insecure

One last look.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”, she said. As I slowly walked away from her desk. Life is all about last looks, this one was no exception.

I imagined myself doing different things with my life. Going on different adventures, then what was happening before me. I never imagined coming back home. I never thought that failing was an option. As I always do, I picked myself up and started over. Starting over by going home until I come back to this fucking city.  I am going home to regroup then come back to this town to be somebody. Anybody then the person I was before. Not the broken person I was when I came here.

Big cities don’t take to kindly to lonely hearts. Broken people don’t always find what they are looking for. But I will be the exception. The exception to the rule.

I walked away from her office and watched the room glitter with the sunlight. The same golden color. The same sparkle from the afternoon sun. What I would give to be outside  but instead, I am saying goodbye to everything that was familiar.

Life doesn’t prepare you for goodbyes. Life doesn’t prepare you for last looks and the words that haunt you after. Instead, you move forward and hope for the best. Praying, wishing, hoping, that all of this will be a distant memory. Just another story to add in the book of life.

It’s been six years since I have been back. Six years and I still feel like like a visitor in my hometown. This doesn’t feel like home but neither did that big city. Which is why I felt the need to burn my bridges and watch them crumble behind me.

Yet, those words haunt me.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

As I make another last look through the glistening rays of the sun behind me.

One day I will. Someday soon.

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Sorry for the things I said when I was drunk.

I don’t know why I say the things I do. Or if I mean them to begin with. The little green monster comes out to throw everything upside down. Throw salt on all the wounds, to feel bitterness through the sweet. Sometimes I just want to say sorry for the words that slur out wrong. The words that come out in anger instead of love. I wouldn’t be so bold if it wasn’t for things beyond my control. Wouldn’t be so bold if it wasn’t for every last sip of this never ending cup. Its the liquid courage that makes me so courageous. The magic feather of bravery inside every bottle, can, or glass.

How much of what I say is really how I feel inside. How much of what I think is based off of ignorant bliss, hidden inside every tall can or glass. I cannot be this crazy. I cannot be this truly hurt. I cannot be so brave in my skin when I am frightened by my actions. If I mean what I say, what does it mean when I’ve had a helping hand at this.

I don’t mean everything I say, do I?
Not every word of it.
Maybe I do.

I can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by my actions. A simple drink can turn to three or four, and you find yourself telling secrets to people you shouldn’t. Sometimes I don’t want to keep so many secrets. Sometimes I just want to write them all down for everyone to see. I want to say “I miss you” when I can’t bring myself that sense of honesty. With this drink I feel a powerless power. A sense of normalcy amongst all the crazy conservative feelings. I could do anything, say anything, and yet, I find myself wishing that I hadn’t. I don’t like the way my drink tastes so bitter with my own sour thoughts. Yet, I polish off this drink and beg for more just like it.

You don’t realize how much you drink until you stop.  You don’t realize what you’ve said until the flashbacks come back to haunt you. Nostalgia has a funny way of coming back to remind you of things you’ve long forgotten. In a familiar song, in a familiar scent, in a familiar drink, as you watch yourself continue to drink to forget. But I never forget. Everything always comes back, right after I said it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I watch my demeanor change from bad to worse. Watching how my speech changes and watch how easier the words go from my tongue to my lips. Its my actions I want to reconsider, its my words I want to forget. Its everything I’ve said that I can’t help but apologize for. We all want to be accountable for our actions. We all wish we could take back all the nasty things we’ve said.

Maybe I truly am sorry for all the things I have said when I was drunk. In the end what I have said will finally set me free. Allow me to be less bitter, allow me to be less hateful, allow me to stop being such a fucking bitch. Liquor doesn’t make monsters, it just helps the monsters be more vicious. I am tired of being a monster. I dedicate this last drink to you. This last moment, this last taste, everything. I am sorry if I have ever hurt you. I am sorry if I said any nasty things about you. Above all, I am sorry if I was never sorry to begin with.

I am sorry. I truly am.

12.13.2009

 

Summer.

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I hate Summer.

I hate it with every fiber of my being. For all the reasons everyone loves summer, it’s all the reasons I despise it. I hate the heat. I hate the sun, I hate it’s warmth that embraces me in it’s brightest hug. I hate the over exposure of the sun that lasts on my skin. Turning every inch of my skin different colors that burn to the touch.

I hate it.

This over exposure of skin that showcases all my imperfections. The sun doesn’t allow me to cover up my insecurities and flaws. Instead my skin is out for everyone to see and judge. I can’t stand that feeling. This feeling that with every bright ray of sunlight, I have to hide an inch of myself. I want to cover every inch of myself in layers, hide every inch of my insecurities, but I can’t. Instead I hide behind closed doors until the heat of the afternoon rays, turn into moonlit skies and breezy nights.

I want to hide every inch of myself until I am ready to appear. Hide from the masses until I am perfectly okay with myself. I hate that you can’t hide from warmth. You can’t hide from the sun that follows you like a shadow every step you take. Every freckle burns on my skin from these memories of the past I just want to forget. Closing the books on summer looks and yearn for the layers and falling leaves of fall. Let me have one more day of Spring. One more day of overcast skies and foggy mornings. One more day of layers that hide my skin from the sun. One more day to hide these scars from the world, another day of long sleeves that keep all my wounds secret.

I am the worst person to myself when the sun comes out. All I want to do is disappear until the sun goes down. Do we ever really forgive ourselves for the things we say as the sun illuminates our face? We don’t. I can’t help but become the monster everyone says I am. Its the monsters in ourselves that we are often afraid of. What’s one more?

Summer comes. Summer goes. I can’t wait for the heat to leave this town and leave this lingering feeling it leaves upon my skin. In the shade, behind a veil of layers I will stay. Watching the leaves dry and fall from the trees until there is nothing left to shed.

6/7/2006

8/7/2015 – Day One.

If we have to be honest, nobody likes admitting defeat. Nobody likes to admit they are wrong. Nobody in their right mind can admit to feeling any ounce of pain, when the rest of the world is feeling otherwise. Which is why in many instances we hide how we feel in the fear of seeming crazy or vulnerable. Because we were taught at a young age that showing a tiny fraction of vulnerability would be your ultimate downfall. We all want to be strong, we all want to be right, we all want to be just fine. As you grow up, the world changes. Now a days everyone wants to express their feelings. Everyone wants to admit they’re wrong and show their faces through feelings of weakness. How do you give up a lifetime of hiding your feelings, into tiny moments of vulnerability? How do you change the fear of feeling hurt when everyone wants you to embrace your pain? I wonder why it takes longer to forgive when we’re faced with everything we are trying to forget. I just haven’t gotten to that point yet.

The past few days I’ve felt more emotional than usual. I have cried more, complained more, fought this inner turmoil of the devil and god that continues to rage inside of me. As of recently I have begun to develop a paranoia of telling anyone my problems. As of lately I have been keeping a lot of my worries to myself. Its stupid, I shouldn’t do it, and it only makes me feel worse inside. However, I just don’t care to deal with the “What you should do”, “When that happens to me”, usual verbiage. I guess in a weird way, I want to confess how I feel without judgement. Without the shame, without someone stopping me to tell me their story. I feel suffocated with words but to express them would be my greatest downfall. I am not prepared to hear the outcome of my worries. I am not ready to express my feelings without worry or doubt. I am not ready for people to come in and nitpick my feelings and tell me how to change them.  Today of all days, I don’t feel very much like myself. Today of all days I want to shout to the heavens to hear me out. Today of all days I want to get out of this suffocated feeling and get out of myself. Even if it’s just for a few hours.

As I had mentioned in my previous post, I have a hard time doing things alone. I have this anxiety in regards to my peers that paralyzes my social interactions. I can’t explain it and even writing it down, I have a hard time believing it. I am fine when I do social activities with my friends. I make jokes, I amuse myself and others, I over exaggerate situations, but to do anything on my own I am frightened. At any moment something could jump out and take me out of the safe bubble I am in. When I am on my own, I plot my strategies and plan my exit routes. Everything I do alone is perfectly calculated and memorized. You don’t know how frightening life can be when you can’t do things alone. I can’t tell you how this started, I can’t tell you why it continues but I can say that I can’t do this anymore. This never ending waiting for people to come in and help me realize my frustrations. Today of all days, I just need a moment to collect myself and get out of my current frustrations. If I had it my way, I’d run away to the highest hills. Into the deepest forests and away from civilization. However, I also have a huge fear of the great outdoors which limits my hiding places. On the days when I need to get lost within myself, I hide in plot lines and other peoples stories. I hide between melodies of film scores and conversations of other individuals written words. I have been in love with film for as long as I can remember. As long as I can pretend to be someone else on someone else’s time. I only as of recently started going to the movies by myself, as a way of entertaining the idea that I can do things on my own. But how many of us are really alone when we are attached to our cellphones and social media? For the past few days I have deleted all social media on my phone (which the exception of Snapchat). Since I haven’t been feeling like talking to many people, I haven’t been social with very many people either. It is no fault of anyone and under no fault of my own, I just feel this need to be on my own and alone.

Since giving up on social media, I have limited my outlets to be social. I have always been distracted with taking photographs and immediately posting my whereabouts on social media. The last couple of days, I just haven’t felt like showing people how I feel. Showing people what I’m doing, who I am with, or even giving people a glimpse into my life. I don’t care if anyone reads what I have to say, but to see what I am doing is causing a huge paranoia that I don’t need in my life. Everyone is quick to judge my hypocrisy but never want to comment about what I am going through. I really don’t know who I am without my phone in my hand or a camera in front of my face. I have almost lost my identity just pushing objects in front of my face to hide who I am. Getting lost in someone else’s idea of reality gives me a chance to breathe. A chance to pretend that someone else’s life is connected with my own. I’ll be honest, I don’t like the movie theater in my hometown. The snacks are lousy, the popcorn sucks, and they don’t have any fancy soda fountains that the other theaters do. If I had my way I would watch every film at The State Theatre in Modesto or The Vine in Livermore or Archlight in Hollywood. However, I live quite a bit away from all of those places, so the AMC Theater in Manteca will just have to do. I have my movements calculated that going to that theater is almost routine. I follow the same roads, I park in the same spots, and I just know what I am doing before I am doing it. It’s a routine I follow every time, mainly insuring that I always have a parking spot, another that I avoid every human contact possible until I reach the theater. It’s just little things I do to give myself a moment before I have to be faced with interactions of any sort.

I don’t know what I am doing anymore. That’s a fact. I find myself rubbing my hands together in frustration just trying to calm my nerves down. This anxiety of being alone and with no one to comfort these fears. This fear of being completely open without saying a word. I didn’t realize how much I depended on my phone. How much I depended on communications from the social media world. How jaded I have become from the faces I see in front of me, just by staring down on a tiny phone screen. I almost don’t know what to do with myself. What do you do when you can’t occupy yourself and your fears with a tiny digital underworld. I arrived to the movie theater early and after deciding to see the film “Southpaw”, (mainly the curiosity of the film being Kurt Sutter’s (Sons of Anarchy) first film script and second being the beautiful beast of Jake Gyllenhaal), I had time to kill before the movie started. You don’t realize how much you separate yourself from the real world when you’re focused on the digital world. You have a habit of forgetting how you got through life without a phone attached to your hand. I found myself sitting on a bench waiting to be let into the theater. Sitting, thinking, analyzing, wondering, people watching. Life has a way of wanting you to photograph everything. Every passing moment that happens right in front of you. I found myself fixated on these phantom photographs of people that passed in front of me. Men, women, and children, their variety of reasons for being in the same place that I was. For different reasons or this comfort of being surrounded by the people they cared about most, intertwined with someone else’s idea of reality. My hands still twitched, feeling this need to tell someone how I felt. Show people everything that I was seeing. Instead I rubbed my hands together and kept everything to myself.

Southpaw

I love films that give you this mystified way of feeling tragically heartbroken and happily moved. For my current state, I thought the film was great. I thought it truly emphasized this need to overcome demons and prove that people can be better than their past. I loved that it allowed me this need to escape from what I was feeling and transport myself into someone else. I know I am not okay. I know I have fears of doing things alone and being able to do something like this takes everything I have inside of me. To give this false illusion of being somewhere else in my mind, allows me to breathe again just for a little while. I have 99 more days to go and I wonder how much longer I can take it. How much longer I can continue before I completely break. Then again, maybe I am suppose to break in order to be put back together again.

Only time will tell.

Shadow & Light

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The older I become, I watch my insecurities become less intense. All my insecurities that I’ve kept deep inside, finds a way of slowly disappearing. All the fears I once had slowly start to vanish. I find myself drawn to the light, from decades of being in love with the darkness. I find myself slowly appreciate my body instead of hiding away my skin through insecurity. If you only knew how much I hate the daylight, how I hated the sun and it’s over exposure on my skin. How much the sun reminds me of summer and reminds me that I hate the shape of my legs.  It’s not to say that insecurities change over night.  I still have a hard time with daylight but afternoon lighting makes everything dreamy.

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A little light changes the course of everything. How it finds a way to reach you even when you want to be forgotten. The light that reaches straight through the cracks of the blinds to illuminate everything you want to remain invisible. Invisible is how I want to be. To hide in the darkest corners of the room, where no one will find me. No one will see me in all my imperfections and flaws. No one will see my skin filled with scars or the insecurities I harbor because of the design of my body. But in this golden hour of the afternoon, it makes me feel invincible. That I can do anything. Even in my imperfections, if the light hits me just right, I can be beautiful. I slowly watch these insecurities break away in the afternoon light. Slowly piece by piece disappear into the rays of the sun.

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Our bodies are always a work in progress. Some days are easier than others. Some days I’ll embrace every flaw my body has to offer, and other days I’ll curse the sacred ground from which I stand upon. As time goes by I start falling in love with different aspects of myself. As I once loved the darkness and the ability to make myself disappear, its the light I can’t help but surround myself with. Light brings everything into perspective that the darkness seems to forget. Light helps me remember to love the parts of myself I often hide from the world. While I’ll always be insecure about different aspects of myself, my body shouldn’t ever be one of them. Slowly as the darkness fades into the light, slowly I become a little more accepting of my body.

It’s taken a long time to love the light, as long as it’s taken to love my body. I know eventually I will get there. Sooner better than later.

6/08/2015