I woke up this morning at 11:30am, reluctantly, after snoozing my alarms since 8am. I’m not late to anything— Today is my day off. But I had plans for today.
Wake up (8-8:30am)
Make coffee/sit for a minute to become present (8:30-9am)
Big living room clean (9-10am)
Tidy up bedroom (10-10:30am)
Shower/morning routine/get dressed (10:30-11am)
Send emails for music stuff (11am-12pm)
Write / produce demos (12-3pm) *10min breaks here and there
Go on walk (3-3:45pm)
etc.
etc.
And here I am, at my desk, in my robe, at 12:42pm with a dirty living room, a messy bedroom, greasy hair, nothing done, writing a substack post. To sit here and share this reality I’m living in feels scary and shameful. I can see a hundred different perspectives reading my words, ranging from harmless to horrible— all within the span it took to write this sentence.
I think of my family; Who that by no stretch of the imagination, I know in my soul loves me. But I read my words and fear I’ve wasted their efforts. I think of ex-friends and lovers; Who, most days, never really cross my mind. But as I feel my vulnerability, I can’t help from picturing them feeling self-righteous for my lack of discipline. I think of my 14 year old self; Who I’ve come to find out, after 10 years of growing up, no longer exists as loudly as she once did. But I still hear her, having faith in her 24 year old self— thinking she’d be on a second world tour and nailing all her Ellen Degeneres interviews. I think of my 34 year old self; Who I’ve not gotten the chance to meet yet. I hear her frustrated and regretful that I didn’t do better for her.
The loudest in my head are my peers; Who I know feel, at times, the same way I do. But I still see myself as 3ft tall next to their accomplishments.
But I shake myself out of this pity party, and I sat down to write this. Technically, this substack page is part of my music career— In theory, to let people peek into what I’ve been doing creatively, and to tease things I have up on deck. But I think today I just want to try to be a transparent human and writer, which both require bravery I’m reluctant to give.
I objectively know that most days I’m a productive member in society— I work, I pay my taxes/bills, I do my best to take care of business. Other days, like today, I feel stuck. I let all the voices I just spelled out for you above become overpowering over any other thought or feeling. I get paralyzed by disappointment and shame, and scroll on my phone for hours, or binge watch 5 seasons of something, or fall right back asleep. I’ve struggled with depression for most of my life, I’ve been in this wrestling loop since prepubescence. Depression rears it’s head at me any chance it can get, but through the years, I’ve learned how to do what I can to tame it, in some capacity. I’m in therapy, I meditate, journal, and take my medicine every day.
I guess what I’m trying to say is; Even with all the help in the world, I’m just going to find myself here somedays. There is no miracle solution or perfect substance that will eliminate this feeling forever— Some days, you’ll just find yourself in the pit, with no energy to try and claw out of it.
But I know I can’t stay here. So I subconsciously chose to use the medium that’ll help me feel a little lighter— writing. I don’t know if my words have any purpose beyond getting them out of my head. I hope they do.
And now I think I’m gonna take a shower.
I know I won’t get most of the things on my list done today. But it’s only 1:22pm; there’s still some today left. And if I run out, I’ve still got tomorrow.
xx Kimi