u/idkbutheresathought

I spend a lot of time alone. Maybe too much time.

I’m social, outgoing, capable of connecting with people easily, but internally I’ve always felt slightly removed from everything around me. Like there’s a layer of glass between me and the rest of the world.

When I was younger, my dad spent most of his time in the basement smoking cigarettes. He would come home, walk past us, and disappear downstairs for hours. I understand him better now than I did then, but I think some part of that isolation imprinted onto me early.

I’ve realized as I get older that I retreat inward constantly. Time keeps moving, life keeps happening, and somehow I can still spend entire days trapped inside my own thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if consciousness itself is the burden.

Not in a hopeless way, but in the sense that once you become deeply aware of yourself, your patterns, your mortality, your loneliness, your contradictions, it becomes difficult to participate in life as effortlessly as other people seem to.

I think a lot about perception. About how every single person who has ever met me probably carries a completely different version of me in their head. Some version I’ll never fully have access to or control.

And despite understanding that intellectually, I still care. I still wonder what people think of me. Which feels both deeply human and completely irrational at the same time.

Lately, I’ve been trying to pull myself out of my own mind and back into my body. To stop analyzing life long enough to actually experience it.

Because I’ve noticed something uncomfortable: I know exactly what triggers my spirals, and sometimes I still revisit them anyway. Almost compulsively. Like there’s a part of me more attached to emotional familiarity than peace itself.

At the same time, I’ve also never felt more aware or more alive.

The older I get, the stranger existence feels to me. The fact that any of this exists at all. The fact that we wake up every day inside these temporary bodies, build identities around memories and desires, and collectively pretend we understand what’s happening here.

Sometimes I look at modern life and feel deeply disconnected from it. The constant consumption, distraction, performance, endless labor. People working constantly while time slips through their hands unnoticed.

It feels like we’ve built systems that keep people too exhausted to actually experience being alive.

And yet, despite all of this, I still feel hopeful.

Not because I think life is easy or inherently meaningful, but because I think meaning is something we create through attention, connection, curiosity, love, art, conversation, even suffering.

Some days life feels beautiful to me. Other days it feels unbearably heavy. Most days it feels like both at once.

I think what unsettles me most is how quickly the human mind can shift between awe and despair. Between gratitude and self-destruction. Between feeling deeply connected to existence and feeling completely detached from it.

Maybe that contradiction is part of being human.

I don’t really know.

I just know I can’t be the only person who feels this strange whiplash from being alive sometimes.

When I was younger, my dad spent a lot of time in the basement. He would just hang out down there. He would come home, walk past us, and go downstairs. He was a heavy smoker at the time; the smell of cigarettes would float up through the vents like a dark cloud throughout the house. We laugh about it now, and I understand who he was then better. However, the imprint was made.

I spend a lot of my time alone. Maybe too much time? I’m a great communicator and the life of the party, but I’m not one to reach out, and I’m very comfortable with distance.

Time is moving forward. Every day that passes by, I’ve spent at least 24 hours stuck in my head. I don’t trust people easily, and I find it extremely hard to open up. That’s at least the part of my mind I can go to, if I so choose.

When I meditate, I see myself in a garden, in complete peace or chaos depending on my emotional state. I’m in conversation with my guides, angels, and higher self; I’m talking to God, to my mom, to my ancestors. Asking questions, rarely receiving full answers, but guidance comes to me in my day-to-day life. Messages, downloads, potential timelines show up in my dreams. They always have, ever since I was a child.

I’m finding that time is passing by actively and always. I’m aware of it, but also so deeply in my own world. I wonder if that’s how people perceive me too. I feel like most people I meet and interact with have their own distinct memory of me. I often wonder what people think of me. Is that normal? Why should I care what anyone thinks?

Even as I’m writing this, I’m confronting the more negative aspects of myself, not at all thinking or focusing on the blessings. That’s just where my mind landed tonight, which is weird because I’ve been feeling so in alignment and so sure of myself lately. The truth is, I know exactly what triggers me, and for whatever reason, I still can’t help myself but revisit it.

I know a lot about astrology and the occult. I’ve always felt deeply tapped into spiritual patterns, and I have a very clear understanding of this 3D life. The Sun just went into Gemini, which feels like summer and sex are on the horizon. Mercury is in Gemini, and it’s actively interacting with the Pluto retrograde in Aquarius. The Venusian and Moon energy right now is beautiful. Venus is in Cancer, where it feels safe and cozy, while Mars is in Taurus, where embodiment, sensuality, and grounding are laying the foundation for the yellow brick road.

If I could tell you guys the amount of mental and emotional breakthroughs… truths… spirals I have experienced in the last, let’s just say, four months on a constant? I remember praying and asking to see life through God’s eyes. Ever since then, my perspective on everything has shifted astronomically.

I truly see life on this Earth as a gift, and the powers that “be” as evil. They always have been. Somehow though, I feel excited and ready and open for what’s to come. Just this overwhelming feeling of joy and love on the horizon. Now, I’m not naive. I understand that historically empires fall before they are rebuilt. I don’t know what that looks like for me, or the people that I love, or for society as a whole, but change is here, and more is to come.

Lately, it’s been hard for me to separate my personal transformations from what feels like larger societal ones.

So picture that as one running narrative in my brain. That is the one that’s been overpowering and taking over all the other irrelevant shit that I obsess and think over constantly. I like that one. It’s positive, it’s beautiful, it’s inspiring.

Then I’m quickly reminded of narratives, feelings, ideas, and thoughts governing people, places, and things that don’t matter.

Ego death is something I’m very comfortable with. I’ve gone through it a thousand times. There’s something cathartic about it. It’s like shedding layers of skin, revealing the truth, the wound, the childhood abandonment.

I’m human. I experience everything like a human does in this day and age. I imagine if phones didn’t exist, I’d be a trusted community leader. Someone people came to for wisdom, guidance, strategy. Because I know how to survive. I’m adaptive, intelligent, and patient. These are traits that I build toward, brick by brick.

There’s a shift happening. It’s been happening. Part of me wonders if a major energetic shift in America happened around 2008. Seeing a Black man as the leader of America, one who could not be taken out, one who is loved worldwide, one with a beautiful dark-skinned wife. It pissed off the elites and covert White nationalists, likely people already in or being groomed into positions of power.

We’re seeing the effects of this play out now and, in real time, witnessing the corruption within our system boil over its cap. Not to mention the crime against humanity that is someone being worth a billion dollars.

Fear mongering is an attempt to keep energy low vibrational. The content we consume is horrible for us. The food, the media, all of it. That’s intentional. Capitalism exists to keep us in the rat race, to keep us poor, to keep us working, to keep us dreaming instead of living.

Damn. I started this essay… vent session… journal entry trying to write myself out of my head and into my body. Somehow, I ended up saying what needs to be said in regard to the new timeline. I’m going to keep this energy up. I really love writing. I’m having fun.

Back to my message:

Everything is connected. I have no doubt that the vibration of hope, love, and joy radiating through the American people, especially Black American people at that time, threw off whatever pendulum, code, or ritual the powers that be use for world domination.

Stay with me here, I promise I am not wearing a tin foil cap right now. The fact that we exist in this moment, that I can type these words on my computer… don’t any of you ever wonder what else is possible? That there’s so much happening right now that we don’t know about?

I’m not saying anything as an absolute or blanket statement. I hope by speaking about this I’m able to invite conversation, perspectives, and questions. What I’m saying is that there are an infinite number of possibilities, timelines, and scenarios, and we can choose which way we want to go through our vibration, our thoughts, our actions, and our patterns. Everything is connected.

But we’re human. There will be days where you’re just off. Most days, it’s difficult to think about any of this because life feels like a burden instead of a blessing. Then we start feeling curious, or nosey, about the things we know will trigger us. We’re already having an off day, and we still choose to poke the bear.

Oui. I’m speaking French now, oui.

I pray I’m not the only one who feels this way or thinks this way. I get whiplash in my own head a lot.

I spend a lot of time alone. Maybe too much time.

I’m social, outgoing, capable of connecting with people easily, but internally I’ve always felt slightly removed from everything around me. Like there’s a layer of glass between me and the rest of the world.

When I was younger, my dad spent most of his time in the basement smoking cigarettes. He would come home, walk past us, and disappear downstairs for hours. I understand him better now than I did then, but I think some part of that isolation imprinted onto me early.

I’ve realized as I get older that I retreat inward constantly. Time keeps moving, life keeps happening, and somehow I can still spend entire days trapped inside my own thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if consciousness itself is the burden.

Not in a hopeless way, but in the sense that once you become deeply aware of yourself, your patterns, your mortality, your loneliness, your contradictions, it becomes difficult to participate in life as effortlessly as other people seem to.

I think a lot about perception. About how every single person who has ever met me probably carries a completely different version of me in their head. Some version I’ll never fully have access to or control.

And despite understanding that intellectually, I still care. I still wonder what people think of me. Which feels both deeply human and completely irrational at the same time.

Lately, I’ve been trying to pull myself out of my own mind and back into my body. To stop analyzing life long enough to actually experience it.

Because I’ve noticed something uncomfortable: I know exactly what triggers my spirals, and sometimes I still revisit them anyway. Almost compulsively. Like there’s a part of me more attached to emotional familiarity than peace itself.

At the same time, I’ve also never felt more aware or more alive.

The older I get, the stranger existence feels to me. The fact that any of this exists at all. The fact that we wake up every day inside these temporary bodies, build identities around memories and desires, and collectively pretend we understand what’s happening here.

Sometimes I look at modern life and feel deeply disconnected from it. The constant consumption, distraction, performance, endless labor. People working constantly while time slips through their hands unnoticed.

It feels like we’ve built systems that keep people too exhausted to actually experience being alive.

And yet, despite all of this, I still feel hopeful.

Not because I think life is easy or inherently meaningful, but because I think meaning is something we create through attention, connection, curiosity, love, art, conversation, even suffering.

Some days life feels beautiful to me. Other days it feels unbearably heavy. Most days it feels like both at once.

I think what unsettles me most is how quickly the human mind can shift between awe and despair. Between gratitude and self-destruction. Between feeling deeply connected to existence and feeling completely detached from it.

Maybe that contradiction is part of being human.

I don’t really know.

I just know I can’t be the only person who feels this strange whiplash from being alive sometimes.

When I was younger, my dad spent a lot of time in the basement. He would come home, walk past us, and go downstairs. He was a heavy smoker at the time, and the smell of cigarettes would float through the vents like a dark cloud throughout the house.

We laugh about it now, and I understand who he was then better. But the imprint was made.

I spend a lot of my time alone. Maybe too much time. I’m a great communicator and the life of the party, but I’m not one to reach out, and I’m very comfortable with distance.

Time is moving forward every day, and somehow I still spend so much of it stuck in my own head. I don’t trust people easily, and I find it extremely hard to open up. That’s at least the version of myself I can retreat into if I choose.

When I meditate, I see myself in a garden. Sometimes it’s peaceful, sometimes chaotic, depending on my emotional state. I’m in conversation with my guides, my higher self, my ancestors, God, my mom. Asking questions. Rarely receiving full answers. But guidance comes to me in strange ways through dreams, patterns, intuition, random moments in daily life. It always has, ever since I was a child.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how time keeps moving whether we participate in it or not. I wonder if other people perceive me as distant or trapped in my own world. I also wonder why I care so much about what people think of me in the first place.

Even writing this, I notice how quickly my brain gravitates toward the darker parts of myself instead of my blessings. Which is strange, because lately I’ve actually felt more aligned and more certain of myself than I have in years.

The truth is, I know exactly what triggers me, and for some reason I still revisit it anyway.

I’ve always felt deeply connected to spirituality, astrology, symbolism, patterns, all of it. Recently, it feels like my internal world and the external world are mirroring each other constantly. Like personal transformation and societal transformation are somehow happening at the same time.

The last four months especially have changed me. I remember praying to see life through God’s eyes, and ever since then, my perspective on everything has shifted.

Life genuinely feels like a gift to me now, even while the world itself feels increasingly dark and unstable. Somehow, underneath all of it, I still feel hopeful. Excited, even. Like something is changing collectively, even if it’s painful and messy in the process.

Part of me wonders if a major energetic shift in America happened around 2008. Seeing a Black man become president, loved worldwide, with a beautiful dark-skinned wife beside him, felt deeply symbolic whether people want to admit it or not. Sometimes I wonder if that moment disrupted something culturally and psychologically that certain systems of power never recovered from.

Now it feels like we’re watching the uglier parts of society boil to the surface in real time. Fear mongering. Division. Rage. Billionaires existing while people can barely survive. Media designed to keep people exhausted and emotionally dysregulated.

And yet, underneath all of that, I still feel this strange sense of possibility.

Maybe that sounds crazy. Maybe I sound like I’m wearing a tin foil hat. But honestly, the fact that we exist at all is already insane if you think about it long enough. The fact that I can type these thoughts onto a screen and send them to strangers across the world in seconds. Doesn’t anyone else ever stop and wonder what else is possible?

I’m not saying any of this as absolute truth. I’m just trying to articulate a feeling I can’t shake lately. That everything is connected more deeply than we realize. Our thoughts, our patterns, our fears, our attention, our hope.

But we’re also human. Some days life feels magical, and other days you end up spiraling over things you already know will hurt you. You’re already having a bad day, and somehow you still choose to poke the bear.

I think that contradiction is probably one of the most human things about us.

And honestly, I hope I’m not the only person who feels this kind of whiplash in their own head sometimes.

Do you ever come to terms with the fact that you might be an idiot?

Like, are you ever just sitting there thinking, “Why the F*CK did I do that?”

I’ve been confronting a lot of my patterns lately and I must say: exhausting experience. Highly unrecommend. Zero stars.

The weird part is that, on paper, my life is actually pretty good. I don’t have much to complain about. I’m content overall. The issue is that I’m also a diva, and ever since I was a kid, I’ve had huge dreams for my life.

What’s interesting is that I feel weirdly connected to that version of myself again. That energy. That path. That feeling. In a way I haven’t in a long time.

I just didn’t imagine I’d be where I am when I finally got back to it.

The best way I can explain it is like standing in a doorway with one foot still behind you. Except I think I finally crossed through. And somehow that realization made me realize I’ve been looking at life instead of fully living it.

I talk a lot about self-love, self-development, healing, growth, all of it. Honestly, I love talking about the self. Not just myself, but the entire concept of identity and transformation.

But I had to admit something uncomfortable: I understood the language of healing more than I trusted it.

I practiced the routines. I did the work. I followed the script. But internally there was still this constant questioning:
“Okay… I did everything correctly, so why do I still keep ending up here?”

And now, in hindsight, I’m like… yeah girl. That actually checks out.

I wasn’t fully feeling my feelings. I was following the archetype of them. Performing awareness instead of integrating it.

When I was younger, I followed my emotions recklessly and ended up in unsafe situations. Now I’m so hyper-aware and hypervigilant that I’ve compromised my ability to actually be present in my own life.

It was never a lack of knowledge. It was a disconnect between trust and timing.

Everything I kept spiraling over already had answers attached to it.

I guess when you’re in the middle of the storm, it’s hard to notice the rain already stopped.

And unfortunately, because I’m human, ate craft cheese as a child, and was on Omegle unsupervised, my brain naturally wants to wander back into the weeds.

My ability to enter an anxiety spiral is honestly Olympic level.

A recurring theme in my life is transformation. Another recurring theme is therapy. My therapist used to tell me that one day I wouldn’t need her anymore.

Eventually she ghosted me.

In hindsight? Healthy. By the end we were mostly gossiping.

Now I’m approaching a year of celibacy, which was never even intentional. It just kind of… happened.

One day I realized I hadn’t had sex in seven months. Now it’s almost been a year.

I’m not religious, but I do believe in a higher power. I pray often. I spend most of my time focused on my creativity, my family, my money, and myself in a way I genuinely never have before.

And in all that solitude, I’ve been thinking a lot about my “almost” relationships.

I’ve dated for years, but I’ve spent most of my life single.

Sometimes I worry I’m one of those women who can’t keep a man.
Other times I look at women who are “kept” and feel sorry for what they have to tolerate to maintain peace.

There are pros and cons to everything.

What I’m recognizing is that I don’t struggle to keep men who actually like me.

The problem is that I become deeply interested in emotionally unavailable men.

Not even in a dramatic way either. I’m not blowing phones up. I don’t pop up places uninvited. I’ve never knowingly been a side chick.

But emotional intensity? Chemistry? The feeling of almost touching something life-changing?

That gets me every time.

My imagination can build an entire love story around a man who takes five business days to respond.

And if spirituality gets involved? God help me.

The second I have a dream that feels prophetic or notice some random “sign,” I start acting like the universe personally assigned him to me.

Meanwhile, I’ll meet an emotionally available man with a good heart, good job, and stable intentions and immediately feel like I’m being sedated.

Like… are we okay?

Am I asking for too much by wanting emotional intensity and emotional safety at the same time?

Can love feel consuming and stable?
Can someone set your heart on fire while also making you feel safe?
Or does that only exist during the first six months of a relationship?

I genuinely don’t know.

But I do know I’ve felt that intensity before, four separate times now, and every single time the men involved were emotionally incapable of showing up consistently.

The chemistry would be insane.
The emotional connection would feel massive.
And then it would burn out just as quickly.

After the last one, I literally told my friend:
“If this happens to me again, I think I’ll die.”

So now I’m here.
Almost a year celibate.
Either completely bored by people or emotionally overwhelmed by them.

No middle ground. Very exhausting. Would not recommend.

But I realized something important recently:

In every single one of these situations, I was the point of interest.

And I don’t mean that in an egotistical way. I mean that my presence carried value whether or not the relationship materialized.

Realizing that shifted something in me.

Not because I can control other people, but because I can control how I show up.

If I had fully understood my worth in those situations, maybe I still would’ve gotten hurt. But I probably would’ve wasted less time trying to romanticize potential instead of accepting reality.

Which brings me to my current issue.

A couple months ago, a guy approached me and immediately asked to come over and hook up.

I said no because… absolutely not.

But unfortunately, the chemistry was insane.

And now, months later, I still think about him.

It’s the first time I’ve rejected someone while still feeling deeply curious about them afterward.

I’m finally accepting that he is not my husband, not the father of my children, and most importantly: not my man.

My celibacy anniversary is coming up and, honestly, all I want to do to celebrate is have sex.

Preferably with someone emotionally safe.
Realistically? Probably not.

So now I’m sitting here wondering:

Am I a bird?
Am I signing myself up for emotional destruction?
Or am I finally allowing myself to feel something again instead of over-controlling every experience before it happens?

I guess we’ll find out.