emotions

Thinkin bout you.

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I should have let you go a thousand days ago. Back to where you came from. Back to where you belong. If I close my eyes, I still see you. I still see the same episodes and replay these images as if they had happened yesterday.

Hit replay.
Hit pause.
Start it all over again.

I could never understand how a mind could become emotionally invested in something that isn’t there. Because you don’t see me, when all I do is see you. Why do we have to analyze everything? Why do we have to obsess over all the tiny details? Why do we care so much, when others care so little. If people are not meant to be in our lives, why do we obsess about them at all?

I can’t turn my mind off for the life of me. I replay these images and think about these thoughts, while thinking about you. I know I shouldn’t. It’s all a silly game our minds play that continue to play tricks on us. Because people in my mind are better then they really are in real life. These illusions we play with that pry on our vulnerabilities and existence. I give into it. I let it all go. Knowing very well I should have let you go a thousand days ago.

I am just another girl thinking about, all the insignificant consistencies of bullshit necessesites. I want to pretend that stupid signs mean everything. That everything means something. But it doesn’t. Instead I grow crazy just wondering if its all in my head.

It is.

But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know I should have let you go a thousand days ago. I know I should have, but I didn’t. Now I drive myself crazy with these thoughts of you. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I know I should stop, but I can’t get my mind to stop.

Do you think about me still?

Do you?

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Vindictive.

vin·dic·tive: having or showing a strong or unreasoning desire for revenge.

The other day a good friend of mine called me “Vindictive”, over a situation that was beyond my control. To sound vague, I am just going to state the situation is not that important. Truth is I never truly stated what really happened. Nor, am I going to start. Some battles are just easier to let go and others were just not a battle to begin with. It’s human nature to crave the drama, to love the dramatics of people’s actions. If we are being truly honest with ourselves, sometimes people are not meant to be friends. Instead of finding myself and putting myself in a position of being immature, I just refused to say anything. I could have just let the word go. Brush it out of my mind, but being who I am I haven’t. I find myself repeating the word and asking myself if I really am being vindictive.

I am not trying to draw attention to any particular situation. Life is crazy sometimes and people will always make their own assumption of things. There are some moments in my life I wish I could be vindictive. I wish I could be really mean and say everything I feel inside. I could spew out the same hate and mistreatment that others have thrown on me. None of which would make me feel any better. I could be really mean if I wanted to be. I could act out every dramatic scenario known to mankind, but I wouldn’t. I could be upset about various things that go on in my life or I can just take everything with a grain of salt. Even by saying nothing, I still come out like a villain. Childish, immature, and of course vindictive.

In the course of a few months, my life has changed. With life changes come friendship changes. I don’t blame anyone. As much as I would like to be angry, no one is to blame. Life happens and no matter how much you want to escape it, its coming toward you full speed ahead. No one tells you that when you’re growing up, your friendships change. In the process of being grown up, you lose people that meant the absolutely world to you. Nothing malicious, nothing mean, just life continues to go on. The truth is sometimes people are meant to be in your life for a limited time and as much as everyone loves a great juicy story, there isn’t one to tell. It hurts to have to come to that realization. Sometimes you grow out of your friendships and sometimes you see friendships for what they truly were. A great time in your life that you needed and sadly have to move on from.

You can’t stop people from believing what they want to believe. As much as you want to you can’t stop people from leaving. Reality is there is nothing left to say. All the dramatics I want to throw out are  just my emotions seeping through. It’s just my sadness trying to make sense of growing out of friendships. People grow up eventually and sometimes you out grow your friendships. Sometimes I want to say everything I feel in my heart, but there really is nothing left to say. I am allowing people to believe what they want to believe.

Maybe I am vindictive. Maybe I am a little hurt and angry. That’s growing up. If you’re not losing friendships, you’re not growing up.

I guess this is growing up.

 

What’s wrong baby?

Why are you single?
Why haven’t you dated anyone?
Why aren’t you dating?

So on and so forth.

If I had a nickel for every time I have been asked the above questions. People make it sound so easy. Falling down, dusting yourself off and then trying again. I know everyone means well. At the risk of sounding crazy, I just let people assume what they want to believe. Its easier for people to believe what they want about me, then having to tell them how I really feel. Because how I feel people seldom understand. I feel scared, I feel crazy, and most times I feel completely broken.

Broken in the sense that my past has broken me into a different person. Instead of shaping me into a better version of myself. I find it harder to trust people, because the past has a funny way of coming back to haunt me. When people have hurt you, it takes a while to come back from. I watch how easy it is for my peers to jump from relationship to relationship. Meanwhile, I watch myself still haunted by the past, with it’s broken words and promises. Hurt does that to you. It breaks and bleeds everything you touch. It claws at your insides, until the raw emotion eats at your soul. I was never like this before. I loved this illusion that love gave you. I loved the sappy love songs, the cliche films that remind you what love should look and feel like. I loved this idea of love and the beautiful orchestrated soundtrack it came with. Now I feel like a completely different person. This illusion of love has broken up my insides and rebuilt itself a different person.

How do you tell a stranger you feel broken? How do you describe it in a way that doesn’t scare off the other person? That pieces of you are slowly going back together again, but the pieces have left you shattered and cynical about love. When people ask you the same questions, how do answer truthfully without sounding tragic?

I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to tell a complete stranger that someone broke me down completely. With words that are still tattooed on the inside of my heart and creep out onto my skin. The past is the past, but how can you be honest with someone, when you can’t be honest with yourself. Some days it hurts like hell and I want to claw every piece of flesh on my body. I want to scream out every obscenity until it doesn’t hurt anymore. Because thats what hurt feels like. Even after six years, the words don’t feel so vividly anymore, but they still haunt me. They’re faint insignificant words that still linger after the smoke has cleared. I know that not every one is like that. I know people won’t hurt me as bad as my past was. Still, it hurts and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.

I feel as if these fingers continue to point at me, and I haven’t a clue what to say when people ask me why I don’t put myself out there. You might as well just state “What’s wrong with you?“. I don’t know how to answer those questions without being honest. Then at the same time, I have this need to keep guarded about my feelings. Trusting people is hard. Especially when your heart has been through a lot. I don’t know how to start a conversation with a stranger and not feel completely broken. People want the truth. People want you to be open and honest.  I know that. Deep down, I know that. I want to be open. I want to say everything I have in my heart. I want a level of trust to return, where I can feel open to be honest. It’s hard for me to be open. It’s hard for me to say how I feel, and instead I change the subject completely.

I am not asking for anyone to pick up my pieces. I just want people to understand that its not easy. It just takes some time to feel like myself again. If it takes me a day, a month, or a year, I know I will feel like myself again. Some days are easier than others. I am not sure if this answers anyones questions or judgments about me, but here it is. These are my cards on the table. Take it or leave it.

12/7/2015

10/6/2015 – Day Thirty – One.

I keep thinking I am writing things down, when I am really just thinking things through. I have so many things to say and find myself just keeping everything inside. Even when I am thinking I am saying everything I feel inside, I find myself keeping everything inside. I don’t know why. I am not afraid of what people think of me, and yet I find myself afraid of everything. I am in a position in my life where I find myself trusting again. Finding myself falling in love with a variety of different people. However, I still find myself keeping things inside. Today, I lost it getting into my car.

You know how we have those days where maybe we shouldn’t have gone outside. We should have stayed home with the covers completely over every inch of our bodies. Thats how I felt today. That anything could break my heart into a million pieces. Even a slight change in the weather would drive a chill down my spine and break me into pieces. It could have been the wind that touched my skin, that would make me crazy. It could have been someone looking at a person beside me, that would have driven me insane. Here I was walking toward my car, already breaking my own heart. For no good fucking reason.

I was parked in a private parking lot, I knew very well that I was. Walking up to my car, I noticed something on my windshield. Thinking I had a ticket and then realizing it was a note stating I was parking on private property. My blood started boiling and all I really wanted to do was scream at the person who wrote the note. Scream at them like a fucking crazy person. I clutched the note in my hands, until my hands became a fist. I couldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t stop this feeling. I wanted to lose it on someone else, knowing very well that it was my fault. I wanted to blame someone for something I did. Because I was upset about my own stupidity. Embarrassed by my own actions. I wanted someone to feel my hurt and my pain.  Someone, anyone, someone that doesn’t even exist.

Instead I ripped the paper into tiny shreds and threw it on the street. That would show them. Those tiny shreds of paper represented everything I was feeling. It would mean I am screaming back at them, when I am not even sure who “them” is. I keep thinking I am saying things out loud when I am really keepings to myself. I think of all these elaborate posts. How the words flow so freely in my mind and I can’t seem to get a grasp of them on paper. Then I feel like such an idiot, a complete fool of a person. Who reads this? Who is listening and do they even fucking care? My heart beats so fast when all I want to do is scream out every obscenity I can think of and I don’t know why.

I can’t explain all this aggression. Some days I want to blame a variety of different things. I want to blame my depression, I want to blame my anxiety, I want to blame it on everything and everyone. Blame it on the past. Blame it on my present surroundings. Blame it on myself and my inability to keep it together. Some days it’s just easier to break my own heart. Easier to be the villain because thats how everyone treats me. Because even when you say nothing, everyone believes you’re hiding everything. I get those moments where I want to hurt people as they have done to me. Maybe my heart will stop breaking for once, maybe it won’t hurt as bad to be so honest. Maybe I will be able to rid myself of these feelings once and for all.

But at the end of the day, I am the one crying in my car in empty parking lots on private property. I am the crazy one. I am the one that can’t keep it together. I am the absolute worst and everyone knows it.

Clutter.

I have heard that how you live is a representation of yourself. How you are at home is a reflection of your inner being. This way of showing the world the part of yourself you don’t show to the world. At this current moment, at this current time, how I live in my surroundings is surrounded by clutter. Which I find rather odd. Seeing that I am a rather neat person. I can’t stand being around mess and chaos. Yet for the past couple of months, I have surrounded myself with this overly exhausting surrounding of extreme clutter.

I didn’t ask for this. It just sort of happened, then spanned out of control. Beyond my control. “I’ll get to it when I get to it”, is what I tell myself. Just save everything for tomorrow. Tomorrow comes, tomorrow goes, still the clutter remains. I’ll be completely honest, I hate it. I know this isn’t who I am. I watch the stack of papers go from 2 to 20. I watch the piles of clothes become larger and larger. Receipts seem to keep a permanent residence on the floor. Current mail and postage ready to be sent out, still stuck on chairs and tables. For whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to stick to a routine of fixing it. I watch the dust collect on the collection of things. Watch everything that has a place become the chaos that surrounds my room.

I’ll get to it when I get to it.

I wonder if this is a reflection of myself. Reflecting everything that I feel on the inside. This chaotic way of coming back to things, when I see fit. Waiting for things to happen on their own, instead of getting up and doing things. It’s been a few months of reflection and recollections. Growing up and moving on. Trying to piece back together the past, smooth out the present, to make way for the future.

No.

I am just to lazy to focus on what is in front of me. Instead of cleaning up my surroundings, I am becoming suffocated by them. Each item is taunting me, eating away at my insides. Purchases, I should have never made. Clothes, I should have put away. Every little thing has a purpose and a place, instead I am watching it collect a life form of itself. This clutter is my absolute exhaustion, silently killing me. I want to rid myself of these material things, start over as a simple minded person. Pack up all my things in boxes and give them away. I don’t need anything as much as I thought I needed it.

I don’t, I swear.

The more I stare at this clutter, the more I wonder if it’s all in my head. If every single thing I believe inside, is really a reflection of what I see on the outside. What do I know. I watch myself collect more things, to place on top of more things, to hide how I feel inside. I grow tired making up excuses for my mess when I feel like a mess inside. I guess if you’re wondering how I feel, just take a long hard look at my room. Take hold of the notebooks, novels, notes, and envelopes, collecting dust. Take note of the broken hangers and the couple pairs of shoes on the floor. Watch as the tiny pieces of paper, continue to stay stationed on the floor. It’s not because I am busy, it’s just that I don’t know anymore.

This clutter is consuming me. This clutter is taking over my life. This clutter has to go, so I can finally move on with my life.

 

This Town.

This is my Town.  This is my city. This is my home when shit gets gritty.
I see the lights, hear the sounds, and know everything will be okay now.

This is my block, this is my home. These are my streets that lead me home. It doesn’t matter where I am going. It just matters how long before I come back to the familiar stench of this familiar city. I watch things come, I watch things go. People are free to come and go as they please. Leave and return, everything will be okay soon.

I want more. I want more than the bare boned buildings that become nothing more than skeletons of our past. More than this slowing pulse of people settling, growing further away from who they used to be. A million mistakes away from our future self. A thousand forgiven apologizes in the form of morphed manipulation into something different. This town changes you. This town keeps your grounded. This town sucks at the empty soul of your youth and helps settle you into the bitter adulthood.

We were all those crazy kids once. Kids that travelled to larger cities, bigger than our hometown. Away from the familiar streets. Away from the roads that lead us home. Seeking adventure, seeking life, seeking something bigger than this mundane life. You could always go home, they say. Always come back to this town that stayed embedded into your brain.

We grow up to hate each other. Grow up bitter from our past and grow up to shatter the shells of our former selves. This isn’t what was suppose to happen. This wasn’t how I was suppose to be. We all said we’d be friends forever. Now I can’t even look at half of your faces. We grow up to be better versions of ourselves. When does that actually start? Half of us aren’t better, instead we are bitter. I can’t stand by this anymore.

This town is home when it feels fit to be. This town is my town, whenever I want it to be.

 

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.

 

The Big Bad Wolf.

I’ll huff.
I’ll puff.
I’ll blow your house down.

Everything you hold dear. Everything you care so much for. Blow your house of cards into a stack of nothing. Because I am the crazy one. I am the one who can’t control emotions. Like clockwork;  I huff, puff, and blow your house down.

I am a villain in a valley of victims. The big bad wolf everyone is afraid of. Don’t tell me how you feel, because you’re afraid of how I’ll react. Keep things from me, because it will spare my feelings. Tell me lies because it’s sweeter than the truth. Make believe and fantasy is all you should ever give me. Everything is my fault and everything I do is just a reaction to your proof.

I’ll huff.
I’ll puff.
I’ll blow your house down.

Never believe the one that speaks louder than a whisper. Don’t believe the person with a scarlet letter across their chest. They can’t be trusted. They’re the crazy ones. Don’t believe the tears of a woman because even a woman lies. We all become what everyone hates. The deepest darkest nightmares in truest forms. All we are is vessels to point the blame upon. One finger you gracefully point at me, just know there are three pointing back at you. Keep pointing your fingers down at me, from the pedestal from which you stand upon. It’s foundation made of lies and all the villainous corpses you’ve accounted for.

Oh my, how high people sit on their throne of lies in order to keep up with the masses. It’s easy to pit everyone against each other when you wear the crown. Making wars between the sinners and keeping heroes of the saints. Picking your victorious battles while still losing the wars. I am far to smart to believe the cries of a boy who calls wolf. To believe the silent whimpers of the untouchable sheep. You’re a big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’re the boy who always cries wolf. The louder you squeal the more people will listen. We’re all suckers for tragedy. We all love the misfortunes of others. Seldom triumph over anyone’s victory. I know far too much to ever let you win. You can spread your lies to the masses. Tell them every vulnerability I account for. But you will never win. I am unbreakable. I am safe and I am sound, and I will not be defeated.

Come little sheep. Come little piggies. Build before me your house of cards. Build it high, build it low, build it strong, and build it sturdy. I am not the one you should be afraid of. Be careful for the wolf hidden in the sheep’s clothing. Stay clear of silent voices that speak sweet lies through direct honesty. Be careful of the king who lead battles for war to only massacre the innocent.

I may have always been the villain, but the only villain I see here is you.

8/21/2008

 

 

9/25/2015 – Day Twenty – Eight

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If I don’t write this down, I will forget something. All I want is to remember everything exactly how it happened, how it felt. Not miss any single piece of it. Either way posting feelings in my head and down on paper, I am bound to forget something. I will forget feelings, placement, settings, smells, every little detail that make up moments that I am desperately trying to remember.

It’s hard to explain it to people. To people that didn’t live the life I did. That didn’t follow a band or a piece of music because they loved it. Nobody will understand that. How it felt to stomp your feet, clap your hands, and sing every line from your favorite song out loud for all to hear. You start remembering basement venues in sketchy parts of towns, filled with cigarette smoke. Remembering salutations and how fearless you felt at 17. Night thats went on forever, until the lights came on. I can’t talk to a single soul about it. I can’t ask someone how it felt to meet people or see places or conversations I kept in my head. Every day I want to forget but the melody brings it all back. It’s never how far I’ve come but it’s where I’ve been. How I got this far and why I keep coming back for more.

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Going on airplanes in route to home, brings back memories of things that have happened briefly, but really was just yesterday. You can’t go back, you can only move forward. Yet things that happened so recently tend to come back like a distant memory. You think about everything and everyone. Moments, feelings, and how perfectly they wrap themselves up in a soundtrack of songs I used to love. A different variety of things but as you grow up, your heart forgets, moves on and dies just a little. I don’t remember why I hate the things of my past but yet I can’t help but succumb to the nostalgia of it all. I hated this band, I hated the people, I hated the music, because they brought back with these memories of a person I don’t recognize anymore. I get it. We all have to grow up sometimes. We all have to get jobs, pay bills and grow up from the fucked up kid from yesterday. But can’t we just pretend we are back there? Back to the 18 year olds wearing dark eyeliner and black hoodies. Back to this notion that we can stay 18 forever?

Peter Pan has his Neverland, where he stays childlike forever. Where do I go to be with the feelings of my younger self, with the wisdom of my adult self? I miss that. I can sing loud and along with the best of them. But still I miss that even as we get older we lose track of who we used to be. I don’t want to be 18 forever, but I want the feeling of pretending I want to. If I could take it all back I would. Take back the sounds, the wounds, the life in the memories. How easily melodies become soundtracks pierced together in our lives. How feelings go as season leave and yet we can’t forget them. Was I missing out or always there? The fear of missing something that wasn’t always there. The photographs you take and the feelings trapped inside of them. Am I missing out?

Stay 18 forever, so we can stay like this forever.

Drive.

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I am driving blindly down streets I should remember. Streets I see clearer then the veins that scream transparency on the back of my hand. I could be anywhere, but here I stay. Stuck trying to escape this notion of reality and make believe.

Where am I going?
Anywhere, but here.

I race toward the sun in hopes to catch it. Every moment, every second. Every lasting ray of light before the darkness hits, and I am left with nothing. I see everything clearly yet watch everything disappear. This urging in my heart to race toward this everlasting light and pray for the rays to last me forever. Just a few more minutes. Something to take way the feeling of hopelessness and fill me with light. Just a little bit longer. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know what I’m doing. Its this never ending struggle to pretend it’s okay. That being stuck in one place is fine with me. That being patient is always such a virtue. This road seems never ending. No matter how many times I try to change course, I can’t stop pretending this is where I need to be. Take the long way home, take the shortest route, go these places that are the roads most travelled. Stay safe, drive slow, and the rest will follow.

I grow tired of staying in one place. My mind is going a mile a minute and I’ve grown tired of these familiar streets and haunting surroundings. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing I need from these 4 walls that haunt me while I sleep. Its a race against time. Its a race against nothing. It’s catching feelings in moments that never truly exist. But still I steer myself toward the horizon in the right direction. This light will save me. This light will guide me home. I take blindly all the time and accounts of the nothing that exists. Take everything and push your way through. I am driving myself crazy. I am driving myself mad but the light will carry me home. Just a little while longer before the light goes. Just a little while longer before we disappear.

Its the misty lights that seem so pretty through theses skies. I know what I need to do, I just need to stop the fear from hurting. Race toward the light and watch the uncertainty disappear with each mile I retrace. This will all disappear, all go away. In one instant I’ll be home and pay no mind to my doubts and worries. Not much further I see my exit guiding me home. I don’t know where I am going but I know where this leads. Even if home is just a distant memory to me.