Taking selfies in the midst of a mental breakdown to make sure I look cute while crying
My relationship with boredom hit an all time low in the last years. Where I once used to welcome it with open arms as part of my meditative practice, now I can’t stand the mere sight of it. I cannot tolerate the presence of boredom, not for a split second. Well Sab, you’re fucked because guess what? Many moments of the day to day are inevitably boring. I know I’m fucked, that’s why I’m still here, out of pure fucking spite. You won’t have your way with me, boredom (just not yet.)
The rational part of me fantasizes at the idea of living a peaceful and stable existence. But my emotional mind is clearly the boss of me and there’s no room for negotiation. When you have a big void of emptiness inside of ya, things can get out of hand pretty easily. I’m on a constant mission to feel - which helps me fill my bottomless inner void. Always one decision away from throwing my entire life up in flames. Can’t help it, I’m a self made masochist.
Sensation seeking addict on the run, nothing can stop me. The short time bliss overshadows the long term consequences. I love to flirt with danger, I have an insatiable appetite for risk. The mundanity of the human experience makes living a normal life so hard. I need excitement in my blood stream at all times. Daily transfusion of the 3 A’s - attention, affection, anal. Eat, drink, spend, fuck, rinse and repeat. Not here for a long time, here for a good time. I do everything with an over the top intensity. I love to play with fire till the smoke blows up in my face. Then I get a good cry out, promise myself to do better until hunger strikes again.
