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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.

 

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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.

 

8/12/2015 – 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.

Homecoming.

Do you think about me now and then. 

Home is where the heart is, but my heart’s already broken. You could always come home. Come home to the familiar sounds, from the familiar streets, where the familiar faces meet. Come home to where the roads point back to the familiar memories, familiar stories that make up who you are. You could always come home, you tell yourself. Home is where the heart is, but my heart has been shattered. Where do I go from here?

Life doesn’t stop because you’ve left and gone. Life goes on even when you’ve forgotten where you came from. People grow up after saying they never would. People change when they said they’d stay the same. But I’m still figuring out this life I see before me. Failing, falling, sinning, and watching everything that’s familiar change before me. We’re all in a changing game and memories are all that’s left of this nostalgic ship that’s sinking. But I can’t change when I am not ready too. I can’t change when I need something to hold on too.

Watching seasons change in my hometown, the colors turn from gold to brown. I could always come home. Come home to the people that grow up from their juvenile tendencies. Watch familiar faces start families and mold their kids to make up their past mistakes. We’re afraid of our pasts, so we grow up in our present. Breaking hearts in ourselves that don’t dent the armor in our future. Don’t be like me, don’t be like you, change everything you once were into something you could never be. We all need a clean slate to change into who we want to be. Leaving hometowns and starting some place better than this.

I could go from here to there and everywhere, but coming home always breaks my heart. Faces are changing faster than seasons do. People are leaving before they get driven out, because everything that was once familiar is dead and gone. There’s nothing for me now. There’s nothing in this town but coming home means starting over and changing everything now. Home is where the heart is, but I don’t know where home is now.

Where do I belong.

3/13/2009

I left my heart in San Francisco.

I left my heart in San Francisco, but you still haunt the streets. It’s hard to imagine a living person could haunt your waking day, but you do. Your ghosted memories are trapped beneath the steps, where we once held hands, and believed the city was ours. Beneath the street lights and cable cars, where you once said she meant more to you then I ever could. It was always someone else, and someone else loving you more than I ever could. I could never compete. Maybe you were right, because loving a person more than I ever could, would never be right.

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The city I once felt solidarity with was slowly tearing me apart. Keeping images of you, every step that I turned. I watched as the days when you left, turned to months. As my tears vanished into the misty fog, that swallows this city in the under belly of the sun. There are flowers in my hair and the drinks are endless to drink you goodbye. But you stand before me on the steps I take to rid myself of you. You walk toward me in the sounds of a haunting melody on the streets. You wait for me on the hilltops of the parks where we once said, this could never be over. I find myself retracing my steps back to find you. Its what you do, haunt the ones you could never love to love you more than she ever could. I was a fool to believe I could. Believe that I could love anyone as much anyone else could.

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This city traps you in believing in things that no longer exist. The ghosts of you and me roam the streets, but slowly I see us vanishing into the misty fog haze that wraps around this city. Maybe I never loved you as much as she did, but for a moment I thought I could. I wanted to love you as much as I loved this city. How the chill in the air could seep to your bones and make you feel alive. How the people could go everywhere and still return to that city by the bay. For a moment I believed that we could go our separate ways and find ourselves right back into this city. I was wrong. Sometimes you have to leave your heart in places you love the most. To rid yourself of believing in people that are now haunted ghosts in your memory.

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How could I leave my heart in a city so grand and yet find you still haunting the steps I walk upon. Every step I take you’ve already taken. Every bus line, every train stop, a memory of you floats back into my memory. I left my heart on the doorsteps between the city and here. I left you reciting back words that stay etched inside the walls of every sky scraper I see in my mind. This city had to show me. I had to watch you fall in love with girls that only break your heart. But here in this city is where I leave you. Here in this city is where I leave my heart.

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There will always be people after you. People I will love that will love me more than I ever could. But these days I go searching the streets of the city to find what I left so long ago. Find what I fell in love with before and after you left me. Its this city that transplants your heart back to life and I can never love anything else. I left my heart in San Francisco but you no longer haunt the streets.

My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco
Your golden sun will shine for me

5/5/2012

 

High For This.

I’ve stared at a dozen ceilings in my lifetime. Studying the lights, the vents, the outline of the spaces between the moldings and the walls. Every nook and cranny. Every inch that distance between four walls could take you. It becomes an obsession to finding sanity. An obsession to hide behind the scenes to find a sense of piece of mind.

I’ve written a thousand love letters that flow along the texture from the sky from which I look upon. To thousands of boys that never mattered to the hundreds of boys that never knew. Questions unanswered by the fears of my conscious state and paralyzing present. I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I don’t know how much longer this can go on. I find sanity in secrets and hiding behind these four walls and looking high above where I can see. Maybe I should keep fucking up, feeling fucked up, and just let it all go. Maybe then I’ll find a purpose for these feelings instead of hiding where no one can see me. Or maybe I’ll just keep fucking up with my fucked up way of feeling.

I watch the morning light turn to moonlight, from the rays of light that illuminate the room. I am right here but I am miles away from here. I’ve memorized the ceilings from every place I’ve been too. Every place I’ve laid my head down. The feeling remains the same. A thousand unspoken words spread across the sky, hidden in the dark overlooking these four walls. Words unsaid in the fear of being too honest, too sincere, too fucking fucked up to really say exactly how I feel. This is my crown of thorns, my kingdom of doom in secrets held above the ceilings behind these four walls.

But you are who you are behind these four walls and high ceilings. Not someone you pretend to be outside in the crippling universe where no one understands you. I’ve fucked up so many times. I just can’t help myself. I am fucking up and I have myself to blame. These four walls and high ceilings keep me safe even when all I have is myself to blame.

7/7/2015

Just Breathe.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

Just breathe and the moment will pass. Breathe in all the light, exhale all the dark. I am watching everyone see right through me. Looking through my insides and making me feel small. Because small is what makes everyone feel grand and larger than life. I watch the people surround me, turn into giant monsters of their former selves. Piercing my skin that hides my insides. I can’t take it anymore. Pushing the feelings away and save them for another day. Any other day but today. My chest feels heavier than normal. My heart feels more than it should. The more I breathe in, the faster I see myself exhale. It will all be okay, I am going to be okay.

Breathe.

No matter how many times I tell myself this will pass, it just intensifies even more. I feel it in my bones and straight to my soul. In these moments, I want to say everything I feel inside. Tell everyone, I am not the crazy one. I am not crazy, I feel a little out of it, but I am okay. I sit in silence and wait for this all to pass. A wave of emotions just washes over me. This tsunami of emotions that suffocates my breathing. I am afraid and the fear paralyzes me. Afraid of the risk of bursting out every single one of my feelings that I keep bottled up inside myself. Everyone can see right through me. My demeanor is crystal clear and everyone is looking inside of me. Maybe they are right. I should give up all these ghosts and make myself feel fine. Yet the good days turn to bad days and I can’t help but see smoke. I’m burning up on the inside. Everyone sees it. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep myself together. I am slowly falling apart with every thought I get. My lungs are closing in and I can’t breathe.

It happens to the best of us. Even people that you’d never expect it to happen to. I’ll smile real big and pretty, if it will make you feel better. I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Because breathing never gets easier. Even I know that.

7/4/2015

Closer.

Don’t come any closer.

Don’t treat me like the others. I know all the things you only tell girls in the dark. I know every single one of your deep dark secrets and everything you want us to believe. You’ll deny it. Tell me, I am the crazy one. I know you never mean it. Everything you say is just actions from your reactions. You never mean all the nasty things you say. A sorry from you are just words wasting space in my memory. “I’m sorry” sounds like a tragic song that has no ending. I want to believe you, believe me I do, because deep down you mean it. Its what you tell all the other girls. All the other girls that believe you when you cry and mean every word you say.

Don’t say another word.

I could recite your lines, word for word. These never ending monologues of right and wrong, saint and savior. Every single thing you tell girls in the dark. It would only be fair if I told everyone how you felt. Told them all your secrets and spilled out all your lies. All those things you only tell girls in the dark. Hurting you would show that maybe for once you could feel something other than nothing.  Something other than the hatred that you bring out of everyone.

Don’t touch me.

You crave the warmth of a body to lay beside you. It doesn’t matter who it is. Someone to fill the void of being alone with your thoughts and your cold black heart. You can never be alone. It paralyzes you to think of spending all these waking days alone. Keeping us under lock and key and heavy retainer. Break in case of emergency. Have I said too much? Or should I just keep going.

Telling all these secrets to people that think they know you. They’ll be next and what follows is someone after. There’s always someone else. Brighter, better, and stronger. Always someone else. A line of pretty girls that you only like in the dark. I won’t be one of them. Not tonight, not ever.

2/11/2007

 

Someone else.

We all want what we can’t have. People that don’t deserve us. People that we don’t deserve. Anyone, anything, and all of the above. If I could be anyone else, I would. Anyone then what you see before you. Even good people want to be bad. Good people want all the characteristics of a good time. Tracing our fingertips on the brink of madness. Wanting to take away all our sadness. Anything with anyone different then what we are used too.

I hear music when I should be hearing you. Listening to the sounds take over the words that come out of your mouth. Even if I see you, I always want someone else. Even if you give me everything I want, I want something more. And I don’t deserve any of it. I am pretending to be what you want me to be, because even you want something you can’t forget. I don’t want you, for I am always pretending you’re someone else. Someone that can take me away from this lonely sense of feeling. Become the music that drags me out of my body and beats into my soul. You’ll always be someone else, someone that I would rather see. Someone that I could spend all these lonely nights and take away this aching pain.

You’re the distraction that gives me what I want, when I want it. Even in the nights when I am reaching out to you, its someone else I am reaching out to touch. We all want what we can’t have. We all pretend to be people we want to who ever will see us. If you want me to pretend to be someone else, I will. Because being someone else is easier than being who I really am. Because deep down I am rotten, deep down I am broken but with you, I can be who ever you want me to be. You don’t see me, you only see what I want you to see. Someone else that makes you feel free. Someone that fills the space until you get everything you want, from everyone you want.

You don’t really want me. You want this illusion of me. This belief that one day you could learn to love me. Hear my words and fall in love all over again. It’s never me you want. That is never who I am. What you want and what you have, are never the same thing. Because I want someone and settle for you. I want something and pretend with you. But even I can play that game too. Everybody wants everybody else. You want me as much as I think I need you. I never need you. I’ll always be wanting someone else.

4/11/2011

 

Goodnight, Bad Morning.

Goodnight, another bad morning. 

There was something peaceful about watching you sleep. Knowing that for once you would have nothing to say. Keeping everything inside, when in turn you would die to tell everyone. Inside where no one not even I would hear. Moments like these don’t last forever. Eventually that moment between night and day, we are bound to wake up from. At this point I didn’t care about anything. Not this time, not at this moment. Not the feelings, not the honesty about these reactions. I don’t think I ever slept for fear of waking up and knowing you’d be gone. Gone to reality. Gone to someone else. Gone to the person you were in the daylight.

For those moments when you slept, I loved you so much that my body ached. I loved you so much that it hurt my head. I knew this couldn’t last forever. Doing all these wrongs, never made a right. The morning would wake us and back to the carriages that were already turned into pumpkins. Back to the terrible reality that awaits us. Back to the doors to our souls we close so tightly behind our hearts. But when the night skies fight with the daylight thats when I loved you best. Thats when I felt everything and in turn said nothing. Maybe I was always dreaming. Waking up never felt as good as this moment. I could love you forever if I wanted to. I just don’t think I can. I don’t ever want to wake up.

Doing all these bad things, never made me feel good. Wanting you now, never changed who you were when we woke up. Even good nights have bad mornings. Even you will wake up to be as rotten as the rest. But that moment where the night fights with the daylight, is when I always loved you best. When my body ached from my head to my toes. When no matter how many times I cried out to you, you stayed right where you were. The only times I could have you is when the night would fight with the light. I know I have to wake up from this. I know I have to wake up to who you really are. We are the most terrible people in the most perfect lighting. But at this moment, this current state, even terrible people can sometimes be beautiful too.

What a beautiful state we’re in. 

3/16/2007