Two days ago my strange and muddled mind thought it would be a great idea to travel, on my own, to the one place I know terrifies me. 

New York City.

Why?
There were plenty of reasons but they're a bit hard to remember right now amidst my mounting anxieties (over nothing). As a country girl, the sounds of the city batter against my brain like unwanted neighbors trying to force their way in, but I will try and recall those reasons as an exercise to try and keep myself sane.

I came here to be alone. To be in a place by myself, where I never believed I could survive,   Where social encounters with my peers are not guaranteed, where I will have to make a real effort to connect with and get to know people.

I came here to listen. I realized that despite not knowing what exactly it is that I want to do with my life, I'm happiest when I am around people and creators who share stories and allow me to be in awe of and inspired by them.

I came here to see. To see with my own eyes the works of art that I've only ever admired on computer screens and book pages. To see sights that are foreign and frightening to me. To see the life that I thought I would hate. To see the parts of me that I am truly ashamed of. To see the parts of me that are better than I thought.

I came here to change. I've lived most of my life locked inside the four walls of my bedroom. Because I was  taught to be afraid of the things that might be outside: conflict and pain and humiliation. I was too afraid to pursue the life that I wanted because of all of the warnings of how horrifying life could be. But at this point in my life, I've realised that hiding and living in ignorance is so useless. Pain still finds me, and I'm trapped in this greyscale life where I'm limited by my own fear and mediocrity.




That being said, this is sort of my own personal social experiment on myself so I'll be documenting my thoughts. The words that follow are going to be completely honest and completely asinine and whiny. Please enjoy.


10:05pm
I'm finally in my cabin at the hostel. I actually kind of love it. The whole place has a very 1950s vibe. But my mind is being the pessimist as always.
"YOU REALIZE NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOU. Out of all the people you notified about this trip not one of them texted to make sure you were okay except for the one guy you don't even know. Youdon'thavefriendsnoonelovesyou. Ifyoudiednoonewouldnotice."
...We're ignoring that as best we can.

After the terror of navigating the city streets and subway lines by myself, my faint heart is struggling a bit. I'd originally planned to go out for a drink, but my backside seems to have somehow developed roots and planted itself into the bed. My pride won't let me be needy. I chose to be alone, I can no longer rely on others to make myself feel strong. I AM STRONG.

...But I'm too much of a coward to even take my laptop and food out to the common areas to eat and edit the images of the day... I promise I will do that as soon as I post this.
** Update: I never went to the common area, I took a shower instead. Which I've now decided was actually the harder option...**


I am relatively proud of surviving to this point. I packed lighter than I ever have in my life. I managed to navigate my way here without carrying my tablet around with google maps open (although I did end up walking past a few of the subway entrances I was supposed to take). I stared down any persons who seemed suspicious (the poor people were probably innocent) and I managed to cross all streets without running or jumping too conspicuously at the car horns. I made it to the safe house.

62 hours to go. Tomorrow is another day.

There's something to be said about prayer and human commitment... when you ask for the right things, God really does give you what you ask for.. and more. But I also think that the devil knows that and fights to make you weaker.

Sometimes, during the day. I feel great. But then all of a sudden. At some random moment in time. either in the middle of an event, or when I get home ,or in the middle of a lecture... suddenly it's like the world drops away for a second. And then comes back. But it's like my spirit somehow got lost in that second. And I feel nothing.

*

Sometimes nothing is fine. Sometimes nothing is even good. At least it's better than horrible pain or anger or sorrow. But somehow, nothing is also terrible. Instead of searing pain. It's a cloying senselessness that calcifies you and eats away at your body at the same time.

Nothing, is empty. Empty now and empty tomorrow. Tomorrow either exists to be worse than the nothing, or it doesn't exist at all. Nothing, makes tomorrow seem impossible. You stay awake. Dreading the end of the day, because you know if the next day comes, you have to start all over again.

Nothing, is not seeing the glass half empty. Nor is it simply having an empty cup.  It feels like pouring out of a half empty cup and having the rest of the world expect more even when you tip the cup all the way upside down.

*

Lately, I've been happier. My cup is half full, sometimes it even overflows.... but I feel like it keeps getting smaller. Somehow it's shrinking. It overflows so much, but when the cup is tipped upside down, I pour out less and less every time. I lose fuel faster and faster like a dying battery. Sometimes I worry I'll eventually run out completely. And I won't even be empty, I'll just be nothing.

*

But then, sometimes I wonder if I'm supposed to be nothing. After all, if a clay jar filled with gold cracks. It reveals the gold inside. If my cup disappears, the water that filled it flows out freely...

Sigh... who knows.