I’m sick of not knowing things.

I’m mentally fatigued because I don’t have an intuitive grasp on what is going on. I hate that I don’t know things, or that I can’t solve problems easily, or that my mind won’t even settle down enough to focus.

My mind splits a lot. And a lot of reality isn’t real to me. So I’m always battling that part of myself, the part that’s lost in Wonderland. The part that’s in the Matrix, the part of me that’s just not… here.

And while that part roams, there is that part of me that wants to be grounded. Yet I continue to fly away. Head in the clouds. Space cadet. Fucking useless.

Everything about being absent-minded renders me useless. Is it cute to be spacey? I don’t want to be spacey, I want to be Space. I want to study Space. I need space in my brain. There’s too much fucking chatter.

I have this naive hope that going back to stimulants will help. On top of all of the other adjustments I’ve made. I have this naive hope that it’ll all fall into place once I have meds. That I’ve developed habits and I have one last piece.

I day dream a lot. Fantasize about the life that I want, and ways in which I could make it happen. What steps I would need to take.

I’ve always took pride in the fact that I live life on Hard Mode. But I’m making it harder than it needs to be. There’s diminishing returns, and I’m not developing Strength anymore, I’m just over-extending.

I just want to be fucking good at this. And I want someone’s passion to match mine. I’m lit, and I’m burning under my own desire.

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