The Ridiculousness

A pebble dropped in water comes to mind when I think about life in general. The way I see it is like we're all trying to make a big impact, yet the truth is - the only real impact we're making is an emotional impact on others.

This pebble has hurt others in the past and has been hurt in return. It's always surprising to see those same people moving on from what seem like such a large devistating moments. But the thing is, that moment eventually becomes completely insignificant to everyone else but the guilty party. The guilty one is left to assume, regret and ridicule themselves to no end. Maybe if we could see the people we hurt move on, then we too could move on. For the majority of the times in which we inflict pain, this cannot be done. And so, we are left with our self hatred. How can someone get out of this spiral? Does the end lie in trusting oneself again?

For one, it's all about trusting that you have the right judgement when it comes to others. Having "trust issues" seems a universal personal problem with which we can easily dismiss our pain and frustrations. Maybe having trust issues isn't an entirely negative thing. In my experience, people don't intentionally hurt you - but their actions are none-the-less careless and inconsiderate. Being cautious before jumping headfirst into love has the potential to save you from the ridiculousness.

Now the ridiculousness occurs when two people start a passionate relationship where everything appears to be perfect: they could talk for hours, they think about each other all the time, they become reliant on one another for happiness, and they fuck like bunnies. But eventually - ridiculousness kicks in and they become miserable and fed up with each other. They didn't take the time to discover the small things - infidelities, dependency, untrustworthiness, overprotectiveness - that could possibly destroy the passion in their relationship.

So I guess the conclusion I come to is that we have to realize that there is no such thing as perfect as long as we are human. We should enjoy the fun found in having relationships with others. Yet, we should never lose ourselves in the devastation of the waves of careless pebbles.

So here I am.

I'm been listening to great up-beat music lately. Part of me misses those heart throbbing Bon Iver-type songs I used to listen to all the time. But I can't bring myself to listen to them, not now. Not when things are looking up. I told myself that time has made everything better. However, I'm starting to believe that time has nothing to do with it. I've been bandaged up and my bruised ego has healed. Now I just worry the things that patched me up will lose their adhesion and I'll be left as pathetic as I was before. Fuck I was a miserable human being. I embarrassed myself for months. It freaks me out to think that the same thing could happen again. I guess that's why living under a rock has the potential to be comforting.

I could never do that though. There's no fun in living without fear of pain. The problem is that we can never see an end to pain. But, ends do come and happiness happens. So live it up and blindly step into the future.

I'm learning to enjoy the quest to find something better. That's pretty much the only thing keeping me together.

Lies I tell myself.

"We were like strangers who knew each other very well." - Big Fish (2003)

Sometimes when you miss someone so much it hurts, the only thing you can do is to let them move on and leave them be. Even if you think about them everyday, that is your own pain to bear. Calling them up just to tell them about it wont change anything, it'll just hurt more when it turns out that they don't care.

Bursts of happiness.

I can't find them anymore. I hurt myself. When I was crying last night, I dug my fingers into my side just to feel secure and now there are four red marks burned into my skin. I don't understand how distance can do so much to two people. It's my fault, I know. I'm left loving and unworthy to be loved by anybody.

Musée des Beaux Arts

(Breughel's Fall of Icarus)

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

by W.H. Auden

I lock my room at night

and my heart during the day. But, apparently I didn't lock it tight enough. My ex would be laughing if he knew the way I've been fucked over by a guy. He was right, he always said that guys are douche bags. I have yet to meet a guy in university that I could ever see myself loving or even dating. They are all so caught up in "wheeling" and fucking around. I miss having someone normal to love. He was much more mature than any of these tool bags. I'm sick of all of it. I try to be fucking friends with people, but they send me drunk texts and try to get me to "meet up later". Nice guys turn in to creeps that call you pretty because they want to get their dicks wet. I just want to know someone completely, I want them to be upfront. I don't want to fucking find out about shit by accident or by misunderstanding.
I'm so scared that I'll never find someone to replace the shadow of my ex. I'm beginning to think that he was my once in a lifetime chance, one I took for granted and never deserved. I don't like myself in this pathetic state. I feel like I did before I knew what love was. I was awake for that short amount of time... but now I'm back to sleep and the nightmares have started again.

Make fun of me.

Here's a list of things that people could possibly make fun of me for:

- I'm a vegetarian
- I'm cross-eyed
- I'm really awkward
- I live in a swamp
- I don't have my license
- I've done dumb things
- I'm not religious or spiritual in anyway
- I'm kinda a feminist
- I don't workout that often
- Sometimes I wear ugly things and am not aware of it until later on in life
- I was an ugly kid and still am
- I'm into arts in university... so I'm not smart in the eyes of the science people!
- I can never make decisions for myself, I usually screw up
- I try and usually fail in hilarious ways
- I can't argue very well
- I make pitiful lists like this
- I get lost in the past
- I don't make friends easily
- I'm confused about what I'm doing in my life

My mom would say that all these things are what the perfect man would love about me... but that's my mom.

Anyways, this all started because I'm an idiot and I looked at my ex's blog. I cried so much I actually threw up.... I know eh? Never happened before. He wrote something about talking to his mom about me and laughing about me and our relationship. It hurt a lot. After all, our relationship wasn't laughable. It was great. I loved spending time with him and I thought he did too. Maybe he's just writing these things to help him get over me, to not care anymore. I think that's the worst way to live. Why should you forget all the great moments in your life? Why should you destroy what made you who you are and what made you happy once?

I wouldn't care if he was dating someone else, I care so much that all the good memories of our relationship are laughable to him. That I am worthless.

I can't establish this enough, I am so fucking self-conscious I think I might be insane.

Frustration

There is a woman in the mirror
she smiles and laughs with ease.
The image is me?

Will she ever find love again?
Does she even want to?
I find little comfort in these questions.

I want to make the woman frown,
become aware of her prison
SCREAM and break the mirror.

We no longer have love to keep us warm.

But she just keeps smiling.
And I'm left to deal with the emptiness
and the constant questions.

When will someone see
the cruelty winding inside
of this shell
of this smiling woman
of this facade
of me?

Willfully Blind

I stare at nothing. It has become second nature, a habit that I am unwilling to break. See, it gives me comfort knowing that the thing I stare at has no judgement towards me, no expectations. If I am depressed, I stare at a simple object. My concentration is completely directed at it. My mind is nowhere else. And when I feel so overwhelmed by my surroundings, I just close my eyes and block out all sounds.

I thought this whole depression phase was over. It is supposed to end. It happens to every teenager. I know this. I repeat this. It has a reason to occur in childhood, for the changes in the child's mind creates spaces that are soon filled with confusion and thus depression. So why is it happening again? I don't want to be like this. It would be simple to change, but I'm tired.

I sleep all the time. I get home from school and go to bed. My mom says that it's iron deficiency. I say that I'm tired. Of what? Well that would be the reason for this whole thing.

Yesterday night my father drank enough liquid courage to ask me why I hate him. I didn't know what to say because I never admitted to myself that I hated my father. He kept telling me that he was a good parent because he always gave me enough room. He told me that I only hated him because I was looking for someone to hate. He said his only fault was spending more of his time caring about my brother than me. He told me I have anger problems and that I just had to accept the fact that he was an asshole. I told him that he didn't have to be an asshole, it's not something to be proud of, something to blame your parenting problems on. But, everything I said did not register. I told him that I could never talk to him because he was only open to conversation when he is drunk. I told him that we could talk in the morning when he was sober. He took it as an insult and said something like "that was an awful thing to say", walking away and telling me that I was a spoiled brat. He cried during all this. I cannot tell if he remembers now. Everything was back to normal in the morning. I probably would have thought that I dreamt the whole thing if I hadn't of woken up to the sounds of my dad puking his guts out in the hotel toilet. I'm not sure if I want to talk about it in front of anyone in my family, I might cry or something stupid. I hate that I have a reason now to hate him. Before it was just small things, building up one by one. I guess those small things just got sick of being ignored.

The sad thing is that I probably hate my father more now. And you have no idea how much that hurt me to write.

I'm sad, and I don't want to be.  

Driving No Where Any Time Soon

So, I had an eye doctors appointment on Tuesday. I found out that I can't drive... I might need a CATs scan done on my brain because my eyes have not improved since I was five. Then after I get that done I need to get laser eye surgery again. And maybe after all of this some divine miracle will happen and my eyes will stop being so screwy. I think I have a brain tumor... lmao I've thought that it was a problem since I read a book which was talking about some guy who had double vision and migraines = brain tumors. Sort of scared me a little. It sucks completely.

Did We Become Our Shells?

The sad thing about getting hurt is that every time it happens, we put up these walls. Some become so fully enclosed in these barriers that we begin to doubt who we really are. So, my question is, are these shells still us, or are they a decoy, to distract the next possible attacker? It's like our security system, but it's more like those invisible red lasers they have in those jewel burglary movies. Once in a blue moon, someone or something might get through those lasers, whether they have laser viewing goggles or they are just lucky, they are still walking on egg shells once they are in. It's much easier and calmer to watch the sea, instead of jumping into the shark pit. So, we've learned to accept the shell as the person and get on with life. Is that wrong? -- cowardly even? We tell ourselves that it's what the person wants. Really, it's like hiding without the seek. They fall asleep in the closet, under the bed or behind the curtains and we are forgetting about them. They are still waiting to be found. Ignoring the fact that they are still hiding, makes the person behind our walls even uglier.

Please Baby Don't Cry

All of our lives we are told to be strong and not cry. But really it's these people telling us not to feel, who don't want to see the pain in you. They could care less if you held it in until you exploded, hurting yourself and maybe everyone around you. All that they can see is the present dilemma, the water leaking from your eyes, ignoring the pain leaking through your body. Invisible pain is so much easier for others' to live with. Will it always be this way? Will your loved ones let you cry until you are numb or will this "suffocation of emotions" continue until it's too late? I believe that their intentions are good, but they don't want to venture into the reason for the tears or see the pain on your face and know that they might be the reason behind it. And anyways, why should crying make you weak? Doesn't suppressing it make you weaker in the long run? Hiding from things that make you uncomfortable makes you weak. Actual strong people cry out their tears and get on with their life. Or they stand up at a funeral and tell their story, their memories and never ask the question "What if I had done..." because they did and there are no regrets. They face everyday with a new attitude, no matter how bad yesterday was. Yesterday was a day for crying, today is a day for finding things to smile about. I don't care what the text book definition of a strong person is, but too me, and I hope many others as well, it's all a bunch of bull crap.

A few days ago, I told my friend that she was the strongest person I knew. She embraces her emotions, one of the things that makes her such an amazing writer, and follows her own unique path. My life has been filled with many strong women who have taught me absolutely everything that I base myself on and I plan to admire them for the rest of my life. Screw the textbooks.

What Would You Say If We Lived On TV?

I'd love to make this post beautifully tragic, but I guess I'm not in the state of mind to do so. My dog might die of cancer. I was petting him for awhile, and it might have just been the situation, but my dog didn't move as much and breathed harder than normally. I think it might have been my imagination. Everyone wants to talk it out, this horrible, painful "event". That's all they ever want to do. When I want to scream. I wish I could just run outside, stand on the deck and scream until my lungs exploded. But, instead I'm here, with my dog a few meters behind me sleeping ,while whole family sits and stuffs their heads with television bullshit, anythings better than thinking about it. On TV everyone is fake, fake emotions, fake faces. They are watching "fakeness" with red puffy eyes? Look around you, we are hiding. How is this strong? Covering up this pain when we should be holding our dog and crying openly... screaming openly. "He can't die he's only seven", they should say. Is thinking it somehow better? Does it help at all? I'm sick of television. If a dog on television got sick. It wouldn't even have a chance of dying. There would be tears and then the credits would roll. I'm sick of movies. Love always saves in movies. No matter how much I love my dog, it doesn't cure him, it wont stop him from getting weaker. I want to be strong. I'm weak cause I'm not screaming now. Never let anyone tell you than crying makes you weak. Holding it in until you break makes you weak. At times like these I wish I could pray to some sort of God who could perform a miracle and save my puppy. All I have is a less than 50/50 chance that my dog has a cancerous tumor or not. Nothing can change his chances. The only thing we have is hope. And even that isn't much. Sometimes I wish that I lived on TV and always had the perfect things to say. So ya I wish I could write some amazing post that would touch the reader and make them feel like I do. But the thing is, I don't want you to feel like I do. Even if I don't know you, you don't deserve to feel like this. Until next time, probably when I hear the news, all I ask is that if you care just hope for the best.

Wholesum Family Fun

I should be babysitting right now. I should be sitting on the couch with nothing on my mind. I should be happy knowing that I haven't made my mom cry. But I'm not. I'm here, luckily. I'm here at this desk typing. Typing, without stopping to think about what I did. To myself. But most of all to those around me. I can't forget the people in the park with their kids. It was right after we drank. We were falling. And stopped at the side of the trail. I remember the people. The last thing I remember actually. They were happy. Really happy. Genuinely. They didn't need alcohol. Fucking goofy smiles.
Two days later.
I haven't been able to complete this post. Wait... Let me rephrase. I just didn't want to think about it really. I'm ashamed. The hospital gave me more than I deserved. I deserve to feel like shit, puking up my guts. I want to remember it all, so I can hate myself. They drained me. They took the poison from my vanes. I'm finding it hard to spell. My head is pounding. I just wanted to confront it. I've been punched in the chest. They told me my heart was beating irregularly. I want to look at all that happened and see the damage. I need it written down. In plain sight. I can see a little better now. I couldn't see my parents faces. I knew they were there, sitting beside my bed. They are hurt. I hurt them. I can't see their faces. I don't want to see them. To see pain. They will always remember the pain. I can't. I was unconscious. Is it any better? To be oblivious to the hurt? This isn't going to blow over fast. They will look at me. I made a mistake. they will talk. It was stupid. They will judge. I deserve it all. They will see me. It's more than I could ever do. Take a good look. I'm finding it so hard to see. I can't breathe, I can't spell and I can't stand it anymore. I'm so fucking stupid. I pride myself on being so fucking smart. I'm not. Not really. At least everyone will see it now. I'm not who they thought I was. I've been hiding from this. But now it's out in the open. Written down. I can't delete it now. I can see everything. I made a mistake. It's nobodies fault but mine. I could have been dead. But I'm not. I'm here, luckily.

Vegetarians and Nothing

I walked in on my Dad when he was watching The Prestige with Christian Bale. Being the stalker that I am, I decided to look him up on wikipedia. It said that he fights for animals rights. That got my heart beating fast! So, I checked it on Google... he's veg!! OMG I'm in love all over again! I'm so surprised because I hadn't realized that many other famous people are also veg...for example, Albert Einstein, Leonardo Da Vinci, Mark Twain, Isaac Newton, Vincent Van Gogh, Johnny Cash, Bob Barker, Brad Pitt, Robert Redford and of course, Christian Bale. I'm so happy!

I've been doing absolutely nothing for the past week, alternating between flipping through channels, playing final fantasy, watching weird movies and checking my blog, I cannot find that one thing that will engage this constant need to do something. It's as if I'm being chased and I can't do one thing for long or I'll be caught. Is that what school does to you? I guess it' s designed to be a good thing. No more lazy children. Always thinking that they should be doing something productive. The thing is, I never want to get a fucking job. Sure, it'll be fine for the first month, but after that, I'll be stressed and pissed at "the Man." It's like I can't see my future. I have no dreams. Not anymore. I'm just sitting, I'm alone, the way I made myself, with this annoying voice screaming in my ear, telling me that I have to do something with my life. Telling me, that no matter what I do, I will fail. I'm going to vomit. My heads is pounding, blood trying to escape this disaster waiting to happen. The pressure is getting to me. Pressure from where? I'm asking, but who will answer? Questions are so fucking easy. So easy to ask. But, why ask questions when you don't expect an answer? I'm trapped in this shit, in this steaming pile of shit the world is made of. God, what the hell am I talking about. My life is awesome. Life is beautiful. Do I really believe that? Questions. questions, questions. And more god damned questions. I'm laughing at myself. Are you laughing at me. You can lie if you want. It's OK. I can't hear you. A least you'll be doing something. Filling your life with something. Mine echo. My empty laughs. I'm empty. Emptiness is only comforting when you know that someday it will be filled.

In Memorium

I've reached a stage where I have no opinions or feelings, I've exhausted every ounce. It's one of these times where I start to wonder where everything starts and where it all ends. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, I want to write about love and living, but I haven't truly loved or even remotely lived. That's all there is to write about really. Since, how can you talk about your views on the world when you haven't read all the history books or even begun to understand...simply, why? I have no knowledge of anything in particular. I'm not sure if that realization hurts or not. Right now it's just a fact. How do I know if praying to God will save us all or if global warming will burn me alive? I have no idea. I'm sick of trying to find ways to explain things! They just are. We are so entirely lost, it's sort of humorous in a way. Sad in another. But, then again how do you know that you are lost if you don' t know where you should be? See... more fucking questions. My head is going to explode. I'm finding it an effort to type this out, but I need to because I haven't written anything since my mice died. It's so plain written up there on the screen, but the pain was more than I expected when I saw them lying in their cage. It wasn't normal or as I had hoped that they would have passed on. They were stiff and they weren't together. At opposite ends I believe. I couldn't move for a little while, I had my back to the cage for a good hour and a half. Shit, I must have looked like Lady Macbeth wringing her hands muttering,"Out damned spot." I have to laugh at myself or I would start to remember the feeling of finding my friends dead from heat exhaustion after leaving them to go to my cottage. I never even thought about them as I got sunburned and watched my cousin pretend to get drunk off of two coolers. As cliched as it is, I never said good-bye. I just filled their food bowl and left. I held them before I put them in their cardboard coffin. Their eyes were open and I could swear that they were warm (probably from being roasted alive). They could have easy been sleeping. I shook them a little and muttered to them. Shit, it haunts me. I held them and I hated myself for not taking them with me. I have this image of my two mice lying in a cold wet cardboard box, running in circles trying to find a way out of the hole I buried them in. I still do, no matter how many times I fake a smile. I must have looked like a stupid idiot, standing in front of my shitty attempt at a grave, trying to not get eaten alive by mosquitoes and muttering words like "I'm so sorry", "I loved you" and swearing because I could not even think of something memorable to say. I could not even make something to mark their grave. My justification was, "they are just mice." The same justification that I told myself as I cried in the 40 degree weather, sitting on my deck, wringing my hands. I wanted to vomit. I sickened myself. I really did love them. It was the same as finding any other animal dead. Tish, Rainbow, Elmo or even Rocky. Everything has life and that life is eventually taken. It's the same for all living things. It was my dad talking, his voice telling me to stop crying, that he'll get me new ones to replace them, telling me that they are just mice, it's pathetic but true. The same man who told me to stop crying when I was little or told me to toughen up and stop acting like a child. Funny, now it seems that I can't stop. I don't want new mice. They will not replace or patch up this hurt. Albert had a limp, he always ran in circles. Hemingway loved his wheel and hated it when Albert would try and run on it. They used to fight each other, but I would find them cuddling sometimes. I'm crying as I write this, nose running, trying to type correctly through clouded eyes. Desperately trying to tell whoever is reading this that I feel so god damned guilty. True, I didn't actually put them outside, or left them out there for an hour. But, if I had cleaned their cage earlier maybe my dad would not have said that they smelled and put them outside. Maybe I deserve this pain. I got mice so that they would not be fed to a snake, but is roasting alive any better?

Hemmingway

I'm thinking about Hemmingway's death. He killed himself after saying that the drugs he was given for his depression took his memories away. He was a great writer because he wrote from experience. Tragic way of going it seems. Tragic in a beautiful way.

Good-night Mr. Hemmingway, I'm sorry to say you blew your brains out. And what a beautiful one you had indeed. Your mind was your only downfall and curse. It seems to me that we have something in common.

Bipolar....the Creative Disease?

I believe this to be true in most cases. Artists analyze every part of their human mind. In the end they can see everything. Knowledge is not technically power when you learn to hate those who walk day to day without a single thought flying through their minds. They are not alone. We are alone in our own little worlds. We see what they chose not to. We feel the hurt of their ignorance and incompetence when those who bare it pass us by. We lie down and stare up at the sky and describe it in beautiful words to whose who cannot see. They look straight ahead, at the future and refuse to see an end. We tell them that there is, this they ignore. We see the light and the dark and we explore the good and the evil, we learn to love one or the other a little more as they travel the gray. In the end it is us who die lonely and afraid as we put shotguns to our heads. And they die with love around their death beds. We suffer so they can occasionally pick up our hearts and tear through them sucking the life from our words, our memories. We accept the pain it takes to keep our eyes open to make up for the fact that they are blind. You see, the world wants everything to be equal. With life comes death, with knowledge comes ignorance, with healing comes pain, but in the earth we are all the same.

States of Being

Heaven and hell are not places. They are states of being. We walk among you. You are blind. I hope, desperately that this is real. My words will be worth nothing otherwise. How foolish I have been. I've almost lost the fight. There is a boxing ring somewhere filling with my blood. You are rubbing salt in my wounds. My screams are mute. My mouth is closed. You are drinking my pain. Tastes good doesn't it?