’s almost time to hurry up and wait.
I feel hopeful. I feel like I’m trying to believe in something big. I feel scared. I feel skeptical. I feel desire. I feel drive and growth and change. I feel.

Just to become. 

September 20th

At times I feel like I need new eyes, these days have passed me by.

And if patience is a virtue and a virtue is a grace, then I lack civility today.

I saw them, sparks shooting up from the prairie grass, while I was speeding past.

I don’t remember the fireflies. I forgot the dew scent of the Midwest.

Tired days and endless nights.

Memories are a strange thing, how quickly they are made. I try to hold fast, relive the past, while all the good decays.

Now time slips by in different ways.

I promise this time everything has changed.

I saw them, sparks shooting up from the prairie grass, while I was speeding past.

I don’t remember the fireflies, I forgot the dew scent of the Midwest.

Tired days and endless nights.


You woke me up in the night and asked to hold my hand. I can’t remember another time where something so simple had offered change.

I always remember that once, years ago, I saw a thunderstorm hugging the horizon so tightly while my ride rocked rhythmically on its ties. The full moon and prairies rolling by. My skin felt cool to the touch in the August heat. I wanted for nothing. Even in a time where so many everythings had overcome me, I could still find tranquility. One chance at a momentary peace.

You brought me back from the spaces inbetween those memories and held my face in your hands. Those hands have helped me become again in different ways. You called me back from hiding and looked into me. Your eyes have helped me see things differently in a new way.

I am greatful. I am humbled. I am real.