Been reading Thomas Hardy per my mom's suggestion. Though his writing is dense, thickly entwined with mundane details of passing blades of grass and the like, the story was well..to put it simply, pretty darn wonderful. Everything ended how I wanted it to in the beginning and I can't say that didn't satisfy me.
Anyhow. In reading it. There were some dog-earred pages. I've noticed in my daily life, in my own private journal writing, and in my attempts to explain myself verbally in person, I have really, quite literally, lost the ability to translate what i'm feeling these days into words. For a lot of reasons. One is that I don't understand at all what i'm feeling, making it hard to put words to it. Another is that even if i did understand, I don't think i'd have words that meant what I was trying to say anyhow. So. I'll just keep collecting things and see how that goes. Here are some words straight from the finger tips of Thomas Hardy that I have felt in one way or another tied to:
"Bathsheba was stirred by emotions which latterly she had assumed to be altogether dead within her. The little attenuated voices of the children brought to her ear in distinct utterance the words they sang without thought or comprehension --
Lead kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom
Lead Thou me on.
Bathsheba's feeling was always to some extent dependent upon her will, as is the case with many other women. Something big came into her throat and an uprising to her eyes - and she thought that she would allow the imminent tears to come if they wished. They did come and plenteously, and one fell upon the stone bench beside her. Once that she had begun to cry for she hardly knew what she could not leave off for crowding thoughts she knew too well. She would have given anything in the world to be as those children were, unconcerned at the meaning of their words because too innocent to feel the necessity for any such expression." -pgs 341 - 342
"So together they went and read the tomb. 'Eight months ago!' Gabriel murmured when he saw the date. 'It seems like yesterday to me.'
'And to me as if it were years ago -- long years, and I had been dead between.'" -pg 343
"...Oak walked on to the village, still astonished at the rencounter with Bathsheba, glad of his nearness to her, and perplexed at the rapidity with which the unpractised girl of Norcombe had developed into the supervising and cool woman here. But some women only require an emergency to make them fit for one. " - pg 44
"I don't know - at least I cannot tell you. It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs." -pg 308
And just because:
"Every window replies by a clang to the opening and shutting of every door, a tremble follows every bustling movement, and a creak accompanies a walker about the house like a spirit, wherever he goes." -pg 64
Happy New Year. 2012, i beg you to be a year of peace.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Post Thirty-Six: The World is Made out of Sugar
Watch the video here, read the poem below as a reminder of what you've just heard:
If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”
She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”
But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this,“There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.
You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sureyour mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
This reminds me of myself and, more importantly, of my own mother. Thanks, Mama. For everything you do. For all the strength you provide. For the shelter. For the comfort. For the never ending waves of love, like the ocean. My "Ocean Eyes" mama. I always know where I can go when I feel as though the rest of the world has cast me out and is done with me. My mama will be there, ready to catch me, dust me off, and inspire, motivate me to go back out there and try again.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Post Thirty-Five: The Importance of Being Earnest
If you know the way this word was used during Oscar Wilde's time & you knew my new, most recent, loving companions I've been collecting, you'd realize the double meaning to being "earnest" and it's importance in my life.
Earnest:
Honest.
Earnest:
Fabulous.
Here's things I've been feeling deeply in tune with, things being songs (the links) and quotes. I've just started reading Wilde's short stories and about four pages in, he's alarmed me with wisdom on more than one (but only two) occasions. But still..the ENTIRE house of the Seven Gables only gave me FOUR counts of wisdom, and in four short pages, Oscar's given me two.
Am I fit for my role? Am I strong enough to make a bad story end well? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?
I've always loved that song. It's ironic how songs can just be beautiful songs to you at one point in your life, and later on, years later, be so relevant that you wonder if you had some sort of premonition in originally being drawn to it.
Okay! Wilde Time again!
Change those "he"s to "she"s and "him" to "her" & you may be surprised to find a pretty good description of me. Life, in recent years, has been incredibly discordant, because every time I thought I'd got it made it seemed the taste was not so sweet. And now, it seems truer than ever that time may change me, but that I cannot, no matter how hard I try, trace time. Fortunately, I am still very young!
Allow me, in these coming posts, to weave for me a picture of myself by doing what I said I'd do in private, exploring and figuring out who I am. I will use every relative piece of media I find to explain myself. And I will do my best to reorganize the chaos in my mind so that someday I may have an idea, a notion, as to who I am these days.
PS: Today marks only the 3rd month since Zach fell. It feels to me, like years ago, because I have been so many different versions of myself these past months in order to flex with the winds of life. I miss him, still as much as ever. I think about him, still as much as ever, if not more. I cry, definitely more, because as time wears on, truth ensconces. Oh Zachary.
Earnest:
Honest.
Earnest:
Fabulous.
Here's things I've been feeling deeply in tune with, things being songs (the links) and quotes. I've just started reading Wilde's short stories and about four pages in, he's alarmed me with wisdom on more than one (but only two) occasions. But still..the ENTIRE house of the Seven Gables only gave me FOUR counts of wisdom, and in four short pages, Oscar's given me two.
"Actors are so fortunate. They can choose whether they will appear in tragedy or in comedy, whether they will suffer or make merry, laugh or shed tears. But in real life it is different. Most men and women are forced to perform parts for which they have no qualifications. Our Guildensterns play Hamlet for us, and our Hamlets have to jest like Prince Hal. The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast" -Wilde in Lord Arthur Savile's Crime
Am I fit for my role? Am I strong enough to make a bad story end well? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?
I've always loved that song. It's ironic how songs can just be beautiful songs to you at one point in your life, and later on, years later, be so relevant that you wonder if you had some sort of premonition in originally being drawn to it.
Okay! Wilde Time again!
"And yet it was not the mystery, but the comedy of suffering that struck him; its absolute uselessness, its grotesque want of meaning. How incoherent everything seemed! How lacking in all harmony! He was amazed at the discord between the shallow optimism of the day, and the real facts of existence. He was still very young." -Lord Arthur Savile's Crime
Change those "he"s to "she"s and "him" to "her" & you may be surprised to find a pretty good description of me. Life, in recent years, has been incredibly discordant, because every time I thought I'd got it made it seemed the taste was not so sweet. And now, it seems truer than ever that time may change me, but that I cannot, no matter how hard I try, trace time. Fortunately, I am still very young!
Allow me, in these coming posts, to weave for me a picture of myself by doing what I said I'd do in private, exploring and figuring out who I am. I will use every relative piece of media I find to explain myself. And I will do my best to reorganize the chaos in my mind so that someday I may have an idea, a notion, as to who I am these days.
PS: Today marks only the 3rd month since Zach fell. It feels to me, like years ago, because I have been so many different versions of myself these past months in order to flex with the winds of life. I miss him, still as much as ever. I think about him, still as much as ever, if not more. I cry, definitely more, because as time wears on, truth ensconces. Oh Zachary.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Post-Thirty Four: The House of the Seven Gables
Has been my literary companion for these past several months, despite it's tiny pages. Nathaniel Hawthorne is no easy read, really quite a bore, but the story ended happily and left it's impressionable mark on me.
I dog eared a few pages because of what I read there & when I wasn't writing, I kept longing for a place to just record the passages that I felt so strongly about. I'll put them here now.
" 'Shall we never, never get rid of the Past?', cried he, keeping up the earnest tone of his preceding conversation. 'It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body! In fact, the case is just as if a young giant were compelled to waste all his strength in carrying about the corpse of the old giant, his grandfather, who died a long while ago, and only needs to be decently buried. Just think a moment, and it will startle you to see what slaves we are to bygone times,---to Death, if we give the matter the right word!'
'But I do not see it,' observed Phoebe.
'For example, then,' continued Holgrave; 'a dead man, if he happen to have made a will, disposes of wealth no longer his own; or, if he die intestate, it is distributed in accordance with the notions of men much longer dead than he. A dead man sits on all our judgement-seats; and living judges do but search out and repeat his decisions. We read in dead men's books! We laugh at dead men's jokes, and cry at dead men's pathos! We are sick of dead men's diseases, physical and moral, and die of the same remedies with which dead doctors killed their patients! We worship the living Diety according to dead men's forms and creeds! Whatever we seek to do, of our own free motion, a dead man's icy hand obstructs us! Turn our eyes to what point we may, a dead man's white, immitigable face encounters them, and freezes our very heart! And we must be dead ourselves, before we can begin to have our proper influence on our own world, which will then be no longer our world, but the world of another generation, with which we shall have no shadow of a right to interfere. I ought to have said, too, that we live in dead men's houses; as, for instance, in this of the seven gables!"
'And why not,' said Phoebe, 'so long as we can be comfortable in them?'
'But we shall live to see the day, I trust,' went on the artist, 'when no man shall build his house for posterity. Why should he? He might just as reasonably order a durable suit of clothes,--leather, or gutta percha, or whatever else lasts longest,---so that his great-grandchildren should have the benefit of them, and cut precisely the same figure in the world that he himself does. If each generation were allowed and expected to build its own houses, that single change, comparatively unimportant in itself, would imply almost every reform which society is now suffering for. I doubt whether even our public edifices--our capitols, state-houses, court-houses, city halls, and churches--ought to be build of such permanent materials as stone or brick. It were better that they should crumble to ruin, once in twenty years, or thereabouts, as to hint to the people to examine into and reform the institutions which they symbolize." pgs 221-223
And also:
"It is clear to me as sunshine,--were there any in the sky,--that the greatest possible stumbling-blocks in the path of human happiness and improvement are these heaps of bricks and stones, consolidated with mortar, or hewn timber, fastened together with pike-nails, which men painfully contrive for their own torment, and call them house and home! The soul needs air; a wide sweep and frequent change of it. Morbid influences, in a thousand-fold variety, gather about hearths, and pollute the life of households. There is no such unwholesome atmosphere as that of an old home, rendered poisonous by one's defunct forefathers and relatives. I speak of what I know." pg 320
And:
"These wanderers are readily responsive to any natural kindness--be it no more than a smile, or a word, itself not understood, but only a warmth in it--which befalls them on the roadside of life. They remember these things, because they are the little enchantments which, for the instant,--for the space that reflects a landscape in a soap bubble,--build up a home about them." pg 360
finally:
"It is very singular, how the fact of a man's death often seems to give people a truer idea of his character, whether for good or evil, than they have ever possessed while he was living and acting among them. Death is so genuine a fact that it excludes falsehood, or betrays its emptiness; it is a touch-stone that proves the gold, and dishonours the baser metal. Could the departed, whoever he may be, return in a week after his decease, he would almost invariably find himself at a higher or lower point than he had formerly occupied, on the scale of public appreciation." pg 382
PHEW!
And, to top this quoteness all off, somethings from Tom Robbin's Even Cowgirls Get the Blues:
"The lust of the goat is bounty of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
--William Blake"
"The first amoeba, like the last and the one after that, is here, there and everywhere, for its vehicle, its medium, its essence is water.
Water --- the ace of elements. Water dives from the clouds without parachute, wings or safety net. Water runs over the steepest precipice and blinks not a lash. Water is buried and rises again; water walks on fire and fire gets blisters. Stylishly composed in any situation ---solid, gas, or liquid--- speaking in penetrating dialects understood by all things ---animal, vegetable, or mineral--- water travels intrepidly through four dimensions, sustaining (Kick a lettuce in the field and it will yell "Water!"), destroying (The Dutch boy's finger remembered the view from Ararat) and creating (It has even been said that human beings were invented by water as a device for transporting itself from one place to another, but that's another story). Always in motion, ever-flowing (whether at steam rate or glacier speed), rhythmic, dynamic, ubiquitous, changing, and working its changes, a mathematics turned wrong side out, a philosophy in reverse, the ongoing odyssey of water is virtually irresistible. And wherever water goes, amoebae go along for the ride." pg 2
So there's the things I felt I needed to read at least twice & really think about. And furthermore, post somewhere so others could read them and think about them too.
Now that I've wasted as much time as I have, I guess I'll go try to be productive so that I can be a semblance of pleasantness at work.
I dog eared a few pages because of what I read there & when I wasn't writing, I kept longing for a place to just record the passages that I felt so strongly about. I'll put them here now.
" 'Shall we never, never get rid of the Past?', cried he, keeping up the earnest tone of his preceding conversation. 'It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body! In fact, the case is just as if a young giant were compelled to waste all his strength in carrying about the corpse of the old giant, his grandfather, who died a long while ago, and only needs to be decently buried. Just think a moment, and it will startle you to see what slaves we are to bygone times,---to Death, if we give the matter the right word!'
'But I do not see it,' observed Phoebe.
'For example, then,' continued Holgrave; 'a dead man, if he happen to have made a will, disposes of wealth no longer his own; or, if he die intestate, it is distributed in accordance with the notions of men much longer dead than he. A dead man sits on all our judgement-seats; and living judges do but search out and repeat his decisions. We read in dead men's books! We laugh at dead men's jokes, and cry at dead men's pathos! We are sick of dead men's diseases, physical and moral, and die of the same remedies with which dead doctors killed their patients! We worship the living Diety according to dead men's forms and creeds! Whatever we seek to do, of our own free motion, a dead man's icy hand obstructs us! Turn our eyes to what point we may, a dead man's white, immitigable face encounters them, and freezes our very heart! And we must be dead ourselves, before we can begin to have our proper influence on our own world, which will then be no longer our world, but the world of another generation, with which we shall have no shadow of a right to interfere. I ought to have said, too, that we live in dead men's houses; as, for instance, in this of the seven gables!"
'And why not,' said Phoebe, 'so long as we can be comfortable in them?'
'But we shall live to see the day, I trust,' went on the artist, 'when no man shall build his house for posterity. Why should he? He might just as reasonably order a durable suit of clothes,--leather, or gutta percha, or whatever else lasts longest,---so that his great-grandchildren should have the benefit of them, and cut precisely the same figure in the world that he himself does. If each generation were allowed and expected to build its own houses, that single change, comparatively unimportant in itself, would imply almost every reform which society is now suffering for. I doubt whether even our public edifices--our capitols, state-houses, court-houses, city halls, and churches--ought to be build of such permanent materials as stone or brick. It were better that they should crumble to ruin, once in twenty years, or thereabouts, as to hint to the people to examine into and reform the institutions which they symbolize." pgs 221-223
And also:
"It is clear to me as sunshine,--were there any in the sky,--that the greatest possible stumbling-blocks in the path of human happiness and improvement are these heaps of bricks and stones, consolidated with mortar, or hewn timber, fastened together with pike-nails, which men painfully contrive for their own torment, and call them house and home! The soul needs air; a wide sweep and frequent change of it. Morbid influences, in a thousand-fold variety, gather about hearths, and pollute the life of households. There is no such unwholesome atmosphere as that of an old home, rendered poisonous by one's defunct forefathers and relatives. I speak of what I know." pg 320
And:
"These wanderers are readily responsive to any natural kindness--be it no more than a smile, or a word, itself not understood, but only a warmth in it--which befalls them on the roadside of life. They remember these things, because they are the little enchantments which, for the instant,--for the space that reflects a landscape in a soap bubble,--build up a home about them." pg 360
finally:
"It is very singular, how the fact of a man's death often seems to give people a truer idea of his character, whether for good or evil, than they have ever possessed while he was living and acting among them. Death is so genuine a fact that it excludes falsehood, or betrays its emptiness; it is a touch-stone that proves the gold, and dishonours the baser metal. Could the departed, whoever he may be, return in a week after his decease, he would almost invariably find himself at a higher or lower point than he had formerly occupied, on the scale of public appreciation." pg 382
PHEW!
And, to top this quoteness all off, somethings from Tom Robbin's Even Cowgirls Get the Blues:
"The lust of the goat is bounty of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
--William Blake"
"The first amoeba, like the last and the one after that, is here, there and everywhere, for its vehicle, its medium, its essence is water.
Water --- the ace of elements. Water dives from the clouds without parachute, wings or safety net. Water runs over the steepest precipice and blinks not a lash. Water is buried and rises again; water walks on fire and fire gets blisters. Stylishly composed in any situation ---solid, gas, or liquid--- speaking in penetrating dialects understood by all things ---animal, vegetable, or mineral--- water travels intrepidly through four dimensions, sustaining (Kick a lettuce in the field and it will yell "Water!"), destroying (The Dutch boy's finger remembered the view from Ararat) and creating (It has even been said that human beings were invented by water as a device for transporting itself from one place to another, but that's another story). Always in motion, ever-flowing (whether at steam rate or glacier speed), rhythmic, dynamic, ubiquitous, changing, and working its changes, a mathematics turned wrong side out, a philosophy in reverse, the ongoing odyssey of water is virtually irresistible. And wherever water goes, amoebae go along for the ride." pg 2
So there's the things I felt I needed to read at least twice & really think about. And furthermore, post somewhere so others could read them and think about them too.
Now that I've wasted as much time as I have, I guess I'll go try to be productive so that I can be a semblance of pleasantness at work.
Post Thirty-Three: Ok. Maybe I lied
Or maybe I need people to know what I'm feeling more than I thought I did. Because lately, I've been feeling so so so lonely. Pretty much. All the time.
But. Before I begin again. I ask you, readers, whomever you are, if you're even there, to refrain at all costs from talking to me about this blog in real life. Comments can be shared, like my Mama does, over the internet, but do not bring this up with me in person. Because if you do, I'll surely retreat again. (As in, I never want to hear the word "blog" uttered to me in person referencing this blog.)
Additionally, keep in mind that I am not writing this for the readers. I am writing this for myself so that I may at least imagine that someone out there knows what I'm feeling so I don't constantly just want to shout at random people the raucous in my head. So also, refrain from asking me to post again or more often or more frequently. Because that's not the point. I post when I want to because I need to. Plain & simple.
Okay, now that I'm done chastising.
Everyday for the past week when I get into my car, I cry. Everyday. It's not pretty. And it hurts a lot. Because I cannot share that time of day with anyone. That "me" with anyone. But I'm dying to. I'm dying to hurl myself at my peers, to dump every crappy feeling obtained throughout the day and added to the already crappy feelings I've been carrying around right on them. So they can freaking take me seriously for one god donut second. and so they can help me help myself.
It's not fair to want to do that, I know. So. Back to the blogging.
The week before this one, I was feeling very differently about myself. I was feeling super empowered. Like nothing could bring me down or defeat me, ruin me, break my confidence. But, I don't know. I've lost it and that's probably as temporary as every other phase of my emotions, but it feels long and it's dragging me around.
And because of whatever phase of whatever time of emotion I'm in, I'm losing my ability to just take delight in small stuff. And that sucks. Because that's the only thing that was saving me. Even things that make me happy make me cry now, and then i just cry more because I'm crying because happy things make me cry because they are so few because i am sad.
phew.
I'm feeling very lonely and very full. Lonely because i can't share what's going on with me honestly to anyone. No one can understand, and that's alright, I'm not upset with anyone for that because it's just not really possible, but I sure would appreciate if someone I respected or felt like good friends with would take the time to sit me down and really ask me how I'm doing and really listen to my answer so that I can really answer them for real for once for real for once for. real. for. once.
And it's funny, because there are SO many friends around. A lot of them have this neat knack for forgetting common courtesy. And that hurts. That adds to the hurt. And yeah. makes me feel pretty unwanted a lot of the time. so hip hip hooray! I mean. Is it impossible to hang out with me UNLESS I ask you to? Must I always do the inviting? It makes me feel annoying and rejected. I don't need that now. So i think to myself, okay, i'll stop asking and wait to be asked.
But so far, if i stop asking people, they never ask me. so. conundrum.
And a lot of them don't have the time, and that's not on purpose and can't be helped. i'm not saying that to point fingers or blame, but it just sucks.
and some of them aren't here or anywhere near here. which also cannot be helped, but also sucks.
And I KNOW that everyone has their own way of dealing with things. And everyone has their own life. And their own problems. But please be assured that I am just as happy to take the brunt of your venting or take on your problems if it means that you will take on mine.
And i'm happy to do what you want to do. if you're happy to sometimes do what i want to do.
I'm happy to be your friend. for real. not for sympathy. not for niceties. not because i want to be polite. but for real.
Anyhow. So "lonely", part one of the downness.
And full, let's tackle that. I am full of a lot of things. I am full of this welling scream. It grows bigger and bigger and pushes at my skin and makes me feel like a bicycle tire with too much air pumped into it and still more being pumped. And that is mostly frustration, I suppose. And i feel it most when I'm alone. Because that's when I most start to think about Zach and shock myself with the reality of my life and his death and our freak of nature swing from complete happiness and simplicity and love to complete shit. god donut.
And i'm full of anger or.. animosity for some people around me for being so careless. so thoughtless. with such a fragile thing. And so..not honest. Be honest. I want your honestly, even if it's mean, because then i won't torture myself trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Not being honest is being thoughtless and careless, too, you know.
And i'm full of defeat because I just can't help it right now. Because, well.. look around me, how couldn't I help it? Everything I've put my effort in for quite some time has known defeat. failure. crumbliness.
I'm full of restraint. because if i wasn't a number of things would have happened by now. Like. I'm pretty sure I'd yell at some people, a lot. and hurt feelings because.. whoa are there some dense people out there. I'm pretty sure I'd have packed up all my favorite things and just run away. Or i'd sleep for a million years because dreams have proved to be so much better than real life.
Don't be scared. I'm just venting. But be aware that sometimes, i feel like these things. sometimes all at once. or sometimes one at a time. or sometimes not, which i guess is indicated by the word "sometimes".
I'm really really really really missing zach and missing my old life, my happy life. I'm missing how easy it was. i always knew what to expect. I always knew zach would be home waiting for me when I'd returned from work, or whatever errand or friend hangout i was on. I always knew we'd fall asleep together and in the morning, he'd be the first thing/person i'd see, smell, feel. That he'd be there to grab my towel for me if i forgot it. or to cook my dinner. or to do some masterful grocery shopping. to help me pay bills. or take care of me when i was sick. if nothing else, i knew that my safe haven was going to be there when i needed it, our apartment together, god no one can ever know how much we loved it. how much i loved it. it's something we talked about all the time. and how happy i was to be there and spend all my hours whiling away there. I knew that even if i was home alone at the time, i wasn't really alone and soon zach would be back. It was the only real home i've known since moving from home.
but now. i know none of that. i don't know if anyone will be awake or available when i need someone or return back to the house. i don't know if anyone will be willing to help me unwind at the end of the day. I don't know if anyone even wants to go do fun stuff with me. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know where I belong. I don't know how to interact with people normally. I don't know who really wants to be a friend or who's just being a friend out of obligation. I don't know who i can trust. Or who cares. Or who wants to know what new clothes I found. Or who wants to know what one table said to me. Or who wants to know about some random thought I had during the day that i feel like sharing. or what even will make me happy.
it's pretty startling, when i really think about it, where I am now and where i'd prefer to be and where I'd thought i'd be. I guess almost everyone feels that way though. It's not just me. but still. what a freakin change.
twice in two years my life radically changed. You'd think i'd be pretty practiced at it, but it's still a tough case to crack.
man. i've really let you have it, eh? I hardly even know what i've just blasted about. or if it makes any sense. or flows in any sort of way. or if i'll feel embarrassed about it later. But i'd rather have it here, than have it in my head. because that just plain will make me insane. if i'm not already. sometimes, i really wonder.
so there you have it. a lot of whaaa and boo hoo. i'm sure it's what you've been missing.
i'm just overwhelmed. and not well, because i can't help it, even if i try to.
i need any one of my PEERS, male, female, homosexual, heterosexual, working or jobless, single or not, familiar with this state of mind or untouched by tragedy, silly, serious, patient, restless, to look at me and really see what's going on. because i can't be trusted (no, not even me) to tell you or show it. But i'll bet you a million and a half dollars, that if you gave me a hug, it would change the flow of my entire day. it would make me feel at least a little bit accepted for what i am even if what i am sucks right now.
okay thanks for enduring those who endured.
But. Before I begin again. I ask you, readers, whomever you are, if you're even there, to refrain at all costs from talking to me about this blog in real life. Comments can be shared, like my Mama does, over the internet, but do not bring this up with me in person. Because if you do, I'll surely retreat again. (As in, I never want to hear the word "blog" uttered to me in person referencing this blog.)
Additionally, keep in mind that I am not writing this for the readers. I am writing this for myself so that I may at least imagine that someone out there knows what I'm feeling so I don't constantly just want to shout at random people the raucous in my head. So also, refrain from asking me to post again or more often or more frequently. Because that's not the point. I post when I want to because I need to. Plain & simple.
Okay, now that I'm done chastising.
Everyday for the past week when I get into my car, I cry. Everyday. It's not pretty. And it hurts a lot. Because I cannot share that time of day with anyone. That "me" with anyone. But I'm dying to. I'm dying to hurl myself at my peers, to dump every crappy feeling obtained throughout the day and added to the already crappy feelings I've been carrying around right on them. So they can freaking take me seriously for one god donut second. and so they can help me help myself.
It's not fair to want to do that, I know. So. Back to the blogging.
The week before this one, I was feeling very differently about myself. I was feeling super empowered. Like nothing could bring me down or defeat me, ruin me, break my confidence. But, I don't know. I've lost it and that's probably as temporary as every other phase of my emotions, but it feels long and it's dragging me around.
And because of whatever phase of whatever time of emotion I'm in, I'm losing my ability to just take delight in small stuff. And that sucks. Because that's the only thing that was saving me. Even things that make me happy make me cry now, and then i just cry more because I'm crying because happy things make me cry because they are so few because i am sad.
phew.
I'm feeling very lonely and very full. Lonely because i can't share what's going on with me honestly to anyone. No one can understand, and that's alright, I'm not upset with anyone for that because it's just not really possible, but I sure would appreciate if someone I respected or felt like good friends with would take the time to sit me down and really ask me how I'm doing and really listen to my answer so that I can really answer them for real for once for real for once for. real. for. once.
And it's funny, because there are SO many friends around. A lot of them have this neat knack for forgetting common courtesy. And that hurts. That adds to the hurt. And yeah. makes me feel pretty unwanted a lot of the time. so hip hip hooray! I mean. Is it impossible to hang out with me UNLESS I ask you to? Must I always do the inviting? It makes me feel annoying and rejected. I don't need that now. So i think to myself, okay, i'll stop asking and wait to be asked.
But so far, if i stop asking people, they never ask me. so. conundrum.
And a lot of them don't have the time, and that's not on purpose and can't be helped. i'm not saying that to point fingers or blame, but it just sucks.
and some of them aren't here or anywhere near here. which also cannot be helped, but also sucks.
And I KNOW that everyone has their own way of dealing with things. And everyone has their own life. And their own problems. But please be assured that I am just as happy to take the brunt of your venting or take on your problems if it means that you will take on mine.
And i'm happy to do what you want to do. if you're happy to sometimes do what i want to do.
I'm happy to be your friend. for real. not for sympathy. not for niceties. not because i want to be polite. but for real.
Anyhow. So "lonely", part one of the downness.
And full, let's tackle that. I am full of a lot of things. I am full of this welling scream. It grows bigger and bigger and pushes at my skin and makes me feel like a bicycle tire with too much air pumped into it and still more being pumped. And that is mostly frustration, I suppose. And i feel it most when I'm alone. Because that's when I most start to think about Zach and shock myself with the reality of my life and his death and our freak of nature swing from complete happiness and simplicity and love to complete shit. god donut.
And i'm full of anger or.. animosity for some people around me for being so careless. so thoughtless. with such a fragile thing. And so..not honest. Be honest. I want your honestly, even if it's mean, because then i won't torture myself trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Not being honest is being thoughtless and careless, too, you know.
And i'm full of defeat because I just can't help it right now. Because, well.. look around me, how couldn't I help it? Everything I've put my effort in for quite some time has known defeat. failure. crumbliness.
I'm full of restraint. because if i wasn't a number of things would have happened by now. Like. I'm pretty sure I'd yell at some people, a lot. and hurt feelings because.. whoa are there some dense people out there. I'm pretty sure I'd have packed up all my favorite things and just run away. Or i'd sleep for a million years because dreams have proved to be so much better than real life.
Don't be scared. I'm just venting. But be aware that sometimes, i feel like these things. sometimes all at once. or sometimes one at a time. or sometimes not, which i guess is indicated by the word "sometimes".
I'm really really really really missing zach and missing my old life, my happy life. I'm missing how easy it was. i always knew what to expect. I always knew zach would be home waiting for me when I'd returned from work, or whatever errand or friend hangout i was on. I always knew we'd fall asleep together and in the morning, he'd be the first thing/person i'd see, smell, feel. That he'd be there to grab my towel for me if i forgot it. or to cook my dinner. or to do some masterful grocery shopping. to help me pay bills. or take care of me when i was sick. if nothing else, i knew that my safe haven was going to be there when i needed it, our apartment together, god no one can ever know how much we loved it. how much i loved it. it's something we talked about all the time. and how happy i was to be there and spend all my hours whiling away there. I knew that even if i was home alone at the time, i wasn't really alone and soon zach would be back. It was the only real home i've known since moving from home.
but now. i know none of that. i don't know if anyone will be awake or available when i need someone or return back to the house. i don't know if anyone will be willing to help me unwind at the end of the day. I don't know if anyone even wants to go do fun stuff with me. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know where I belong. I don't know how to interact with people normally. I don't know who really wants to be a friend or who's just being a friend out of obligation. I don't know who i can trust. Or who cares. Or who wants to know what new clothes I found. Or who wants to know what one table said to me. Or who wants to know about some random thought I had during the day that i feel like sharing. or what even will make me happy.
it's pretty startling, when i really think about it, where I am now and where i'd prefer to be and where I'd thought i'd be. I guess almost everyone feels that way though. It's not just me. but still. what a freakin change.
twice in two years my life radically changed. You'd think i'd be pretty practiced at it, but it's still a tough case to crack.
man. i've really let you have it, eh? I hardly even know what i've just blasted about. or if it makes any sense. or flows in any sort of way. or if i'll feel embarrassed about it later. But i'd rather have it here, than have it in my head. because that just plain will make me insane. if i'm not already. sometimes, i really wonder.
so there you have it. a lot of whaaa and boo hoo. i'm sure it's what you've been missing.
i'm just overwhelmed. and not well, because i can't help it, even if i try to.
i need any one of my PEERS, male, female, homosexual, heterosexual, working or jobless, single or not, familiar with this state of mind or untouched by tragedy, silly, serious, patient, restless, to look at me and really see what's going on. because i can't be trusted (no, not even me) to tell you or show it. But i'll bet you a million and a half dollars, that if you gave me a hug, it would change the flow of my entire day. it would make me feel at least a little bit accepted for what i am even if what i am sucks right now.
okay thanks for enduring those who endured.
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