Month: October 2015

9/7/2015 – Day Twenty – One.

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I spend a lot of time in my car. Which is normal to say the least when you’re living in the central valley or any other region in California. We in the State of California spend a lot of time in our cars. Our cars take us to and from places. Our car takes us where we need to be, from point A to point B. Being in my car after three weeks of walking and cab rides, makes you feel more isolated. I always thought walking was very solidarity, then when I get in my car I didn’t realize how much space I had. I found myself talking to myself to see if the words would fill the empty spaces in my car. Then I started to realized how much time I have spent in my car and it made me want to be home alone.

Obviously that is an exaggeration. The only instances where I feel any sense of privacy is in my car. From the moment I turn on the engine and start playing my favorite song, this is my time. I could lose track of time being in my car. Driving down familiar roads, getting lost in the melody of songs that intertwine with the street lights. It’s these moments when you’re heading home that you feel more alone with your thoughts. Alone with the sounds, the lights, and the lyrics that seem to carry you home. I could make a collection of songs the soundtrack to my life. All these moments spent in my car, filling all the empty spaces with thoughts I would never say out loud.

I love the way the road sounds in the dark. Giving into the soundtrack of melancholy you recite to yourself daily. Drive to a million places on a million streets but none of these streets feel like home. I could get lost here, there, everywhere. Get lost in the sounds that accelerate your heart rate. If my dashboard could talk, the thousands of stories of happiness, heartbreak and woe, it would tell you. My car knows all my secrets, all my fears, and all my wishes that I have wished upon a thousand falling stars. On the days where I can stand it. The space doesn’t bother me. I watch the inside of my car fill up with words, wishes and hopes for my next journey. On to next adventures and even more memorable journeys.

Lately, I don’t want to drive in my car. I don’t want to be lost in my melodies of my favorite songs. I don’t want the roads to lead me home. I just want to stay home and be completely silent. Be completely still and not think about a thing.

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This is 33.

On October 31, I’ll be 33.

I’ll have a few more strands of grey hair. I’ll have another wrinkle between my eyebrows. Another year under my belt. Another year of adventures, experiences and memories. Another year that I survived from this mental hell that I feel daily. I could have died a thousand times, but here I remain among the living. I didn’t think I would live this long. I never expected life to turn out in the way that it did, but in a way life has a way of surprising us.

I will be 33. Further away from my 20’s, even further away from my teen years. Further away from my past and midway into my present. Yet, still I sit here feeling that I have cut myself wide open, exposing all this pain I feel before me. It’s hard for people to read it, it’s hard to people to hear it, and it’s hard for anyone to understand it. Still its hard to say that one day I won’t be here, and one day all I’ll be just a memory to my peers and to my friends. One day I will cut myself deep enough that it will let the light in. At 33, I feel too old to feel this way. Too old to continue feeling each and every single strand of these emotions. Every single pain, every single happiness, every single bit in the emotional spectrum. After 33 years, I am tired.

I spent my 20’s conforming to everyone else’s expectations of me. Doing everything that everyone else wanted and paying no attention to how I was feeling and how it made me feel. I closed myself off from the world and pretended that everything was fine. Getting into my late twenties, I spent those years making up and apologizing. Making it up to everyone that I’ve hurt in the process, apologizing for my actions and the way I am. Once again accommodating my life to everyone else’s expectations and needs. Because to people I am not allowed to be human. I am not allowed to make mistakes and to make attempts to redeem myself from these same mistakes. I am suppose to be happy all the time. I am suppose to make everyone else’s life easier and watch myself fall beneath and in-between the cracks. I have to apologize for being too vocal, too emotional, too contradicting, too human.  Nobody wants to hear when you’re hurting or upset. Nobody wants you to express your emotions in the only way you can. I’ve watched people fade into and out of my life, more times than I can count. I have seen people act differently around me or just ignore me.  I am tired.

All I do is find ways to apologize for who I am. That’s all I can muster up these days. I am sorry for being this way, sorry for who I am, sorry if I have hurt you in any way. I am sorry for my past and sorry for what spills into my present. I feel guilty for feeling all this pain. On average I feel like I am the worst person in the world and everything I do is wrong. I can’t help but feel like the worst daughter/sister/friend and everything I do is wrong. I apologize constantly and people may think it’s insincere but the reality is it’s the most genuine I can be.  It’s this paralyzing fear of letting everyone down and knowing I can’t do anything about it. Yet, all I do is spend the next year doing everything in my power to make up for my actions. All I can do is spill my guts out, out into the open for everyone to see. Truth is I am not okay. I am not even close to being okay. I am going to make mistakes until I can make everything okay. I am going to contradict myself. I am going to make plans and fail on them. I am going to hurt, cry, and fight myself through all of this emotional bullshit. I am going to be honest about how I feel. I am going to admit to myself that it’s okay to be selfish. It’s okay to say “No” every now and again. It’s okay to feel this hurt when the whole world is telling me it doesn’t exist. I can’t hide these scars anymore than I can hide my feelings. Long sleeves can’t hide scars, when all we have left are our hearts on our sleeves. I can’t sit and pretend it doesn’t hurt when people pretend that how I feel or what I am feeling doesn’t exist. Because it’s a part of me that I can’t escape.

At 33, I just want to be selfish. Say “No” to a lot of things that do not fit in with my life. Start accommodating myself to my own life. Stop apologizing for who I am and just find my own ways to be happy. At 33, I am not going to feel guilty about my emotions. I am not going to feel bad about who I am, when I know deep down there is good inside of me. At 33, I am going to do things that are going to make people upset but they are not living my life, I am. At 33, I am going to be okay with people leaving because I can’t make everyone happy. And at 33, I am going to do everything in my power to find happiness in everything that I do, even if it kills me, even if it scares me, even if it gets me out of my comfort zone. At 33, I am going to be okay, I won’t be perfect but I know I’ll be fine.

This is 33 and I’ll gladly accept the charges.

9/6/15 – Day Twenty.

I gave myself a break. Where I didn’t think about anything with the exception of what is in front of me. Something simple. Something sweet, anything to occupy my time away from these thoughts. How do you explain that one day you woke up hating everyone and their existence? That words from everyone close to you, make you shudder and shut down. Or that you can’t explain this need to be alone but you need to be. Why can’t words match what you feel in your heart?

People already think I am crazy, what’s more insanity with a little more misunderstanding. I don’t blame them for thinking that way, they’re only thinking what they can’t understand. I feel so misunderstood lately, that no one really understands me.  Not that it matters. I just don’t feel like painting my face like everyone else, when its not how I feel. I can’t force a smile when those are not the feelings I feel inside. Explaining yourself when you’ve run out of words to say. Its easier to talk about the weather, than say exactly whats wrong.

Half of the time I am not even sure whats wrong, and I am not sure I even want to say how I feel. But today I moved back from those feelings and washed those feelings right out of me. After a few days of living in my filth and not wanting to release these feelings, I am ready to start. Clean, brand new. Find new dreams and polish off the old dreams. Everything else just give it time to regroup itself. Through marathons of old shows and starting over with new shows. I watch what I love and what I fear, keep time with itself. Slowly coming in, side by side. I know I can’t hide from the world. I know I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. What I love and what I fear, will eventually walk side by side. Its then that I’ll admit that this pure fear is knowing that being alone is my burden and my strength. Every day I get closer to overshadowing my fears. I feel myself getting stronger. I feel myself getting better.  But everyone thinks I am crazy. That I have always been the crazy one.

It’s just hard to make someone understand, what they’ll never understand at all.

The ghost of you and me.

Disappearing is easy. You fall through the cracks and blend in with your over powering surroundings. If there was a how to guide of “How to disappear completely”, you’d have written all the books. It’s always harder to forget but you’ve made it easy to remember. You become a ghost of your former life, just a fragment of a story people tell at parties. The person you were and the person you used to be. All of which have nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with who we’re trying to be.

I can change.
I can be what you want me to be.

You didn’t have the time to wait and I didn’t have the strength to see myself. Through the darkness, the trenches, and the misery. That was then. People can change. I can change and I tell myself  constantly. I can be better then what you want me to be. I can be perfect. I can be happy. I can watch this madness take over my veins and infect my bloodstream, pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend that ghosts stop haunting even after the sun comes up. I was never good at hiding and you were never good at pretending.  Even I can’t pretend as good as you do.

Then you fail miserably.

Before you know it you’re right back to the drawing board. Reinventing yourself. Hiding all of your past failures and pretending a part of you didn’t exist. It breaks you up inside, but you never tell anyone. You bleed, you fall, and you never tell a single soul. You hide every flaw so perfectly, just as well as you guard every inch of your heart. You disappeared into the fog and like the mist you reappear. Reappearing only a fraction of the person you used to be. So hollow and vacant and still, I can’t help but want all of you.

I was wrong for everything. Wrong for wanting the imperfections and expecting perfection. Wrong for believing in changes that actions could never deliver. Wrong for believing in the ghost of you and me and all the memories that followed. Still I wanted it all. Everything and in-between. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe I wanted more than I deserved. Still I wanted ghosts to reappear in the forms of you and me. But I can’t have you. I can’t be who you want me to be. The more time passes the more you become what you always were. A mystery to the people that you surround yourself with. Like the ghost you were, you disappear completely.

I can’t do this anymore.
I don’t need you anymore.
I don’t want anything to do with you.

Disappear and take all my memories with you.

12/17/2012

 

 

9/2/2015 – Day Nineteen.

I am not here.

My things are here but I am far from here. Can you grow up in a course of a few weeks? Can you change your perception of things in the course of a few days? As I sit and look at everything in my room, I have never felt so detached from things. Its as if all these things were placed without my permission. Without my knowledge. I am seeing everything and wishing everything would disappear. I wonder why did I care so much for these material things, when I don’t need them. I look at these things collecting dust and filling up empty spaces with clutter, and wonder, why?

I want white walls and bare spaces.
I want a simpler way of looking at things.
I want to take everything I have and get rid of it all.

Take everything and give it all away. Nothing in this space feels like me anymore. Take every last piece of materialism and give it to someone else. It’s not welcome here.

I can’t hide forever. I can’t keep pretending that at any moment all these things will disappear. That someone will come and stake a claim on everything. Everyone deserves the world and to leave me with the scraps. I just don’t want anything anymore. Everything must go. As much as it pains me to unpack, I have to resume as everything is normal. That everything is okay. Even when it’s not in place.

The clothes back on the hangers, the socks in the drawers, and the toiletries back in their rightful place. But it still feels like I am gone. That I am going through the motions. I could state at the ceiling, wrap myself in blankets and wish it all away. We all know wishes don’t come true. As much as I close my eyes I have to wake up into this chaos. Separate what I want from what I need and hope with it comes bare spaces and white walls.

Simplify.

9/1/2015 – Day Eighteen.

I didn’t think I would make it.

If I had to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted too. I counted down the days dreading this trip. Then before I knew it, I was pleading to stay. It doesn’t make much sense to run from one chaos toward another. Running away just adds more to the wanderlust, instead of satisfying this hunger of leaving. It’s watching all the darkness in my life transform into different shades of color, instead of variations of black and grey.

I am not ready to leave. I am not ready to return to familiarity. I am not ready to state how I feel to the faces that believe they know me best. Maybe I’ll never be ready. How often can you hide from the world and remain in this hidden bliss. Where no one knows what is going on, because you keep your feelings hidden so efficiently.  If I stay here any longer, I’ll be hiding forever. If I leave now, I have to admit that I am not okay. Going away doesn’t change your problems, it just hides them with better scenery. I am running out of time. Running out of resources to get me out of this mystified existence. Its good to go home. Going home to regroup and start right back all over again. Back to the people who know me best and want nothing but what is best for me. Everything happens for a reason. Even goodbyes are never really forever. I just feel rushed. If only I could just jump back into that mind frame. Jump into these good intentions wrapped with best wishes. But I can’t.

I stand tall on the rooftops staring down at landscapes. At the countless rooftops of these buildings in my memory. I could draw this scenery with my eyes closes. How the storms have settled and gave way to the clear skies that lie in front of me. The wind in my hair and I don’t want to go home but I know I have to. With my bags packed, everything organized and placed in its right place. But home doesn’t feel much like home when you’re gone. Home is just where my things are but its not where my heart lies. Its not where the wind blows straight through me, into my bones cutting me to the core. I can paint my smile, watch the planes come and go, but they don’t lead me home. I don’t know where home is and sitting in chairs people have sat before me, I am not getting close to it.

 

Photograph.

I want to leave a piece of myself in every place that I go. In oceans, in woods, in big cities many people call home. Roam the earth and haunt the streets. Kiss a thousand strangers and leave my feet firmly planted on the ground. Beneath the streetlights that illuminate night skies. Where nothing feels as broken as you feel. Where everything feels like a completely new beginning and experience.  Leave pieces of myself in everyone that has left ghosts of their former selves with me.

Nostalgia, why do you continue to let me down? Letting me believe that photographs are what is left of our memories of the past. That something so simple is left time stamped in a photographic memory. The sooner the years pass, the sooner we leave our memories behind us. Deep rooted in the ghost towns of our minds, where words are never spoken but constantly replayed melodies form instead. I watch the cities that I love, continue to sky rocket and change with the times. Meanwhile, I watch the town I grew up in flourish then turn to dust. I watch the ghosts of my past fill the empty spaces with open arms and hollow expectations.

All these photographs I keep of people long forgotten in stories I can only tell myself. Of cities larger than my hometown. Of boys that played games with my heart that turned into men that always broke my heart. Photographs scattered and framed in a million places waiting for a retelling of a nostalgic fairy tale. Friendships that would last forever, until we grew up and become the opposite of what we were afraid of. A piece of me in every frame of the photographs that keep hidden in my memory. It’s the only place I don’t feel alone, it’s the only place I don’t feel broken.

Let me leave these pieces of me in everywhere I go.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

12/20/2010

8/31/2015 – Day Seventeen.

I have a problem with my wrists. It’s something that I can’t exactly figure out. I stare at my wrists more than humanly possible, as if they are going to change in appearance or size. I memorize the veins and how visually transparent they seem against my skin. I feel the cracks in the bones and how phantom the pains from the past can come knocking. Sometimes they ache when they bend, but most of the time I am making something out of completely nothing.

Through the years, I see scars that were once scabs on my skin healing. Understanding from salt of words that never allowed themselves to heal properly. I remember wanting to tattoo sleeves on my arms to hide all the bruised scars, so nobody would find them. Where not even I could place the tiny lines that haunt my skin. Lines that no longer exist to the naked eye but always exist to me. I could tie a thousand ribbons on my wrist to hide from all this pain. I could paint a thousand words and sayings to take this grief from forming. I could lie to a million people that look toward my skin as a badge of honor. Some days it feels like a loss instead of an honor. I can’t help but feel guilty that I seem to always do this to myself.

Only I know my scars secrets. I know its whispers that call on me to remember things long forgotten. All the stories that come forth every time a new scar forms. I am better than this. I am stronger than these scabs that turn to scars and leave my stories on my wrists. Yet, I sit here thinking of stupid shit I should have forgiven myself long ago. I forgive myself countless times, but just muster the courage to forget.

Because I never forget.

Swing away.

You never mean to hurt the ones you love. You say the words that cut down their roots, but you never meant to break their trust. You love and protect, you forgive and forget. Apologizes are just words that bleed rust but have no meaning anyway.

Everything hurts.

I didn’t mean to show you all my fears. I didn’t mean to cry when people said goodbye. I didn’t mean to pry in the things that had no meaning to me anyway. Here I lie with the words that seem unclean, that hurt the longer I pour salt on all these wounds. It only hurts if you cry. Only hurts if you focus on the pain. This blood is thicker than water, but the water has been washed clean.

4/12/2009

8/30/2015 – Day Sixteen.

Its weird to think that being in a different environment could change your feelings. Even a slight change in the weather, could change a mood you’re feeling. I never go running toward sun, I am seldom ever outside. Its never the light I crave to make me feel better. I love feelings of seasons that ache at your bones, that cut to the core. I love hearing thunder and lightening roll into one chaotic storm. I love feeling every inch of the rain, placed delicately then chaotically onto my skin. Pulling layers over me and finding comfort in the warmth that no longer harbors on the outside. Going to places that are not drenched with the sun. Where I don’t feel so exposed. I’ve expressed my love for the rain countless times, sometimes its the rain that surprises you with its love. Finding myself being stuck in a downpour that followed up with hail, seemed completely beautiful to me.

When your state is plagued with drought, you miss the rain. Storms, sprinkles, drizzling into gloomy weather, everything. This beautiful country can go through seasons in the matter of hours. It’s the rain storms that make me feel more at home. I love how the streets fill with water and glisten under the street lights. How the sounds of water hitting every inch of  pavement and knowing you never stood a chance against the storm. How jaded you felt walking the streets. As the sun mocked and hid behind the clouds, playing peek a boo with the sky. Hiding its joyful rays behind overcast shades and gray skies. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of San Francisco with it’s bipolar weather changes. It reminds me of seasons yet to come forth toward the upcoming months.

I love it here.

How weather doesn’t change from fall to summer. I watch myself fall even more in love with the weather. How could you possibly be upset with that? That something magically beautiful and pure like the rain could ever make you upset. I watch lights flicker and drown with the sounds of the storm and wonder how long until this passes. All storms ever do is pass and leave you to clean up the mess. It doesn’t hurt when I am here, it doesn’t hurt to be here as the storm continues. I watch people run for cover and shield themselves from every inch of this beautiful rain. I can’t help but at times feel like this storm. I am the storm that screams and cries to reach out to someone. People scatter and run for cover until the sun comes out and welcomes them out again. All I want is for people to listen and stretch their arms out to me, but they remain scared and afraid of what comes after. I can’t avoid the weather. I can seek shelter but no matter how much I shield myself the storm still follows. The storm guarding the sun from the mess it makes while its away. I watch as my storms turn to hurricanes, while the sun is away. I am okay, I will be okay. I am not the one to soak up the sun, when all I want is to dance in the rain.