alone

Take offs & Landings.

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The road leads back to you and familiar far off places. I am leaving in various directions to far off destinations. Anywhere but here, and yet every where and in between. Leaving pieces of myself in different cityscapes and landscapes. Taking with me only what I need to live and survive. Leaving on a jet plane, and who knows when I’ll be back again.

When you’re far from home, you hardly miss it. You stay trapped in the subliminal bliss of journeys that await you. A new story, a familiar place, pieces of strangers that await you on the other side. I could sit in a million seats in crowded places, but nothing compares to the life you see from the gates to terminals. The comings and goings, take offs and landings. Where are we going? Home or further from it? Far off destinations that soon lead you home. I could open my heart and give a piece of it to every person that leaves before me. Open my heart to the strangers and their journeys. Its the strangers that facisnate me. That leave to places I’ll never see, places I’ll never know. We are only the same from the terminal to the gates. Then off on to our journeys and the life that awaits. I leave my past to enjoy the present that awaits me. Familiar places with different faces. Each journey farther from home but eventually leading me home.

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Time stands still. Remembering people, remembering stories and the memories of who we are and who we were. With each trip I am learning, with each trip I am growing up. Searching for parts of myself that I didn’t think would ever exist outside the boundaries of my hometown. My hands shake in anticipation of a new adventure. I can only keep going from here. Embrace this adventure and the people I will encounter. For a brief moment in time, I am connected to these people. To the people that leave and the people that return. We are all connected to an adventure of finding things about ourselves, and growing from each and every experience. Its those strangers that I love, its those strangers that I connect to.

Miles from home, I never feel alone. Miles from home I feel a connection to this life, this illusion of living in and out of a big fat suitcase. Being on the road, I feel more connected to myself then staying in one place. Between take offs and landings is where I feel at home. Up in the sky, floating through the clouds in this never ending dreamland. If you could see me now, if you could see how I fly. If only you could understand that staying in one place, never suited me at all. But being miles away from home, and miles to go before I sleep, at this moment I feel just fine.

 

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9/9/2015 – Day Twenty – Three.

I could spend countless hours being upset for all the wrong reasons. Most of the times I do just that. Become angry for things beyond my control, or angry for things I shouldn’t be angry about. I often forget there are other things bigger in this world. My hate and my anger over power all my light and I turn completely dark. I am the monster that is green with envy for a million different things. At this point, I don’t even know why anymore.

When you are hurting you forget about human kindness. When the paranoia of the world happens, you tend to forget about the kindness of humanity. You become angry with your surroundings, that has caused you to look differently at people. That life is meant to be used and hurt, and you’ve become very good at playing the victim. Lately I’ve played my victim role with pristine condition. I feel like everyone hates me for obvious reasons that I can’t understand. Hates me for every little thing that’s caused me to be paranoid toward everything and everyone. Everything I do is wrong. Everything everyone else does is always right. I can’t sleep when its these thoughts that keep me up at night. I watch people become ghosts to me and because I am too fucked up to listen, I allow them to be. At the same time, I don’t want my negativity to transfer to them. So I keep a close distance away from everyone until I no longer feel I am doing harm to anyone else.

Every so often people make you forget that. A smile from a stranger, a hello from a friend, something that shows you’re alive. Something that makes you feel alive, that people can crash into you and make you feel something. Something, anything. From this numbing feeling inside that takes away all your light. It’s not that I feel dead inside. I just feel sick. That a body snatcher has taken reign of my body and oozing out this sickening feeling. I hate it. It’s weird how simple conversations can change your whole mood. I feel angry for so many things beyond my control. Angry for the fact that I am angry. Upset over the fact that I can’t control how I feel anymore. Is this who I really am? Is this what sadness can do to a person? Make them a shell of their former self. I can’t be honest with people, with out terrifying them with reality. My reality is far more complicated then I show. All I do is go through the motions and cover everything up the best that I can.

I didn’t believe that anything could take away this anger. I was so overwhelmed with this feeling of darkness, I didn’t believe the light could come in. Somehow words snap you out of your feelings and before you know it you’re smiling again. Laughing, thinking, feeling human again. When you are seconds away from a meltdown, someone says the words to snap you out of that feeling. You feel it from your toes to your fingertips. Anything but the feeling you felt before. It’s weird how nice people are to you when you’re seconds away from a meltdown. As if they can sense all your problems and take them away from you. I guess I have been so used to everything going wrong that when things go right, I am afraid of what to do. All it takes is a few words from a stranger to bring me back to life. Sometimes that’s all we need to feel alive. Something to take away all this dark, even if it’s just for a little bit.

I didn’t have a meltdown today. I am slowly starting to feel like myself again.

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.

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

8/29/2015 – Day Fifteen.

I have had a problem with food for as long as I can remember. Longer than I would like to admit. These days I wonder if those fears are my karma for my current situations. I haven’t been the kindest to myself and in this new era of body image, owning who you are, it’s easier said than done. I’ll be completely honest, its hard to transform 28 years thinking in a matter of a short months or years. For every 10 good days, there are 20 not so good days. For everything and in-between, food has been my scapegoat for every way of thinking. Food has a way of bringing the good with the bad. Triggering memories and forgotten expectations. You think about how much you didn’t care in your younger years, and now as an adult this need to be socially conscious about everything you put in front of you. Now a days, I fear food more than I enjoy it. I hold it at an arms length against me. Separating myself from my past and my expectations of my future, not realizing the repercussions of my present. It makes me think about everything I’ve done to distance myself from food, when all I’ve ever wanted to do was enjoy it.

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Recovery is a pain in the ass. Its hard to tell someone that hasn’t been through what you have, how you feel. I have felt really alone in my recovery. Its easy to put up a positive front, to post a photo of myself eating or enjoying food but reality settles in. I will always see myself as 70 lbs over weight. I will always think twice about what I eat. I will always feel guilty about over eating and feel this need to punish myself. It’s hard to tell someone that what I see in the mirror paralyzes my way of thinking. It has been a long time since I have truly enjoyed a meal. A good fucking meal. Something someone put heart and soul into. I am not going to be an asshole, I’ve had great meals but so many of these meals build up on my fears.  Its genuinely hard to enjoy them without feeling squeamish or guilt. Most of the time, I feel guilty about the things I eat. It’s something I have to live with that makes me so indescieve about where or what to eat. How do you tell someone I can’t eat what I love out of fear of the outcome? You can’t. Being in another country helps. I don’t feel guarded. I don’t feel the pressure to be anything. While the fear still plagues me, it doesn’t hurt as much as it does at home. Its weird to be in places with different customs then your own. To adapt yourself into things you have stopped doing at home. Sometimes I forget to eat in the rush of getting to and from places. Often times I overindulge in the things I love but mostly I don’t. Then I feel guilty of eating and I psych myself out. I don’t know. Being far from home I don’t feel as self conscious as I am used too.

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It’s easy to say I am on vacation, I can do what I want. To get in this gluttonous stage and have no self control, but I can’t do that. It’s lonely to eat alone but it’s lonely to have to come to realization that you can’t eat the way you are used too. We settled into a restaurant inside the town square. After looking over at the menu, we decided to take our chances on a little restaurant with it’s rustic pirate vibes. I wasn’t expecting much. Just enough to fill my belly and provide the energy I needed for the rest of the day. I get really anxious when I eat. A part of me still believes I am 70 lbs overweight and another part of me still believes I will make myself sick after eating. For the longest time my meals where based on what was easier to come out at will or what would get me full the fastest. If I ate exactly how I wanted to eat, I would open up the wounds that have been trying to heal. If I don’t eat, its another series of triggers, I can’t contain. I usually order to avoid suspicion and times I don’t like what I order. When you are comfortable you forget the silly instances that make up your anxieties. Sitting on the bench in the resturant, I didn’t look for an easy way out. I wanted to try everything. I wanted to eat everything and for once I didn’t want to feel guilty about what I ate. It felt like we were eating for hours when really it had been minutes, since we had ordered. Mere minutes as the plates started arriving. Each plate sizzling, oozing, and exhuming delicious flavors and tastes. It didn’t end at the first or second plate. It didn’t stop with the drinks, the momentum continued, as we talked about family stories, family traditions, and inner jokes between us all. As each plate reached our table, another plate would disappear.

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It didn’t hurt. This layer of anxiousness shed off my skin and I felt something I hadn’t felt in all the meals, I have consumed over the past years. I felt love. I felt hunger to try everything. Even if I felt guilty, it wasn’t going to hurt me. I had been feeling self-conscious about my outcomes that I never focused on my journey. How alone I felt in my battles and lonely I felt in my war. No matter how many times I heard positivity, I was focused on the negative outcome. Focusing on the mirror that was haunted with two faces. As the plates started dwindling down, as my belly felt full but content, I looked around at the faces I saw before me. This is my journey, my battle but I don’t feel alone. This is love I feel in front of me and after every course, I am going to be okay. Maybe I’ll never get better but at least today, the journey doesn’t seem as bad anymore.

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8/27/2015 – Day Thirteen.

I was suppose to go home today.

Home.

Back to reality. Back to my house, my room, my car, my friends and my family. It’s weird how I always put friends before family, when at times I don’t feel as if I have any left. We are all so busy living and finding ourselves, right? It’s easy to say “I miss you” and wonder how many believe that sentiment. Those are just my thoughts on the subject, its not like anyone is listening anyway.

I was suppose to go home today. Return, board a plane and jump back into what I should be doing. Instead of living within the clouds, high in the hills. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t pack my things and ask myself if I was fine. Instead I changed my flight and stayed a few more days. I could have easily sulked and returned home to my hometown. Back where I belong. With the same faces, different circumstances. Something inside of me wasn’t ready yet. The more I thought about packing my bags and returning home, the more anxious I become. I am alienating a world of people and the longer I stay here, the longer I don’t have to answer to anyone. Because nothing is wrong with me.

I am okay. I am okay. I swear.

What if I missed something when I am here. What if everything I am searching for is closer than I think. I am tired of thinking about things, I should be doing. Why can’t I focus on nothing and expect everything? The weather is changing today. Cooler skies make colder mornings. The skin I once exposed has been covered from head to toe. I wonder if people can see my depressed state. See you’re hurting deep within your soul. If they can see it through your fake facade of happiness or feel it whisper to them when no one hears you.  The marks I hide on my face and my arms and I wonder if scabs heal faster than scars. The clouds are coming in. I am sitting in empty rooms on empty chairs, going over things in my empty mind. Listening to songs, where the melody flows through my ears and out the other. Words are words, that continue to be wrapped up in melody. The more I pick at my scabs the more exposed my scars are. I distract myself to combat the sadness. I read stories about broken girls that want to be put back together again. I sit alone and wonder to myself, if I still feel broken. If I still feel the need to put myself back together again.

Is this how I put myself back together again? Reading books of broken girls that just want to be whole again? I sit in empty rooms on empty chairs and read stories of girls who feel empty inside. I don’t feel that way. Not in the least. Not at this moment.

 

8/23/2015 – Day Twelve.

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I am not here.

I am suppose to be present, be here now. Lately, I feel completely disconnected, that a drop from the sky would send shivers down my spine.

I am not here. I continue to tell myself.

I should be taking in my surroundings. Taking in the culture, the people, the language, the streets, the movers and the shakers. Listening to the vibrancy of the sounds on the outside, instead I close myself off to the world hiding inside. I am not here, I can’t be found. Finding myself sitting in empty chairs, patiently waiting, very still. Waiting for something, anything to see me. Be here now.

Watching shadows cast themselves over me. I’ve spend so much of my time talking, explaining, forming words to explain this descend into madness. I am tired of talking. All I ever do in life is talk and open up my insides for the world to see, that all I want to do is close myself off from the world. Explaining things to people who will pay attention then later pay no mind to when it’s gone. It’s not fair of me to take you away from your regularly scheduled programing, so I keep these feelings inside and wait this all out.

I am sitting in empty chairs, closing myself off from the world, in complete silence not explaining a thing. Sit and watch colors turn from black and white to vibrant blues and greens. I can hear voices but seldom ever see the faces. Sit in silence, not say a world. Staying completely still. Breathing softly and watching the world go by. Watching things I never noticed before, accumulate the dust of time. All those times spent looking toward other things. All the stories I’ve told that make no significance at this moment. All the things I’ve said that no longer make a difference. The longer I remain quiet the less likely people will notice me.

Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it was always better this way.

8/16/2015 – Day Eight.

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I was once told that you should never drink alone. Drinking alone means you’re an alcoholic, something around those lines. Its not that I crave the drink. It’s not that I need the drink, its that I always need something to take the edge off. I realize the older I get I don’t care for drinking. I don’t care about being belligerent that I have to black out my thoughts. I am not trying to run away from anything but every once in a while it’s nice to escape. Feel fuzzy and feel better.

I have drank with thousands of people. Friends, foes, strangers, and family, you name it. Never alone. I wonder if its the fear of losing control that doesn’t allow me to drink alone. The fear of losing myself and allowing the gates of my mind, to flood open with nostalgia and reoccurring memories. Today I found myself alone for no reason at all. When you come from a large family, you seldom have a moment to yourself, let alone be alone. But today I found myself alone and nursing a glass of my favorite beer. It wasn’t meant to happen. Seeing beer poured into glasses and watching as one by one everyone started scattering out into the streets, or on the patio or to other areas of the house. I sat with my glass and for the first time contemplated to drink.

To drink alone is a sad definition of loneliness. While I didn’t feel alone, watching people scatter slowly to other places, I found myself alone without anyone. No one to tell a funny story. No one to say how I feel. No way to truly express myself. My fingers gripped the glass and slowly bringing the glass towards me. I waited. I waited because it’s what I always do, wait for answers. Wait for questions, wait for people to scatter back in and out of my life. I have spent a lifetime of waiting and realized that people will always scatter back in and later back out of my life, whats the point of waiting anyway? It doesn’t make much sense to wait.

I sit and wait and every moment passes me by. The condensation from the glass keeps my finger prints intact. The longer I wait the realization comes in. I can’t do this alone. Sitting here and waiting for people to scatter back in, the longer I continue to wait for them. It’s what I do best. Wait for the right time, wait for the right moment, wait for the right people to scatter out then back into my life. But the waiting makes me more anxious. The more anxious I become, the more likely I am to take the edge off. I was never a person to believe in “can’t” but lately I have been finding myself doing so. The closer the glass comes toward me, the more likely I am to drink. I can’t keep waiting anymore.

 

8/13/2015 – Day Seven.

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My body is in a state of shock. I have bones aching and muscles sore. I am exhausted. The lack of sleep from the nights before, make waking up harder than normal. I woke up to sunny skies escaping my window but my body still ached for the cold of the night and the darkness. Sleep makes you forget about things in your waking day reality. You become so transfixed in your dream state you forget that you have to go back to reality. I could stay lost in my dreams forever. Lost in this idea of make believe instead of waking up to this sickening pain of reality. I hate this feeling.

This exhausted feeling could only bring me enough energy to get dressed and eat somewhat. Even getting dressed was a hassle. You reach this point where putting on your normal every day clothes seem far fetched, I wanted to put just the most comfortable manageable clothes. My head was pounding due to the altitude and I felt dizzy and distraught. That feeling you get when you don’t feel like talking and you find yourself ridiculously quiet? Thats how I felt. I am not usually a quiet person but I had this need to not say anything. When I have nothing to say, why say anything. Why pretend I have something to say, when I have nothing at all. All I wanted to do was sleep. From my fingertips to my toes, everything shakes. I could live in this bed forever, hiding under the covers and looking out toward the sun that illuminates from under the drapes. I could. I would if I could.

I should be doing a million things. Start unpacking, start a million different ideas and complete them with a follow through. The more I thought about these things the more the pain continued to hurt. The tighter I held on to the blankets and kept falling back asleep. I shouldn’t think about the things that I do. I should be in a better mood in a beautiful place with amazing people. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake this mood. This feeling of hurting physically that was hurting emotionally. I wrapped myself in that blanket, covered in comfort, warmth and this feeling of pure security. Before I knew it the sunny skies morphed into an overcast afternoon. Waking up to the cold air and skies cascading in colors from white to slate to dark grey. I could have laid in that emotional bliss forever. This weather that matches my aches and pains and cuts into my mood. I knew I would have to go back into reality. I knew I would have to start talking again. I knew eventually I’d have to admit to myself exactly how I was feeling.

In this moment I felt the cold inch closer to me. Greeting me like an old friend. It was then I moved the blanket closer and fell back asleep.

 

 

8/12/2015 – Day Six.

I didn’t tell anyone I was traveling. I didn’t make some epic post on social media. I didn’t even give a hint that I was going. I wasn’t up to all of it to be completely honest. If I had to be really honest, I really just wanted to disappear. I didn’t want to die, even if at times I felt that way. I just didn’t feel the need to tell anyone anything. It probably sounds stupid and juvenile but I’ve always been so public about different aspects of myself. Just this once, I didn’t want to say anything.

I haven’t been sleeping well for the past couple of weeks. This wave of paranoia hit me like something out of a nightmare. I’ve travelled thousands of times. Thousands of times alone or with friends. This time felt different, that I was hiding from something I couldn’t contain anymore. I thought I was going to lose it in the check-in line. I thought I was going to lose it in security. I thought I was going to cancel this trip right in the airport. If I had it in me, I would change my ticket and fly to a million different places. Places where no one would find me. I am clouded with this idea that we have to tell people where we are and what we are doing, but I just want to get lost and leave. Disappear completely. Disappear in the sights and sounds of places where only few people would find me. As of this point, I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend that this is just something that happens to people. At this point in my life, I don’t know if I can survive these feelings. Its haunting my life to the point that I can’t sleep anymore. I am hurting in places, I don’t want to hurt anymore. I am holding on by a very thin thread and at any given moment I will break.

Airports are always interesting places. I have spent a good amount of time at airports. Coming and going, take off and landings. I always felt it was the most loneliest place you could be. You’re never sure if someone’s journey is just beginning or ending. I become fascinated by strangers, their stories and their lives. I could sit and people watch for hours. I could sit down in the countless chairs by the gates and watch people. People on their phones, gossiping with people, people reading books, everything. You almost want to open your heart to these people and invite them in. See who they are and share a piece of yourself. In many ways thats what drives my madness. This need to share a piece of myself and open my heart to people. I’ve been fearful of people hurting me again, that I didn’t realize I was only hurting myself. I go on all these trips to find myself to scare myself. To prove to myself how much I can do on my own. When it’s the comfort of people I really seek. A smile from a stranger, a “good morning” from a neighbor, a “thank you” from a person sitting next to you.

We are all connected by strings and when we least expect it to we cut our strings to be free from everyone. We don’t realize how desperately we need these strings. How we’d stop the world to restring ourselves to all these people. I want to learn to live without these strings and realize I need these strings as much as I need to be free. I want to disappear and I want strings to pull me back to myself. I don’t know. I found myself in my seat on the plane and as we were descending into my final destination, I realized how much I missed the adventure of life. Everything I’ve done in my life had been completely out of the norm of everyone else’s life. I had been feeling guilty of steering off the path, that I was bringing myself down. I missed adventure, I missed different places, I missed what I loved about life. A lot has changed since my last trip, and I knew that. I watched as the plane slowly circled the city and realized I missed the comfort of home and the comfort of people. I needed to be alone with my darkness to realize how much I don’t need a lot of things. Looking down at the city with it’s buildings and cars and people, I felt so insignificant. Harboring all this pain has made me feel like a stranger to many people, but I felt like a stranger to myself. Before I could enjoy the view, I couldn’t help but start to cry.

I don’t know who I am anymore, and I am not sure I ever will.