Queens Get the Money

I’m so glad I did a Herculean dose of medical grade MDMA a few summers ago. I spent the entire 5 hour window in my friends apartment crying while holding his cute little dog. I was trying to work through some traumatic event that happened a few years prior and during the trip I remember seeing a brown tear against white. I bring up the tear a lot in my mind because I see it as something that happened against the momentum of my reality, that it didn’t come from within.

I had to quit therapy because my therapist was saying some crazy shit, so I guess I’m back to blogging as a means of self expression. She sort of tried to muzzle my attempts to heal. Therapy is interesting because you essentially expose the softest edges of your underbelly to a complete stranger, and for whatever reason, believe that they are trustworthy. But that person can bring their own rot, their own toxicity into your life, and mangle a wound that needs to be sanitized and salved.

Where am I going with all of this? I feel sleep deprived and I took a long bubble bath on Monday to work through my anxiety. The sleep deprivation is catching up though and I’m thinking I might leave work a few hours early to do laundry and maybe clean my apartment. I need to reset my mind, reset my life. I want to fall back into focus, into flow, and try to start moving the needle forward. Writing helps because it’s like a process of uncovering, of removing the debris around my reality.

When I initially started this entry, I sort of mentally zoomed back to my first corporate job in NYC. I struggled so much in that role, it was like watching a bug slowly get crushed. I didn’t understand the workplace dynamics, the people I was surrounded by, or the reality I was working against. Life was a confusing, anxiety ridden blur that I blocked out on weekends with friends and parties. Adulthood has brought clarity, and I now see the meal that was being served to me.

The Knicks are playing in the finals tonight for the first time since 1999. I can’t imagine the pressure that comes from having all of New York City wait with bated breath for a fresh victory. I keep thinking about how life is similar to sports. There is a ball and a goal and everything else is just a distraction. I think about the brown tear, my shitty work environments. A strange fog that took over my life, but never the point I was meant to drive towards.