The Truth.

And as I look back upon The Truth Will Set You Free, it’s as if I’ve forgotten what kind of truth it was. It was never about objective truth or even subjective truth. It was always about emotional truth. Searching yourself for what you feel in your heart, exploring it until you feel like you’re going to explode. Because it feels like whenever I don’t just run with sadness or happiness or depression or elation, I just am not fully myself or capable of dealing with the world.

I don’t remember crying in a study cubicle when I was at Rutgers in the midst of being overwhelmed. Did I? Then I remember how Amelie was my go-to cry movie. Maybe I’ve forgotten how much I cried then.

In my rebirth, it was like a giant embracing of my feminine side. To date, I am still far more comfortable admitting in public that I cry or will wear a dress, than I am doing anything considered “manly”.

But I suppose it’s the state of society at large. What is it to be a “man”?

It feels like old wounds being reopenned. Once more unto the breach, as I like to say. One last time, for old time’s sake. I sit in a library feeling overwhelmed. Well, actually, not right now. Right now I’m just aware that I have things to do. The problem is time. I won’t always have time to tend to my feelings. Shields down. A swarm of orcs and goblins with Sauron in the near distance.

I have to keep going and I will keep going. But, if only for a moment, I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to do it.

Being told “Everything will be okay!” is of little comfort and I feel like it comes from blind faith rather than true understanding. Understanding. Always back to being understood, even if the plight is plain as day.

Back against the wall, nowhere else to turn. I’m stressed, anxious, and dramatic because this IS stressful and dramatic! This IS difficult to get through! And fuck the world, I am ALLOWED to doubt myself now and then! Because only when we doubt ourselves will our own convictions shine through, motherfuckers.

Perhaps I shield and surpress my masculine side because it might stab a motherfucker. (Unless that’s my inner uterus shining, who knows.) Then again, I still don’t know what masculinity is.