I’m trying to get by

But it’s really hard most of the time.

I’m a rough draft in progress

And I’ll never be good enough for myself.

My thoughts are sporadic, I’m indecisive, and I get stressed about things that don’t really matter.

I’m the product of my parents’ decisions, not necessarily my own, and I hate that about myself.

I listen to the wrong people way too much,

So much that my own thoughts get lost in my head

I’m so afraid I’m losing myself.

I can feel it slipping every day,

I always catch myself, though.

The fear of falling, of losing it, is far too great.

And people close to me say that I think too much.

I say you can never think too much.

But I can’t sleep and I have no idea why

And I lay in bed at night with my laptop watching Jimmy Fallon

And I laugh because when I laugh for at least one second everything is okay

And I think that I can erase all the shit people say

But I can’t.

And every fucking time I get upset about something I make a joke out of it to make myself feel better

I use humor as a defense mechanism sometimes, and that’s not a good thing to do.

Defense mechanisms are bad, just ask the guy I almost dated last year.

Almost is there for a reason.

But I’ve heard that I carry myself fine,

That I seem like everything’s okay.

Everything is never fucking okay, I’m just really good at acting like it is.

But I’m glad they can’t tell. It helps sometimes.

My great aunt is dying, and it’s really hard to watch because she has dementia and I can see a piece of my soul in her face.

A woman I’ve met such a small number of times, times I could count on my fingers,

A woman who was married twice, once when she was 16,

A woman I barely know is dying, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

I haven’t cried.

I try not to.

The other day, I went to her 90th birthday party

And she kept making eye contact with me from across the room.

I went up to talk to her and she said, “I remember you. You’re the nice Tuggle.”

And later she told me that I was so pretty, just so pretty.

And I thought about it my whole drive to work because I can’t look at myself and think that.

Pretty was never really what was important to me, despite what I was taught.

I learned that substance is what matters, and I try to tell my sister that every day.

The media is ruining our minds.

Everything’s twisted and unclear and no one actually looks right or sounds right or says things right

Because right is just a matter of opinion-

There’s no right answer.

The thing nobody ever tells you is: there never was.