talking

Loud.

They called me L O U D.

I don’t talk like normal girls.
I use my hands to express myself.
I talk an octave higher than everyone else.
I express my emotions when I am happy or upset.

Girls always said they could hear me a mile away. “You’re so loud.”, they would say. That’s the first impression I give people.

I never understood why that was bad. Why people felt the need to silence my voice because their voices quivered in comparison. Why it always left me feeling like I had done something wrong.

“Porque gritas? Aqui estoy.”, is what my Mom would say. Why do you yell. I am right here.

Minutes later she would grab the phone and talk to my Tias. In a voice louder than a whisper. I would hear her laughing and talking into the phone as if she was screaming to me from another room. But she’s talking to her sisters.

“Mami, why do you have to yell on the phone?”, I would ask.
“No estoy gritando. That’s how I talk!”, she’d answer defensively.

I am not yelling. That’s how I talk.

I find myself shrinking myself for a lack of a better person. Shrinking myself into a shell of who I used to be. My voice becomes softer than a whisper and causing me to mumble in places where I should be talking.

They call me “Loud”, when I express myself. “Loud” in places where I should be whispering. “Loud” when all I am doing is talking.

If I can’t be me, who should I be? I should stay quiet for the fear of what people will think of me. I should speak no louder than a whisper for people to find me delicate and gentle. But that’s not who I am. I am tired of shrinking myself to make other people feel better. Instead I speak louder than my voice. Causing shakes through my bones. Opening waves through the dark corners and making cracks through the pavement.

I would rather speak an octave higher than everyone else. I would rather express myself through hand gestures to get my point across. I would rather be LOUD, then ever be told to speak no louder than a whisper.

Loud is who I am.
Loud is how they see me.
Loud is what separates me from everyone else.

But I am not Loud. That’s just how I talk.

 

 

 

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Some Boys.

I wonder if you’re all the same.

The same thoughts, the same process, the same cool demeanor.  While I sit here wonder, analyze and change everything. I keep asking myself, what I should be doing. Should I be changing, should I be asking different questions, engaging you in what you want to hear? What am I doing here?  Should I be pretending to be everyone else, under a veil of vulnerability. If what you say and who you are, are completely different people, then who are we really? First impressions mean everything and yet we can’t help but pretend to be different people, hiding under veils of insecurities.

This feels stupid, this feels silly. This lack of self control is slowly going out of control. I calculate my actions so delicately and watch my words fall like chess pieces on the board. It’s all a game and we are all here for taking. What I want and what you want, and seeing how everything evens out. How strong and cool in demeanor you are and how I can’t help but gravitate to those ways. How mysterious the mystery of people really are. How a person can change how you look at things with out doing much of anything.

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I don’t know you. For a brief second, I think I know everything. I don’t. I don’t know anything about you but yet I still want you around. I want to know what darkness harbors underneath your light. All I want is to take apart all your parts and see what makes you tick. It was easier with the other boys. It was easier with the legions of people before.  It frustrates me. It frazzles me. How I wish to pick everything apart but it takes the fun out of everything. The fun out of the adventure. The fun out of the story.  Giving me just enough to keep me coming back for more. All I want is a sign that this will be something. Something, anything from this over analyzing frustrated feeling. This lack of self control drives me insane and yet I embrace the challenge. This isn’t love, this isn’t like, but it feels like something like it. And I just can’t turn it off.

If they ask they receive. If they listen they will see. I wonder if all boys are the same, or if it’s just some boys. How some boys will sing their blues to anyone that will listen. Or is it just you.

Some boys don’t know how to love.

11/5/2015

9/8/2015 – Day Twenty – Two.

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I was suppose to go to a baseball game tonight.

Everything was going to be alright. I printed out my tickets, laid out my clothes and had every intention of going. Anything to get out of the house and keep driving. Anything to clear my thoughts. But I didn’t want too. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. People will say it was because my team has been playing terribly, but I knew better.  When you’re depressed even the things you love become burdens in your life. Going to that game felt like a burden to me. I didn’t have it in me to go and feel stuck. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be alone, I just didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to go through this whole routine, this whole superstition.  I didn’t feel good, I didn’t feel safe, and for the first time, nothing felt right.  I hate admitting that. Admitting I have flaws in all the wrong times for all the wrong reasons. I just couldn’t bring myself to do something I loved, out of fear of my own emotions. I can’t control them anymore.

I drank for the first time in a long time last night. Drank just to keep my nerves from going insane. It’s weird how alcohol makes you feel when you haven’t had a lot of it. Maybe I am crazy. Everything that I once loved is turning into everything I hate, and I can’t understand it. I feel as I am not good to anyone. I have disconnected myself from the world and watching everything happen in fast forward. Alienating myself away from everyone. I don’t want my negativity to rub off on anyone. Therefore I keep everything to myself and just find way to pass time.

Anything, everything and moving on.

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I was suppose to go to a baseball game and prove to myself, I could still do things that I love. Still have this feeling that at any moment I could fall in love all over again. Instead I opened the blinds and watched the sun rise and the sun fall from the sky. Cascading vibrant colors and begging me to go outside. It didn’t seem right to waste the day. Didn’t seem right to feel this way, but I did. I couldn’t help myself but continue to look out the window and watch the seconds turn to minutes and then minutes to hours. I don’t want to be here, but I’m too afraid too leave.

Mumbles.

I, mumble when I talk, when I think I am speaking loudly. No one can hear me, I repeat myself constantly and it drives me insane.

I, mumble when I talk, when I think everyone is listening. But everyone picks through my words and believes I say the things that I never said.

I, mumble when I talk, when I believe everyone is following along. I make the sounds, say the words, and no one seems to hear me. Can you hear me now? Can you hear the spaces between the words and the syllables that follow?

I, mumble when I talk and I think everyone can hear me.

I, mumble when I talk.
Imumble whenItalk.
ImumblewhenItalk.

But no one is fucking listening.