How to Forget to Breathe

Through the years of being a overworked, haphazardly challenged, neurotic perfectionist, I have taken the art of not breathing, while still maintaining my composure and expertly racing through a day, to a whole new level of existence. In short, I've raised the bar on being several things at once: graceless and out of breath and overflowing with enthusiasm and self-assuredness.

My blue-in-the-face approach to success comforts and relaxes others even as each shallow gasp sticks in my chest and gulps for a breathe of its own.

In short, I am great at faking it. So great, in fact, that I'm swept up by my own rhythm and tempo and get carried away in the confidence of knowing it all.

So, for me, most importantly, this blog is a means toward manufacturing my own truth serum. Something that will require me to lay it all out without holding back or maintaining any level of the facade. If I peel back the onion (thanks to Jason for arguing so vehemently for it a million years and lifetimes ago) here's what I see tonight:

I'm tired. I'm still not getting enough sleep and I'm hanging on to waking in the hopes that something good will come if I stay up just a little longer.

I have so much hope its appalling. I mean every day I actually think, "maybe today will be the day that things take an upswing." And every day I actually believe it could be so -- and every night I'm so disappointed I can't breathe.

I've bitten off more than I can chew. My brain is unable to process all the roles I'm supposed to be playing right now and I feel pulled in every direction and far away from knowing me.

I like it better when I don't know me. When I'm in a perpetual state of sleep-running through life, I'm most happy.

It was better when he was here. I could pretend much easier with him and that relationship as extra layers on the onion.

I feel like people have let me down. I try to be selfless and giving at all costs, but in my heart I'm burning with resentment for the first time in my life.

I'm as strong as I pretend to be. Truly. I can do it "all" and still stay upbeat and enthusiastic... but I'm not sure that's what I want to do. Nor do I think it will help with my breathing problem.

I'm not as good of a writer as I've always dreamed I would be. And that pisses me off and makes me feel like a failure in ways that other flaws and shortcomings can't. If not a writer, than honestly, truthfully, what? What can I possibly be?

In the present state of my life I don't know one person who can see through me -- not the way he could. And that scares me.