thoughts

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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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?

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.

 

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.

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.

8/17/2015 – Day Nine.

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Hello darkness, my old friend.

Darkness follows me like an old friend. Which is why I have no problem writing about it. Writing about the night skies and their equally dark rooms. When you spend a lot of time in dark rooms, you start having a deeper appreciation of low light and shadows. It’s a calming feeling in being alone with your thoughts. It’s when you open your heart to the shadows, and remind yourself of how much you have left of your journey. At this point I am not sure if my journey is beginning or ending. Or maybe I am still in the middle of this fork in the road, wondering which way to turn.

Its sitting in the dark that I wonder about many things. I replay thousands of conversations in my head. I go back and look at thousands of photographs and I can’t help but wonder. There are times I think I am being vocal about how I am feeling and reality is I am just hiding from the world. I seek comfort in this darkness that knows all my secrets. That hides my tears, sadness, and every inch of pain I am feeling. I am doing everything wrong and I know what I am doing. But hiding in this darkness keeps me from seeing everything that happens in the light. Maybe I am better off that way. Better off hiding from the world and the people that surround it. I am not doing anyone any favors and at this point I feel like the worst person in the world. When you think all your doing is being a hero and reality is you’ve always been the villain in disguise.

Lately I just want to cry about everything and hide from everyone. Hide in the shadows no matter how many times people ask me to play. It takes a big city full of millions of people to make your heart beat faster. To make yourself feel even more alone. You rely on the dark skies to bring you home. When it rains it pours, it brings out the clean slate you desperately scrub clean. I don’t have problem being alone but I hate feeling alone. Maybe it’s the sadness that makes you lonely. That has you looking out windows and praying for rain. Praying for something to take away all this pain. Surrounded by people you can’t help but wish they could bump right next to you and help you feel something, anything. Instead you avoid their glances and calculate your moves away from them. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe being alone is an overdramatic cry for help and settling is what I should be doing. Maybe I have gone through life doing things wrong and one day I’ll figure out how to fix this mess. Who knows. I just can’t help that when the sunsets enough, I am left in the dark. Others have found out how to turn the lights on but I am still adjusting to the lack of sun.

 

8/8/2015 – Day Two.

I had every intention of being productive. I find myself saying that a lot. Every intention of starting and finishing something in the day. Every intention of getting up early, going to the gym, getting coffee, starting a million little ideas and finding ways of finishing them. That was my intention but like all great ideas, some of them just stay ideas without the follow through. You have these ideas of expectations of how your life is suppose to react, then life gets mixed up with reality. I wasn’t feeling really well and by the time I started feeling better it was already 11 am. Which of course I could have just started my day later but the momentum of starting just became the biggest killjoy.

Somewhere between when the morning and afternoon came together, I decided that since everything got off at an awkward start that I would clean my closet. I’ll be honest (this honestly thing becomes a recurring theme in my life), I have let a lot of things fall through the cracks. My room has sat in the same position for the past 2 years and my closet is just as pathetically disgusting. I don’t understand it. I am a fairly neat person, I hate when my room is filled with clutter and chaos. By the time I come home, I just don’t want to be bothered by anything. I see books clutter open spaces, I see clothes overlap chairs, I see stacks of papers and unopened envelopes collect dust on every desk and table as far as I can see. My closet is no exception. I get an idea in my head of how my closet should be, and a few months of this feng shui works fine and then the rest of the year its utter chaos. I am a packrat when it comes to clothes. While everyone else hoards memories with material objects, I have a hard time letting clothes go. Sure I’ve sold a few new items on social platforms, I’ve given clothes away to family members or friends, but even through that cleansing I still have a lot to go through. In a way I could get rid of every last item in my room but my clothes are the hardest to let go. In a way my closet is like my Toy Story and every article of clothing has a living breathing purpose and pulse. Every piece tells a story better than any photograph could.

Even with all these stories and adventures, I just can’t seem to find a purpose in this closet. It feels like everything is falling apart in this closet, even though no one else can see it but me. I purchased a garment rack over a year ago and due to the weight of clothes, it was slowly falling apart (literally falling apart). Clothes were spilling out from every side of my closet and slowly were spilling out into my room. They say your home is a representation of yourself and at this point, my room was telling me my life is a mess. I don’t have an organized process to clean my closet. I usually just start throwing things onto my bed and then go from there. I started moving everything from the back of the closet to into the front and realized how many things where hidden in the chaos. You start going through your nostalgic reasons for having things and then you realize how silly that makes you seem. On top of an almost tragically broken garment rack, I found an old collage of a band that I used to love hidden behind all the clothes and shoes. This collage that once served a purpose in my life was now just a distant memory hidden in my closet for no one to see. I guess in a way I felt bad that I wasn’t taking care of my stuff, let alone my own life. I watched how things I had long since forgotten, just happened to be found within the chaos of my closet.

I guess you can say it started with the garment rack and ended with the dresses. It was like something hit me hard in my chest and worked its way to every single one of my feelings. I became frustrated fixing the garment rack that once it was fixed, I just wanted to rip everything off the hangers. Of course I can’t go into anything in my life lightly. I have to go into dramatics, throw my hands up in the air, scream a variety of colorful words, and have a complete meltdown. This didn’t feel like a normal meltdown. This felt like a million different fingers pointed back at me, for a variety of different reasons. I can’t let go of the past and being in this closet assured me of that. I felt the weight of a hundred dresses and their stories pointed back at me for everything I had done or was doing. Somewhere between the garment rack and the dresses, I hid myself in my bathroom and cried. I can’t keep it together anymore, I can’t even pretend to know what I am doing with my life anymore. The longer I hide things deep in my closet, the sooner its going to spill out into my life and mess up my present. I wish I could say I knew this was going to happen, that I could pinpoint the exact moment that everything started feeling like it was falling apart but I can’t. I can’t because honestly I don’t know. I keep so much of life inside that when I can’t anymore, anything and everything becomes a trigger. Even a tiny garment rack and a closet full of dresses.

I didn’t stop crying once I left the bathroom. I didn’t stop crying when I fixed the garment rack and I didn’t stop crying once I sat on an empty space in the closet hugging all my dresses. Maybe, I am truly crazy. Maybe, I shouldn’t be here. Maybe, everything I am doing in this life is wrong. I wanted to disappear and run away. Run away from everything that was sitting in front of me. This hurricane of clothes that overtook every inch of my closet. This hurricane of memories and nostalgia that can’t help but continue to keep me down. I wanted to go hide in the dark and return to my self destructive nature. Cut up every single one of my old scars and burn every last one of the feelings I had inside of me. I wanted too. Anything that would take away these feelings. But I didn’t do any of those things. Not any of those things. Instead I sat with my legs crossed and picked up every dress from the floor and removed the hanger. All hangers in one place. All dresses in another. The past has a funny way of hurting even after everything has been said and done. On the days you’re hurting the pain of ghosts seep right through you. I have never been immune to that. I placed the pile of dresses on my lap and couldn’t help but rest my head on them. Then I continued to cry.

“You never finish what you start”

I sat there paralyzed in my own bullshit, because thats what this was, it’s complete and utter bullshit. I thought of 1000 ways to die. How life would be better without me but that was all bullshit. I will be honest with what I have to say, I was missing people. It doesn’t matter how much a person can hurt you, what hurts the most isn’t what they did to you, its the vacant feeling you have in your heart once they leave. Thats what I have been feeling. I was missing people I should have forgave and forgotten a long time ago. I was missing things that no longer exist. I was missing a person I no longer was, in favor of what I was doing. That is not healing. That is not moving on. It’s amazing what your mind does when you’re upset. Flashbacks, conversations, and photographs. I am really good at keeping everything hidden inside of my heart until one day everything starts spilling out. In that moment, I thought about the dresses. Each dress distinctly different in style and color. I thought about the last time I wore each dress and if they served their purpose. I thought about memories I thought I had forgetten and memories I can’t seem to forget. Then before I knew it, I stopped crying.

I know I am not where I am suppose to be. I know that I have done a lot of things differently than I had expected. I know that I have let a lot of people hurt me and I in turn have hurt a lot of people. Its not my quest to be perfect, and as human as I try to be I will continue to make mistakes. It took me to clean out my closet to realize that at this current moment I am not good to anyone right now. I can’t keep my life together, what makes me expect the same from others. As much as I miss people, I can’t help them and they can’t help me. People have lives to lead and follow. I have to do the same for myself. I’ll always have the closet full of clothes and the hundreds of dresses waiting to be worn. But my memories don’t live there anymore.

Before I could shed another tear, I picked myself up and started putting the dresses back on the hangers. Followed by color, then by style. Dress by dress back on the garment rack. Memory by memory back to the racks that hold on to life on every plastic hanger. Everything back to it’s right place.

Sometimes, I still need you.

Heart skipped a beat.

Words have a way of infecting your soul. Even more so in lyrical musical form. How haunting the arrangements, how thrilling the words. The way they cut you straight to the core, straight to your soul. You can’t help but form a tiny sense of nostalgia. The memories of your past that always seem to haunt you. It starts to flow right out of you and you can’t help but find yourself saying “Sometimes, I still need you“.

Maybe it’s a source of weakness. The weakest link just knowing that when you least expect it, you go rushing back to the one thing that will always let you down. You know it. The whole world knows it but you just can’t help yourself. You miss that moment when your heart would skip a beat for someone. The hurt and the pain come naturally, just like second nature. You put yourself out there and find yourself back at the bottom. You wonder why you continue returning to this sinking ship and again you just couldn’t help yourself. Sad is better than lonely.

How you do recover from your biggest heartbreak? When all you do is constantly return to the scene of the crime. You wish for things to be different. They never are. One day it would will be different. One day you’ll be strong enough to let go and be done with everything. Eventually this will all be a small footnote in the story of your life. Until then you keep coming back because you allow it happen. Everyone can tell you how wrong it is, but you do it anyway. Its the thrill of the past that keeps you holding on. The memories of a connection you had with someone that no matter the outcome it all seemed worth it.

It’s starts with a voice and ends with a song. The melody keeps the memories trapped until you hit repeat. Replaying every memory that you can’t help but reach out for. It’s all there taunting you and no matter how many times you say no, you can’t help yourself. Its brings you back in. Back in for the hurt, the pain, and more importantly the regret. It’s never worth it. You end up right back where you started from. The sickness worse than the flu and this rush of a thousand tears that never stop falling. Like clockwork it’s over and eventually you move on. You just couldn’t help yourself, you just couldn’t fucking help yourself.

Sometimes, I still need you.

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We all self concious, I’m just the first to admit it.

Life has a funny way of turning you into the one thing you don’t want to be.

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Its funny.

It’s just easier to make a joke out of something then coming out and stating how you really feel. How you put yourself out into the world is how you want to feel on the inside. However it’s nothing close to how you’re feeling. It doesn’t even compare. For the sake of the story you make up the person you want to present to the world. You line up all your armor and you put it on, one by one. Hoping that nothing will stop you in your quest for perfection. This armor protects you from the outside world and keeps you safe from every sort of harm.  For a moment you believe that’s real. That everything you put forth to the world is exactly who you’ve always been and everything you hide, no one will ever see. You lie to everyone. Even the people who think they know you best, don’t know you at all. That has always been my problem. It was easy to pretend to be someone else then the person I really am.

We have this sick perception of what we believe to be perfect. What we believe to be beautiful. You become succumb to the notion that this is how everything is suppose to be. You spend every last dime, sacrifice so much of who you are to be exactly how everyone else wants you to be. The countless hours I spent in front of the mirror and never truly being satisfied with who I saw. You make a caricature of yourself and for years you play this part of someone you were never familiar with to begin with. The thicker your armor becomes the more or less you start disappearing inside. The make up, the clothes, the amount of money you spend to be someone completely different from the person you grew up with. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to realize the monster you have become. Other times you just come to terms with this is who you will be for the rest of your life. We forget that we were all once loved and had a thirst and hunger for life. New beginnings and clean slates were how we came to this world. Now we’re just a sad representation of a bad Xerox copy of everyone else.

The years pass and you find yourself hurting. The dents start showing in your armor. The more you think you’re fooling everyone, in reality you’re only fooling yourself. The countless times you believe its what you wanted was really what everyone else wanted. You become a punching bag to the worst people, your own worst enemy for rolling with the punches. The quest for perfection stopped being a quest and more of a nightmare of survival. The cutting, the bleeding, the starvation, the nights you tell yourself this is what they wanted and all you want is an out. The countless times you covered yourself up to hide how you felt inside. You realize how much you wanted a life of your own instead of the sad existence that you have before you. You can’t give up. You can’t fail. Instead you do what you do best, you hide how you feel. You fall, you get up and then you start all over again.

Piece by piece, you take away the armor. Cut out the toxic people that made you miserable. Cut out the people that hurt you to believe that their perception of beauty was who you needed to be. You slowly start appreciating the good in impurities instead of finding perfection in everything. You grow up wanting more than just what everyone else wants. Little by little the armor comes off. You live. Your scars heal, your body changes and eventually it’s not a fight with yourself for happiness. You surround yourself with good people and in turn find the good in everybody again. The fears you once held eventually fade with time but only after you let go of the dark to make way for the light. It’s not easy. Its not something that changes you over night. Some nights are unbearable and some days its just a fight to feel okay.
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It’s not easy. You don’t just wake up and want to change. It takes a lifetime of dealing with bullshit people and their equally bullshit standards. In the end you just realize that it’s up to you to find your own happiness. Change the course of your life into something that will in turn make you who you truly want to be. Your past can’t hurt you, your past doesn’t define you. Your past is there to show you how you survived, and all you’ve accomplished. In the end that’s all that matters in life.

You are amazing.

You are beautiful.

One day, you’ll actually believe that.