Flight,the funk and a home movie.

Funk.

I’m in a funk. A funk where I feel lost and wonder when it’ll lift. I wonder if I’ll find an impetus again.

I’m stuck. Of my own choosing I’m assuming as I know deeply I’m finding ways of not moving forward.

I know I’m not long back from a trip of my lifetime,of a dream come true. A gentle voice says it’s ok, I’ll find my groove in a while,I will find some clarity,some courage,some life in me. A gentle self knows I’m scared to take steps to live a life I want.

A life that includes massage,children,a partner,writing. That leaves my current job and explores a fuller life. Follow a shamanic path,explore this,deepen this simply because I love it and I know it loves me. Perhaps my writing loves me as well?

I feel a heat as I write this. A heat of fear,of energy. Maybe the energy that I need to live freeing up a little. A sickness in my belly as well. A sense of being directionless.

So frustrating. I’d hoped I’d come back from the States fully juiced to move forwards. I was in a way then straight away work took over. It’ll be like this until Xmas with work as this is the busiest time of the year.

At least I’m writing. Facing this. I’m glad.

Flight, the home movie.

I watched the movie Flight last night. I had the vaguest notion of what it was about but it has Denzil Washington in and he’s a favourite actor so it was a definite watch once the price came down on Amazon. It came down,I watched.

And a loved it as a movie.

But it also was like watching a movie of my life without being a pilot or going to prison.

The drink,drugs,needles,lies,desperation,hurting people I love,conning others conning myself I was ok. It was horrible.

I felt sick,I cried in horror. I saw my mum in there. It was truly horrific.

I suppose I’m meant to celebrate being sober,clean,human. That was a huge reason to take the trip. To celebrate me,celebrate my living a life. But it feels hollow just now,feels bleak. I remembered the allure of being on the edge,over the edge at times,hustling. I remembered how absolved of responsibility my life was as I drank and used and I understood how wonderful that was. No one,nothing to think about except me and getting high. Getting high to run away from the emptiness of a life wasting away. A fucking horrible existence. A brutally mirroring movie.

I like the edge,thankfully less than I used to. I like to hustle,thankfully I’d rather be honest on the most part. And at times I know hustling kept me alive,that an ability to see,for the most part,where the edge I couldn’t cross was also kept me alive. And this is good. Alive is good though scary as hell because underneath the funk is the life I’d like and I’m afraid to believe in me,in spirit,in life enough to believe in dreams coming true.

Yet I just lived a dream so I’m ‘meant’ to use that as impetus aren’t I? Isn’t this meant to show me I can have dreams and not give up on them? Yet I feel angry.

Angry that I have to work for what I want,risk my heart for dreams.

Angry,frightened,vulnerable,confused.

Fuck! Welcome home.

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