I get into this very awkward purgatory of a mood sometimes. It starts with a thought of inadequacy; a moment of self doubt where I question the point of beating on. The queerest thing, though, is that I never realize it has ended until it happens again. I’m trying so hard to roll with the punches, but it’s just so hard. An escape sounds so vital right now, almost more safe than the alternative of continuing to swim through the shit. The other day I told a guy how I wondered what would happen if I just left everything with nothing but the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet. He replied, saying that whatever direction I went that the great spirit would keep me alive. I have the intense longing, like I haven’t had a drink of water in my entire life, and I think I need to go find the ocean.