Patchwork and Chill

I sometimes wonder if I'm living my best life. I wonder if the affirmations that I tell myself at night really work, after all the other passengers have left the bus and it's just me and depression left sitting. I wonder if I still let fear keep me from doing the things I truly enjoy.

I find myself escaping sometimes, not that I get very far. I escape in my words. I escape in my actions. I escape, not in drugs or alcohol, although I have walked down that road, but I escape by trying to be the best version of myself. I escape by throwing myself into a place where I can be whatever I want to be so long as it's positive. I escape into becoming 'The Chandelier' the light source, beacon supreme.

By now, you've gathered that my escape is actually a retreat deeper into myself. A cerebral journey to the absolute core of who I am. Some days, the journey just feels... never ending. Like there's no diving board high enough to create a force strong enough to plunge me deep enough into myself, that I sleep peacefully through the night without waking up feeling as though I lost a part of myself I'll never be able to get back. A never-ending struggle to feel something, anything.

There's no hole deep enough within me, no despair dark enough to contain the observer watching me crave ME so desperately. I feel like I am that ONE ex-lover that got away from myself.
I feel like I'm clawing from the inside of a deep dark well, breaking my fingernails on bricks stacked so high that I'll never reach me. I sometimes feel like maybe my best life is the one where I acknowledge that I'll never get to all of me in this lifetime because maybe in this lifetime only fractions of me can be revealed.

I cry at night, frustrated with this existence because I know that my broken fingernails pales in comparison to the ache of a broken soul spending millennia collecting fragments and piecing them together like patchwork quilts. I'm frustrated that there's no fast forward button on forever. So I press play, jagged fingernails slowly growing out over time, tears leaving salt trails on my cheeks, and I keep going.

There's still so much more to see, so I'll keep collecting the fragments. Maybe that is what my best life is... being committed, no matter what, to sewing my patchwork quilt. Because sometimes, your best life is a warm blanket on the couch watching Netflix, waiting for the dawn.