This should probably be some sort of obligatory New Years post. But I don't really know what to say. I 'reflected' yesterday, and that was quite enough for me. But I'm not really sure what else to write about. I just feel like throwing some words down. Although, I will start with something relevant to the occasion at hand: I feel good. Happy. I hope that holds for the rest of the year.
I wonder how much you've changed now that you accept "never mind" as an answer. Sometimes I'm thankful. Other times I wonder if you're not quite yourself anymore. Not the person who would relentlessly pursue an answer. You've become less curious. And I don't mean that as an insult at all. It's just a fact. And in all honesty, it makes me a little bit sad. Only a bit, but it does.
Oh, and, for the record (okay, mostly just because I want to write about it), my favorite memory from that place was that one night on the hill, behind the pond. It was dark and there were mosquitoes everywhere, and it was just us and them, and we hoped the blanket would keep the mosquitoes away but of course it didn't. And the four of us just spent a few hours back there, under the stars, laughing and joking and occasionally sharing a kiss. The next morning we were all covered in mosquito bites and nobody regretted a thing. Definitely one of my best memories. I'd have written about it earlier, but that was 2010 and so doesn't really belong in a reflection about 2011.
I'd say something about how I could relive that night over and over again, but I can't. I wouldn't want to. It was beautiful. And I was so happy, probably the first time I was that happy that year, and it was late May, which is saying something. It's one of those things, just like being in Chicago last December and living on the bed for three and a half days straight. 2010 had beautiful memories. And I would never, ever, ever go back to relive them because I'd notice things I didn't then. I'd see the things that weren't perfect, and it would ruin how I remember them. Because right now, looking back, those two memories were absolutely perfect.
So thank you. Thank you for having been there for the past two years (even if you didn't realize just how there you were for the first quarter of that). Thank you for memories that I will never, ever forget. Thank you for the stories we've told, the mischief we've pulled off, the terrors we've pulled each other through. No regrets.
Thank you for taking an interest in me two and a half years ago when I know I wasn't even half worthy of your attention. Thank you for taking that first walk with me two and a quarter years ago. Thank you for letting me help you two years ago. Thank you for kissing me a year and a half ago. Thank you for not letting me break you a year and a quarter ago. Thank you for pulling me out of my own hell ten months ago. Thank you for still being there in the morning eight months ago. Thank you for giving me the best summer I've ever had. Most of all, thank you for still being here, despite the brokenness, the twisted pieces, the odd and irrational scars.
I know people generally give thanks at a different time in the year. But I know I haven't remembered to thank you nearly often enough. So I'll do it now. Because I don't think there's anything better than starting a New Year happily in love and grateful for every moment.
I know I'm difficult. So thank you for still being there without trying to reshape the things that make me that way, but also define who I am. Thank you so much.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
But I still don't miss you yet
It bothers me that you never ask me questions anymore. Okay, let me rephrase that. It's really not a big deal. But I miss when you did. Because even though I know (or think I know) that you don't care about me any less, it feels like you do.
That's really all I wanted to say. This has been a passive aggressive post.
That's really all I wanted to say. This has been a passive aggressive post.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Show your wounds, I'm bored with mine
Okay, so I guess this means I should do a reflection on 2011, since tomorrow it'll be over (well, the boundary between tomorrow and the day after marks the break, but it's all the same as far as I'm concerned). I really wan't keen on writing a reflection this year. Part of it is that my emotional state has been...confusing...at best, and downright terrible at worst. And part of it is that while the year as a whole was, I guess, pretty good, pieces of it were downright nightmares. This year has definitely had some of the worst moments in my life. Probably not the best, but certainly plenty that come close.
So let's begin at the beginning. I was excited. I was also nervous. Especially at 2 am after the big moment had passed. I wonder if anyone but me realizes why. And to be fair, it was a pretty pathetic reason. But that's how it was. They say that the way you see the new year in is how you'll spend it. This year was all over the place too much for me to tell...then again, I was up and down that night myself.
It started off on a good note. Then fell. Rapidly. I don't even want to talk about it. Needless to say, February downright sucked. That's all I'll say there. It improved a bit, and mostly hovered there until June. The one major exception to that was April. More specifically, the second half of April. That? That definitely goes on the list of worst moments. Again, I'm not going to dwell. I'm pretty sure I could handle it, but that doesn't mean it would be good for me. I've written enough on the subject that it doesn't need a recap here (as with all things, ask for detail if you really want, I'll probably give it).
Then it got really good. Starting in June, going all the way until pretty damn recently, I was happy. Really happy. I don't remember the last time I was happy for such an extended period of time. Everything was going well, I knew where my life was going, what was there to not be happy about? Nothing was particularly eventful about it, but it was good. It was calm and pleasant and good. I got a great job that I enjoy. Really, life is good. Even now.
And these past few weeks, my emotions have been a wreck. I think it's the fact that I finally had a chance to sit still and think. It's been a while since that's happened, and I guess I've just been needing a relaxing opportunity to catch up. So when I first got that chance, it all rushed over me. And I think (hope), that I'm starting to feel better. I had half a break-down tonight, I guess. But once that passed, I started to feel better. So I'm hoping that lasts.
I guess I lost track of the reflection portion of this post. I'm sorry, this is easily going to be one of the most disoriented posts I ever write. And I'm not going to go back and edit it because this is just too hard for me to formulate cleanly, too difficult to write well. So I'll put down the thoughts, and apologize for the shitty execution.
There is a reason for the title, and I'll explain it, since I put some thought into it. This is the first time in a while that my life has been very, very stable over the course of a few months. Nothing dramatic has gone on. The worst stress came from work-related time-crunches. My personal life? It's been calm. Too calm for comfort. There is no drama in my life anymore. And the same is the case with most of my friends.
So I'm feeling a little bit tired of being overworked professionally and not having anything to deal with personally. I want something to happen. Something exciting and dramatic. But I know that I'm in far too good a place in my life to do anything dramatic to mess it up. I want to see things happen in the lives of those around me, because I'd be glad to help. I'm not used to stability, and this first taste of it...it feels a bit bland.
I've stitched up most of the wounds that have plagued me for the past couple of years. Clearly, there are still things that come out (in case the past few days haven't been enough of an indication). But on the whole, I really have gotten better. It's hard for me to see sometimes. Especially lately. But when I sit back like this, I can see that things have gotten better. So now that my wounds are sealed, I want to see some more.
Just because I don't have them anymore doesn't mean I don't still have a fascination of sorts. I like these things. I like thinking about them, talking about them, and helping with them. I don't really know why, but I like it. What I started to do this year and would like to continue doing is moving past my own issues. I want to help people with theirs, since mine...don't really exist anymore. Not in the same way anyway.
I'll wrap this up. On the whole, I think I've come out of 2011 better than I walked in, which is certainly a good thing. I'm hoping 2012 will continue the trend (hopefully with fewer heartbreaking moments). Oh, and one more thing. This year, for the first time probably ever, I made a New Year's resolution of sorts. I did it casually and wasn't sure if I would even keep it. But I did. And I have to say, I'm rather proud. Even if it was made half-heartedly and only ever considered about the same.
So let's begin at the beginning. I was excited. I was also nervous. Especially at 2 am after the big moment had passed. I wonder if anyone but me realizes why. And to be fair, it was a pretty pathetic reason. But that's how it was. They say that the way you see the new year in is how you'll spend it. This year was all over the place too much for me to tell...then again, I was up and down that night myself.
It started off on a good note. Then fell. Rapidly. I don't even want to talk about it. Needless to say, February downright sucked. That's all I'll say there. It improved a bit, and mostly hovered there until June. The one major exception to that was April. More specifically, the second half of April. That? That definitely goes on the list of worst moments. Again, I'm not going to dwell. I'm pretty sure I could handle it, but that doesn't mean it would be good for me. I've written enough on the subject that it doesn't need a recap here (as with all things, ask for detail if you really want, I'll probably give it).
Then it got really good. Starting in June, going all the way until pretty damn recently, I was happy. Really happy. I don't remember the last time I was happy for such an extended period of time. Everything was going well, I knew where my life was going, what was there to not be happy about? Nothing was particularly eventful about it, but it was good. It was calm and pleasant and good. I got a great job that I enjoy. Really, life is good. Even now.
And these past few weeks, my emotions have been a wreck. I think it's the fact that I finally had a chance to sit still and think. It's been a while since that's happened, and I guess I've just been needing a relaxing opportunity to catch up. So when I first got that chance, it all rushed over me. And I think (hope), that I'm starting to feel better. I had half a break-down tonight, I guess. But once that passed, I started to feel better. So I'm hoping that lasts.
I guess I lost track of the reflection portion of this post. I'm sorry, this is easily going to be one of the most disoriented posts I ever write. And I'm not going to go back and edit it because this is just too hard for me to formulate cleanly, too difficult to write well. So I'll put down the thoughts, and apologize for the shitty execution.
There is a reason for the title, and I'll explain it, since I put some thought into it. This is the first time in a while that my life has been very, very stable over the course of a few months. Nothing dramatic has gone on. The worst stress came from work-related time-crunches. My personal life? It's been calm. Too calm for comfort. There is no drama in my life anymore. And the same is the case with most of my friends.
So I'm feeling a little bit tired of being overworked professionally and not having anything to deal with personally. I want something to happen. Something exciting and dramatic. But I know that I'm in far too good a place in my life to do anything dramatic to mess it up. I want to see things happen in the lives of those around me, because I'd be glad to help. I'm not used to stability, and this first taste of it...it feels a bit bland.
I've stitched up most of the wounds that have plagued me for the past couple of years. Clearly, there are still things that come out (in case the past few days haven't been enough of an indication). But on the whole, I really have gotten better. It's hard for me to see sometimes. Especially lately. But when I sit back like this, I can see that things have gotten better. So now that my wounds are sealed, I want to see some more.
Just because I don't have them anymore doesn't mean I don't still have a fascination of sorts. I like these things. I like thinking about them, talking about them, and helping with them. I don't really know why, but I like it. What I started to do this year and would like to continue doing is moving past my own issues. I want to help people with theirs, since mine...don't really exist anymore. Not in the same way anyway.
I'll wrap this up. On the whole, I think I've come out of 2011 better than I walked in, which is certainly a good thing. I'm hoping 2012 will continue the trend (hopefully with fewer heartbreaking moments). Oh, and one more thing. This year, for the first time probably ever, I made a New Year's resolution of sorts. I did it casually and wasn't sure if I would even keep it. But I did. And I have to say, I'm rather proud. Even if it was made half-heartedly and only ever considered about the same.
All I've got's what you didn't take
I think that people are made up of all of these little pieces. Likes art. Spends an hour getting ready in the morning. Listens to Rise Against. Always exactly 5 minutes late. Adores the smell of cinnamon. Needs company to work. Can't sleep without a light. All of these little things. Behaviors, traits, quirks.
And I think each time we meet someone who becomes a significant part of our lives, we exchange these pieces. Sometimes we trade them. Or we share them. Or we develop new ones together. So two friends who were completely different when they met often come out in the end with many similarities. And the longer you stay connected to someone, whether you see them every day or talk to them every night or spend every waking moment thinking about when you'll see them next, you start to have so many pieces in common that it's sometimes hard to tell who's who and where each piece came from.
All of this is logical. It makes sense. And it seems to happen pretty consistently. What gets interesting is what happens when two people drift apart. Whether they just don't see each other regularly anymore or if they had a falling out. The pieces don't always stay the way they were. When two people were so close as to match so extensively in their collections of pieces and they move on to lead separate lives, some pieces are held onto greedily, others are discarded, and some just fall away.
Some people hoard them. Because they want to hold on to the person they left or they just like the person they themselves became. Others find the habits, the tastes, and all of the small things slowly just fading, falling away. Suddenly there is nothing maintaining that particular piece, so it simply disappears. And some people drop the pieces immediately, they cast them away. They can't stand to eat what was just their favorite food or listen to what was their favorite song. They find themselves unable to say certain words or go to particular places. The piece is hastily discarded, buried, thrown aside. It causes too much pain, because it is too much associated with the person it was shared with, and so it is ignored.
Sometimes it happens that a person lets go of so many pieces that there's nothing left. Then they have to rebuild everything. Their habits. Their tastes in food, music, activities. Their quirks and overused sayings. Everyone has them, some people just rebuild them each time. They start back at the beginning and assemble themselves from the foundation up. They start with what they can't change and start adding things, oftentimes as different as possible from what they had before.
All this because if, by chance, they happened to pick up one of those pieces again, it would all come rushing back. All of the memories. Everything good and everything bad. Everything they never wanted to remember and always wanted to forget. Every piece is reminiscent of a person, each person tied to a part of their life that was set aside and moved past. Picking up a piece is asking to get cut again.
So each time, they drop everything. And start all over again. From the very beginning.
And I think each time we meet someone who becomes a significant part of our lives, we exchange these pieces. Sometimes we trade them. Or we share them. Or we develop new ones together. So two friends who were completely different when they met often come out in the end with many similarities. And the longer you stay connected to someone, whether you see them every day or talk to them every night or spend every waking moment thinking about when you'll see them next, you start to have so many pieces in common that it's sometimes hard to tell who's who and where each piece came from.
All of this is logical. It makes sense. And it seems to happen pretty consistently. What gets interesting is what happens when two people drift apart. Whether they just don't see each other regularly anymore or if they had a falling out. The pieces don't always stay the way they were. When two people were so close as to match so extensively in their collections of pieces and they move on to lead separate lives, some pieces are held onto greedily, others are discarded, and some just fall away.
Some people hoard them. Because they want to hold on to the person they left or they just like the person they themselves became. Others find the habits, the tastes, and all of the small things slowly just fading, falling away. Suddenly there is nothing maintaining that particular piece, so it simply disappears. And some people drop the pieces immediately, they cast them away. They can't stand to eat what was just their favorite food or listen to what was their favorite song. They find themselves unable to say certain words or go to particular places. The piece is hastily discarded, buried, thrown aside. It causes too much pain, because it is too much associated with the person it was shared with, and so it is ignored.
Sometimes it happens that a person lets go of so many pieces that there's nothing left. Then they have to rebuild everything. Their habits. Their tastes in food, music, activities. Their quirks and overused sayings. Everyone has them, some people just rebuild them each time. They start back at the beginning and assemble themselves from the foundation up. They start with what they can't change and start adding things, oftentimes as different as possible from what they had before.
All this because if, by chance, they happened to pick up one of those pieces again, it would all come rushing back. All of the memories. Everything good and everything bad. Everything they never wanted to remember and always wanted to forget. Every piece is reminiscent of a person, each person tied to a part of their life that was set aside and moved past. Picking up a piece is asking to get cut again.
So each time, they drop everything. And start all over again. From the very beginning.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
When it rains it pours like summer storms
December 21st is sometimes the most important day in my life. No, nothing happened on that day. Nobody was born, nobody died, or rather not anybody close to me, anyway. It's not a holiday. It's not a memoir. It's just a day that is something I look forward to each winter almost more than I look forward to the coming of the new year.
December 21st is the winter solstice. It's the shortest day of the year. Okay, so apparently this year it was the 22nd. Whatever. The fact remains though, that I look forward to that day because it really is the turning point of the year in a way. Let me give a bit of background on that.
The first brush I had with depression was when I was probably eleven or twelve. And it was, as far as I can tell, what was referred to back then as winter depression. Now it's apparently called some bullshit like Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Whoever came up with that acronym clearly thought they were being funny. Not that they necessarily were.
So the depression has come and gone since then. Sometimes it was restricted to winter. One winter I was fine, but spent the next summer in doom and gloom. It wasn't always consistent, but as a general rule, the winters have always been worse. It's cold, it's windy, and there's not as much daylight, not to mention sun. So the solstice has always been significant because it meant I made it. It meant that from here on out, the days would get longer, and with them, everything would get better.
And it usually does. It takes getting through the bitterness of February and March, but eventually it warms up, eventually I feel better. I'm glad that the solstice has passed. It means I've made it one more year. And I'm glad. Even though it's not much on the whole, it's still very significant to me.
December 21st is the winter solstice. It's the shortest day of the year. Okay, so apparently this year it was the 22nd. Whatever. The fact remains though, that I look forward to that day because it really is the turning point of the year in a way. Let me give a bit of background on that.
The first brush I had with depression was when I was probably eleven or twelve. And it was, as far as I can tell, what was referred to back then as winter depression. Now it's apparently called some bullshit like Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Whoever came up with that acronym clearly thought they were being funny. Not that they necessarily were.
So the depression has come and gone since then. Sometimes it was restricted to winter. One winter I was fine, but spent the next summer in doom and gloom. It wasn't always consistent, but as a general rule, the winters have always been worse. It's cold, it's windy, and there's not as much daylight, not to mention sun. So the solstice has always been significant because it meant I made it. It meant that from here on out, the days would get longer, and with them, everything would get better.
And it usually does. It takes getting through the bitterness of February and March, but eventually it warms up, eventually I feel better. I'm glad that the solstice has passed. It means I've made it one more year. And I'm glad. Even though it's not much on the whole, it's still very significant to me.
We Were All So Fucked Up
I think my whole concept of not swearing here has gone to hell. Then again, everything seems to have gone to hell, because I've been sitting here reading things for the past three hours and I can't fucking stop giggling because everything is just so. fucked. up. I don't even know what more to say on that topic.
July 24, 2010, for reference. That whole summer, really. That's one of those things I'm glad is over and done with. Maybe this is one of those realizations that just comes with age or distance or what have you, but god damn, we were all so ridiculous. And when I say we, I mean the three of us, which is a very awkward grouping in just about any respect, but that summer was a shit-storm as far as all of our sanity goes.
I don't know that there was any sanity to speak of, or at least it doesn't look that way now. And to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised any of us came out of it as unscathed as we did. Okay, so maybe unscathed isn't entirely accurate. But the scars are really minimal, considering everything that transpired. There are many ways in which just about everything could have gone better. I, at least, learned a lot from that. Mostly about how much of a passive-aggressive and terrible person I can be. And how much of a good idea it is to avoid that.
I don't even know what more to say. I don't want to post this, because it's so awkward in so many ways, to me anyway. But I needed to put that down, especially the title (see, I'm telling you, it's legitimately gotten easier for me to pick those now). So I'll post it, and worry about it for a week tops, and then move on with my life. Apologies for...just about anything that can be taken offense to in this post (I'd imagine there's enough).
July 24, 2010, for reference. That whole summer, really. That's one of those things I'm glad is over and done with. Maybe this is one of those realizations that just comes with age or distance or what have you, but god damn, we were all so ridiculous. And when I say we, I mean the three of us, which is a very awkward grouping in just about any respect, but that summer was a shit-storm as far as all of our sanity goes.
I don't know that there was any sanity to speak of, or at least it doesn't look that way now. And to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised any of us came out of it as unscathed as we did. Okay, so maybe unscathed isn't entirely accurate. But the scars are really minimal, considering everything that transpired. There are many ways in which just about everything could have gone better. I, at least, learned a lot from that. Mostly about how much of a passive-aggressive and terrible person I can be. And how much of a good idea it is to avoid that.
I don't even know what more to say. I don't want to post this, because it's so awkward in so many ways, to me anyway. But I needed to put that down, especially the title (see, I'm telling you, it's legitimately gotten easier for me to pick those now). So I'll post it, and worry about it for a week tops, and then move on with my life. Apologies for...just about anything that can be taken offense to in this post (I'd imagine there's enough).
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Miserable Ecstasy
This is a bad place to be three days before the start of the new year. I can't seem to keep myself together long enough to maintain basic functionality. Everything that ever hurt has started hurting more. And it looked like I was doing so well...
I just can't get past this. And I shouldn't have asked you to wake me last night. But that's my own mistake. I should've known it was a bad idea. Because where I went to bed in a reasonable mood, going to bed after you did left me in a mood comparable to the one I was in for most of the day yesterday. And that seems to have just picked up and continued throughout today.
So I have three days. Three days to pull myself together. And I'm just sitting here, incapable of doing anything, trying to figure out what the hell to do with myself, because I can't get work done and I would really rather not spend the day moping on the couch. This whole week just isn't shaping up terribly well. I was so excited to talk to you again, but it's just not the same. And it's me. It's all me. All of the problems are in my head, and I know that. I just wish I knew how to get them out.
I'm drowning myself in music and this is possibly the second time in my life that I've wished I had a good set of speakers. It's all your fault, you know, you got me hooked on the music, and now you're getting me addicted to the sound. I just need to feel something right now, and the ebb and flow of the sound is almost it. Almost. Which makes me wonder if maybe, maybe if it was louder, if I could really, literally, feel it, then maybe it would make this go away, make me better.
I've never figured out how to fix my problems. I always just knew that waiting them out would do it eventually. So that's how it's always worked. Because I've always tried hard to be on top of everything, and that usually means I can afford to spend a day just waiting for everything that hurts to pass. I spent countless Wednesdays sitting on a bed that wasn't mine, staring down at the floor. Sometimes I took long showers and wondered if anyone would miss me when I'm gone.
I generally came to the conclusion that no, nobody would. I'm nothing special. And much as my overgrown ego objects to this, I understand it. I know that in the long run, I'm not worth anything. I will never change the world. I will not be remembered. I am small. And I am insignificant. And I'm becoming more and more okay with that. I'm pretty sure that I've changed people's lives. I've also been changed by them. And that's more than enough for me.
So maybe if I keep writing, if my fingers never stop dancing over the keys (even though I know the motion is really nowhere near as elegant), maybe I'll be okay. Maybe this will pass sooner. Maybe I'll be able to get up and do something, anything, with myself today.
As of right now, I still need a title for this post. That hardly ever happens anymore. It used to be a big problem when I started blogging. But I've gotten good at being able to put a title down--be it a generalization or a phrase or lyrics--before I even start the post. Right now, though, I'm back where I was then. And maybe that's significant in more ways than one.
I'll get through this. Eventually. If I don't personally get through it, at the very least, I know that it will pass by itself. I can wait. I have time. For now. I've done the whole troubled thing before. I think at one point I might have even been good at it. I'm really not right now because I'm a bit out of practice. But I'll manage.
I don't know if this will ever really go away. I somehow doubt it. It comes and goes. And the first six months of any new situation always seem relatively free of it. Which is precisely what I'm just getting through--those six months that seem worry-free. I'll revert back into my shell. Hopefully this time around I'll be a bit better at crawling out of it occasionally. At least I have someone to help me work through it. I hope.
I just can't get past this. And I shouldn't have asked you to wake me last night. But that's my own mistake. I should've known it was a bad idea. Because where I went to bed in a reasonable mood, going to bed after you did left me in a mood comparable to the one I was in for most of the day yesterday. And that seems to have just picked up and continued throughout today.
So I have three days. Three days to pull myself together. And I'm just sitting here, incapable of doing anything, trying to figure out what the hell to do with myself, because I can't get work done and I would really rather not spend the day moping on the couch. This whole week just isn't shaping up terribly well. I was so excited to talk to you again, but it's just not the same. And it's me. It's all me. All of the problems are in my head, and I know that. I just wish I knew how to get them out.
I'm drowning myself in music and this is possibly the second time in my life that I've wished I had a good set of speakers. It's all your fault, you know, you got me hooked on the music, and now you're getting me addicted to the sound. I just need to feel something right now, and the ebb and flow of the sound is almost it. Almost. Which makes me wonder if maybe, maybe if it was louder, if I could really, literally, feel it, then maybe it would make this go away, make me better.
I've never figured out how to fix my problems. I always just knew that waiting them out would do it eventually. So that's how it's always worked. Because I've always tried hard to be on top of everything, and that usually means I can afford to spend a day just waiting for everything that hurts to pass. I spent countless Wednesdays sitting on a bed that wasn't mine, staring down at the floor. Sometimes I took long showers and wondered if anyone would miss me when I'm gone.
I generally came to the conclusion that no, nobody would. I'm nothing special. And much as my overgrown ego objects to this, I understand it. I know that in the long run, I'm not worth anything. I will never change the world. I will not be remembered. I am small. And I am insignificant. And I'm becoming more and more okay with that. I'm pretty sure that I've changed people's lives. I've also been changed by them. And that's more than enough for me.
So maybe if I keep writing, if my fingers never stop dancing over the keys (even though I know the motion is really nowhere near as elegant), maybe I'll be okay. Maybe this will pass sooner. Maybe I'll be able to get up and do something, anything, with myself today.
As of right now, I still need a title for this post. That hardly ever happens anymore. It used to be a big problem when I started blogging. But I've gotten good at being able to put a title down--be it a generalization or a phrase or lyrics--before I even start the post. Right now, though, I'm back where I was then. And maybe that's significant in more ways than one.
I'll get through this. Eventually. If I don't personally get through it, at the very least, I know that it will pass by itself. I can wait. I have time. For now. I've done the whole troubled thing before. I think at one point I might have even been good at it. I'm really not right now because I'm a bit out of practice. But I'll manage.
I don't know if this will ever really go away. I somehow doubt it. It comes and goes. And the first six months of any new situation always seem relatively free of it. Which is precisely what I'm just getting through--those six months that seem worry-free. I'll revert back into my shell. Hopefully this time around I'll be a bit better at crawling out of it occasionally. At least I have someone to help me work through it. I hope.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Ubiquitinated
In molecular biology, ubiquitination is the process of a protein getting tagged with ubiquitin. There is an enzymatic complex (at least I think it's a complex) that binds ubiquitin to this protein. That marks the protein for destruction. This post is ubiquitinated from the outset. It is marked for deletion. Which means it'll only be around for a certain period of time, after which it will be gone.
Clearly, I'm not capable of talking about it, or typing it in conversation, so it seems that I have to write it out, plan it out, just to get it out. And before I say anything, I'm going to apologize. Because I don't know how much of this I do in fact mean or will mean in a day or a week or a month.
We're going to break up. That seems inevitable to me right now. And it's not because I don't love you or want to be with you. It's just that this relationship isn't the same anymore. It's starting to feel stagnant. So while it's comfortable and I love you and I love your company, I feel like I might bolt at the first chance I get.
The reason I fell in love with you (I think, anyway) is that you let me just be me. A little fucked up, a good bit twisted, and never really understanding where I belong. And I can't do that anymore. I feel like I have to be perfect for you. And I'm not. It feels like I have to be a muse, an inspiration, present a solution to every problem. In short, I feel used. Except that I'm doing it to myself. Because not once do I recall an actual demand from you, or even a request of that variety.
It just feels like this relationship has changed in ways I don't think I can live with right now. Maybe in ten years I'd be happy with the sheer stability and wound-covering of it all, but ten years is a ways away. And right now I need to be able to throw myself around in my personal life because that's not a luxury I'm allowing myself in my career, so to speak. But I don't want to be a wreck because I get the impression it would upset you. And that's not something I'm supposed to do.
So let me rephrase the initial message of all of this. I don't want to break up. And I don't want a break. But I do want things to change. I really, really, really want things to change. While being happy is nice, I need my time to be unhappy, and I'd like to be able to share my emotions with you, be they good or bad. I miss being able to just talk to you about anything.
Maybe this is why I've been so nostalgic lately, why I've been missing the way things were. Because "back then" represents a point in time when I could literally share anything with you. I don't know what I expect you to do, or even what I want you to do. I just needed to put this down because it's been festering for about a month now. And I think it's only fair that you know.
I'm sorry.
Clearly, I'm not capable of talking about it, or typing it in conversation, so it seems that I have to write it out, plan it out, just to get it out. And before I say anything, I'm going to apologize. Because I don't know how much of this I do in fact mean or will mean in a day or a week or a month.
We're going to break up. That seems inevitable to me right now. And it's not because I don't love you or want to be with you. It's just that this relationship isn't the same anymore. It's starting to feel stagnant. So while it's comfortable and I love you and I love your company, I feel like I might bolt at the first chance I get.
The reason I fell in love with you (I think, anyway) is that you let me just be me. A little fucked up, a good bit twisted, and never really understanding where I belong. And I can't do that anymore. I feel like I have to be perfect for you. And I'm not. It feels like I have to be a muse, an inspiration, present a solution to every problem. In short, I feel used. Except that I'm doing it to myself. Because not once do I recall an actual demand from you, or even a request of that variety.
It just feels like this relationship has changed in ways I don't think I can live with right now. Maybe in ten years I'd be happy with the sheer stability and wound-covering of it all, but ten years is a ways away. And right now I need to be able to throw myself around in my personal life because that's not a luxury I'm allowing myself in my career, so to speak. But I don't want to be a wreck because I get the impression it would upset you. And that's not something I'm supposed to do.
So let me rephrase the initial message of all of this. I don't want to break up. And I don't want a break. But I do want things to change. I really, really, really want things to change. While being happy is nice, I need my time to be unhappy, and I'd like to be able to share my emotions with you, be they good or bad. I miss being able to just talk to you about anything.
Maybe this is why I've been so nostalgic lately, why I've been missing the way things were. Because "back then" represents a point in time when I could literally share anything with you. I don't know what I expect you to do, or even what I want you to do. I just needed to put this down because it's been festering for about a month now. And I think it's only fair that you know.
I'm sorry.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Patience has never been my strong suit.
I wanted to write this on the morning of the first. At roughly 2 am (I wish I knew the time, but I think you have chat logs that went missing, because no matter how hard I try, I can't find them anywhere). And I want to start it by saying something about how this happened exactly two years ago, and how everything was so damn different then, because it would have been two years. Exactly. And that would have been such a nice and even and perfect span of time to have elapsed. But it's not the morning of the first. Or even the thirty-first. It's the evening of the twenty-sixth, but I don't really want to wait. I just want to sit up with you all night and write like I haven't written in a while.
I'm reading them again. All of the chat logs. Not mine. Yours. I'm sure someone's going to kill me one day when they figure out I've read all of those (yes, every last one, but you already knew that). Two years ago. It's certainly been a while. We've both changed in that time. A lot. We've grown up. Arguably, we've gotten better, and while I'm sure we have in many ways, there are still parts of me that are no less rotten than when you first saw them.
My world turned upside down that day. No less than yours, if you could believe it. And sure, you didn't know it then, but that week that you were busy breaking yourself? You shattered me, time and time again. And I couldn't blame you. It's funny to me now how oblivious you were (please take no offense to that, but it's so true). I loved you then in a way that was so self-sacrificing, so lonely and desperate and helpless, that it astounds me even now. Maybe that's why I still relive it sometimes. Through the chat logs, if nothing more.
I know that things are better now for both of us than they were then. And I know we've come a long way, but is it so wrong of me to miss that kind of love? It's grown into a more soothing, comforting creature, something I can rely on and look forward to with a smile. But then it was turbulent and erratic, I hated every minute that I spent loving you because I couldn't have you. I thought I hated you at times, because you broke my heart time and time again and didn't even know.
Those six months of utter turmoil were the most memorable I've had thus far in my life. Nothing has made me feel as strongly. I don't know that anything can. And I just want you to understand in light of this that when I say I miss the way things were, I don't, but rather I miss how pure every emotion was then. I miss that we never lied to protect each other (with the exception of that one big lie I literally lived).
When you told me, at two in the morning on the first of the New Year, I couldn't breathe. It was terrifying and exhilarating. I'd imagined it countless times, trying to find the key to you. Trying to figure out why it wasn't me you'd kissed, even though you could have just a month before that...even though you almost did. And all of these thoughts, about love and hope and hopelessness and loss raced through my head in the seconds after you told me.
I don't think I ever really put into words how hearing that made me feel. First off was the excitement, the racing pulse, the subtle smile. I was hopeful because it meant the end of what had kept you chained (apologies for the cruel metaphor). And then the panic set in, because it wasn't me. There was no thought of me in there. Everything was about someone else, and that crushed me. First you said you'd wait, and see, and gave me hope again, and then you shattered it. That week was no less of a roller coaster for me than it was for you.
I knew when you were breaking. But you never knew that you had already broken me then. To me, you had come out from behind a wooden fence, only to relocate immediately into a fully reinforced fort. And even as you told me more, you became more distant. It was an awfully strange beginning to a year. One that held promise yet was wrought with forbidden temptation. That's how 2010 started for me. It was a more desolate beginning than you probably realized. Certainly more of a morbid one than you'd have guessed at the time.
Yet somehow it has all led me here. To reread old stories written as they were. I love chat logs for the honesty. They tell things in a way that no blog post or story or even personal diary entry can convey because they immortalize conversations. They put the most transient of thoughts into stone and preserve the way we saw things, which we would not otherwise be able to recapture. I like looking back at who we all once were. Even if I can't perceive who I am at this moment, and don't quite know how all of the people turned out.
I often wonder where exactly this strange thing called life will take us next. I am, as usual, apprehensive, but a bit excited, nonetheless. I really do hope it goes as well as it has thus far, if not better.
I'm reading them again. All of the chat logs. Not mine. Yours. I'm sure someone's going to kill me one day when they figure out I've read all of those (yes, every last one, but you already knew that). Two years ago. It's certainly been a while. We've both changed in that time. A lot. We've grown up. Arguably, we've gotten better, and while I'm sure we have in many ways, there are still parts of me that are no less rotten than when you first saw them.
My world turned upside down that day. No less than yours, if you could believe it. And sure, you didn't know it then, but that week that you were busy breaking yourself? You shattered me, time and time again. And I couldn't blame you. It's funny to me now how oblivious you were (please take no offense to that, but it's so true). I loved you then in a way that was so self-sacrificing, so lonely and desperate and helpless, that it astounds me even now. Maybe that's why I still relive it sometimes. Through the chat logs, if nothing more.
I know that things are better now for both of us than they were then. And I know we've come a long way, but is it so wrong of me to miss that kind of love? It's grown into a more soothing, comforting creature, something I can rely on and look forward to with a smile. But then it was turbulent and erratic, I hated every minute that I spent loving you because I couldn't have you. I thought I hated you at times, because you broke my heart time and time again and didn't even know.
Those six months of utter turmoil were the most memorable I've had thus far in my life. Nothing has made me feel as strongly. I don't know that anything can. And I just want you to understand in light of this that when I say I miss the way things were, I don't, but rather I miss how pure every emotion was then. I miss that we never lied to protect each other (with the exception of that one big lie I literally lived).
When you told me, at two in the morning on the first of the New Year, I couldn't breathe. It was terrifying and exhilarating. I'd imagined it countless times, trying to find the key to you. Trying to figure out why it wasn't me you'd kissed, even though you could have just a month before that...even though you almost did. And all of these thoughts, about love and hope and hopelessness and loss raced through my head in the seconds after you told me.
I don't think I ever really put into words how hearing that made me feel. First off was the excitement, the racing pulse, the subtle smile. I was hopeful because it meant the end of what had kept you chained (apologies for the cruel metaphor). And then the panic set in, because it wasn't me. There was no thought of me in there. Everything was about someone else, and that crushed me. First you said you'd wait, and see, and gave me hope again, and then you shattered it. That week was no less of a roller coaster for me than it was for you.
I knew when you were breaking. But you never knew that you had already broken me then. To me, you had come out from behind a wooden fence, only to relocate immediately into a fully reinforced fort. And even as you told me more, you became more distant. It was an awfully strange beginning to a year. One that held promise yet was wrought with forbidden temptation. That's how 2010 started for me. It was a more desolate beginning than you probably realized. Certainly more of a morbid one than you'd have guessed at the time.
Yet somehow it has all led me here. To reread old stories written as they were. I love chat logs for the honesty. They tell things in a way that no blog post or story or even personal diary entry can convey because they immortalize conversations. They put the most transient of thoughts into stone and preserve the way we saw things, which we would not otherwise be able to recapture. I like looking back at who we all once were. Even if I can't perceive who I am at this moment, and don't quite know how all of the people turned out.
I often wonder where exactly this strange thing called life will take us next. I am, as usual, apprehensive, but a bit excited, nonetheless. I really do hope it goes as well as it has thus far, if not better.
A bit of respect would be nice sometimes
WARNING: Rant forthcoming. Skip this post now if you don't want to read a lot of bitching on my part.
So I realize that most of the people I've met within the past year don't know that my family doesn't celebrate Christmas. It may have something to do with not being religious. Because Christmas is a Christian holiday (pardon the excessive emphasis, I'm a little bit pissed). Okay, so I realize that many non-religious individuals celebrate Christmas. And I guess that's fine, unless you're a stuck-up brat who can't appreciate anything and just bitches about not getting x or y or z or whatever other expensive things you've been begging for.
Excuse me. That there is another rant trying to force its way into my current rant. But this is not about that (although it's certainly something I object to strongly). I'm just going to go ahead and get back on topic.
So what I grew up with, as a relic of my culture and the agnosticism of my parents, is celebrating the coming of the New Year with gifts. That way everyone still gets gifts over the winter holiday season (whatever you'd like to call it), and no unnecessary religious association is forced upon the gift-exchanging holiday. I realize that many people don't know this, but you, I know you know about it, because I've known you for years and we've had this conversation before.
Which is really the only reason I'm so pissed off about it. Because if a coworker was to give me a trinket and say "Merry Christmas!" I'd respond in kind, and not correct his/her holiday greeting, even though I don't consider it as really applying to me. But when this conversation transpires:
[2:04:21 PM] you: Did you get anything fabulous?
[2:04:24 PM] me: not yet
[2:04:28 PM] you: yet?
So I realize that most of the people I've met within the past year don't know that my family doesn't celebrate Christmas. It may have something to do with not being religious. Because Christmas is a Christian holiday (pardon the excessive emphasis, I'm a little bit pissed). Okay, so I realize that many non-religious individuals celebrate Christmas. And I guess that's fine, unless you're a stuck-up brat who can't appreciate anything and just bitches about not getting x or y or z or whatever other expensive things you've been begging for.
Excuse me. That there is another rant trying to force its way into my current rant. But this is not about that (although it's certainly something I object to strongly). I'm just going to go ahead and get back on topic.
So what I grew up with, as a relic of my culture and the agnosticism of my parents, is celebrating the coming of the New Year with gifts. That way everyone still gets gifts over the winter holiday season (whatever you'd like to call it), and no unnecessary religious association is forced upon the gift-exchanging holiday. I realize that many people don't know this, but you, I know you know about it, because I've known you for years and we've had this conversation before.
Which is really the only reason I'm so pissed off about it. Because if a coworker was to give me a trinket and say "Merry Christmas!" I'd respond in kind, and not correct his/her holiday greeting, even though I don't consider it as really applying to me. But when this conversation transpires:
[2:04:21 PM] you: Did you get anything fabulous?
[2:04:24 PM] me: not yet
[2:04:28 PM] you: yet?
That bothers me. Because okay, we haven't seen each other in a while. And okay, we don't exactly discuss our preferences for religious holidays or lack thereof. And okay, most people get gifts for Christmas. But still, I expect at least a little bit more from someone I consider a decently close friend.
Let me clarify: I don't mind people asking me what I got for Christmas on December 26th or whenever. I'll just say something along the lines of "nothing yet" if they're decently close friends. And for those who don't know, I'll explain to them that I don't celebrate Christmas. But for you, it was a little bit different. Because I know I've given you that explanation at least three four times now. So if you ask if I got anything and I say "not yet," I'd appreciate it if you would dig this bit of information up from the back of your scattered mind and say "oh yeah, you don't celebrate Christmas...sorry I forgot."
I know that I'll always say it doesn't bother me when people get that wrong. And generally, it doesn't. It's when people who definitely know this and are friends of mine mess it up and are still confused after a reminder that it gets to me. I take it as a sign of disrespect that you don't remember my winter holiday preferences after they have been made clear to you. It bothers me just as much as when people don't remember my birthday because it's not listed on facebook (which is precisely why it's not listed anymore, in case anyone was wondering).
I've always prided myself on remembering information about people--name/nickname, birthday, unusual or extremely strong preferences, because I think that's significant. That's what I want friends to remember about me because, well, if they can't keep a few simple facts straight, I feel like they don't care enough about me to really be a friend.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Vicarious
Oh look! My first post in a while where the title doesn't consist of lyrics! Anyway, moving right along...
I'd rather write about this world than live in it and I'd rather play music all day and read and wander around in bookstores and watch humans but not be one of them.
I'm not sure who said that. I just came across it on the internet a few minutes ago. A large part of me agrees with it. That's the way I feel in many circumstances, because people fascinate me and decisions of all sorts fascinate me and I want to know what it's like, to be this way or that, without living that particular life. So yes, I live vicariously through other people's decisions and mistakes. I like watching life unfold and details about people's lives be revealed. It's always fascinated me.
On the other hand, though, this quote disgusts me. It's like saying 'I just want to spend my life watching other people live theirs, and I want to do nothing useful with myself.' And that bothers me. I've never really believed in an afterlife or a heaven or hell or any such thing. As a result, I've always seen life as an opportunity to take these 60, 70, 80, 90 years, however many are given to you, and do something with them. I don't care if that means spending your adult life in your mother's basement crafting pots or if it means starting the world's biggest corporation. I just think it's important to do something, to get something out of life.
I don't understand people who work so hard, always for the future, but in the end...they don't know what to do with themselves because they're old when they retire and can't do so many fun things, and maybe don't even know how to have fun because they've never done it. I realize I work hard and often don't have time to enjoy myself, but it's something that comes and goes. I know that I have and will continue to have many memories that I myself made, not just the ones people around me have lived through.
Maybe I'm wrong to be so critical. Perhaps this is even a bit hypocritical of me, to voice my opinion like this. But it bothers me when people take their lives for granted.
I'd rather write about this world than live in it and I'd rather play music all day and read and wander around in bookstores and watch humans but not be one of them.
I'm not sure who said that. I just came across it on the internet a few minutes ago. A large part of me agrees with it. That's the way I feel in many circumstances, because people fascinate me and decisions of all sorts fascinate me and I want to know what it's like, to be this way or that, without living that particular life. So yes, I live vicariously through other people's decisions and mistakes. I like watching life unfold and details about people's lives be revealed. It's always fascinated me.
On the other hand, though, this quote disgusts me. It's like saying 'I just want to spend my life watching other people live theirs, and I want to do nothing useful with myself.' And that bothers me. I've never really believed in an afterlife or a heaven or hell or any such thing. As a result, I've always seen life as an opportunity to take these 60, 70, 80, 90 years, however many are given to you, and do something with them. I don't care if that means spending your adult life in your mother's basement crafting pots or if it means starting the world's biggest corporation. I just think it's important to do something, to get something out of life.
I don't understand people who work so hard, always for the future, but in the end...they don't know what to do with themselves because they're old when they retire and can't do so many fun things, and maybe don't even know how to have fun because they've never done it. I realize I work hard and often don't have time to enjoy myself, but it's something that comes and goes. I know that I have and will continue to have many memories that I myself made, not just the ones people around me have lived through.
Maybe I'm wrong to be so critical. Perhaps this is even a bit hypocritical of me, to voice my opinion like this. But it bothers me when people take their lives for granted.
Friday, December 23, 2011
What have I to show except the promises I never kept?
It seems that people do still read this. Which is strange for me to think about, since I've been feeling lonely quite often lately, but (undeniably) a pleasant surprise. Someone told me I should write more often, which is certainly true. I agree wholeheartedly. So of course, upon getting home, one of the first things I'm doing since my guest has left is sitting down to write this.
I got to spend time with three of the best people in the world today. I love these lovely individuals so much. That's almost an understatement. I miss them so much it's almost unbelievable and it's hard to imagine that I hadn't seen them in so many months. But it was really great to spend that time with old friends (okay, so maybe they're not 'old friends' in that they themselves are not old and we haven't exactly been friends for decades or anything, but our lives no longer intersect on a regular basis, and so they are 'old friends' as far as I am concerned).
I was in the middle of writing this lovely post when I got interrupted...for an hour or so (at least I think it was that long). Anyway, I adore spending time with these wonderful people. And I'm really sad that I don't get to see them every day anymore, because I really wish I could. It's nice to know that I can still sit down with them around a table and swap stories for hours at a time, even though a lot has changed. It's going to be hard for me to find friends as close as these where I am right now.
I know I will eventually, but...I miss them. I miss hanging out with people in the certain way I did in the very places we did. It is all so full of memories, and I sometimes very much wish we could have time together more than the once a year that we are going to be lucky to get with all of our hectic schedules now (and in the future).
I'm rambling now, so I'll wrap it up. Thank you so much, all of you, for being some of my best friends ever, and for being awesome people in general. I hope you all have a lovely year and I can't wait to see you again!
I got to spend time with three of the best people in the world today. I love these lovely individuals so much. That's almost an understatement. I miss them so much it's almost unbelievable and it's hard to imagine that I hadn't seen them in so many months. But it was really great to spend that time with old friends (okay, so maybe they're not 'old friends' in that they themselves are not old and we haven't exactly been friends for decades or anything, but our lives no longer intersect on a regular basis, and so they are 'old friends' as far as I am concerned).
I was in the middle of writing this lovely post when I got interrupted...for an hour or so (at least I think it was that long). Anyway, I adore spending time with these wonderful people. And I'm really sad that I don't get to see them every day anymore, because I really wish I could. It's nice to know that I can still sit down with them around a table and swap stories for hours at a time, even though a lot has changed. It's going to be hard for me to find friends as close as these where I am right now.
I know I will eventually, but...I miss them. I miss hanging out with people in the certain way I did in the very places we did. It is all so full of memories, and I sometimes very much wish we could have time together more than the once a year that we are going to be lucky to get with all of our hectic schedules now (and in the future).
I'm rambling now, so I'll wrap it up. Thank you so much, all of you, for being some of my best friends ever, and for being awesome people in general. I hope you all have a lovely year and I can't wait to see you again!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Trust me, and take my hand...
...when the lights go out, you will understand.
I've never been good at trusting. Scratch that, it's easily one of the biggest lies I've told in quite a while. I used to be really good at it. At meeting someone and opening up instantly. Pathetic as it sounds, I think I liked to think of myself as a flower--suddenly blooming once someone took the time to talk to me. That's a valid analogy to describe it, although the parallel to a flower couldn't be more inaccurate.
The things you find out about me when I open up are never pretty. They're broken and twisted and crooked. I'll talk about old relationships and rules I broke way back then like they're nothing. That's not what you seen when you really get past the walls. I don't think anybody has made their way in recently. Not far enough to see the scars anyway.
I may have alluded to things unintentionally in my conversations with people--the issues I believe in most firmly are, predictably enough, the ones that are closest to me. But the things you don't see until I really open up are the scars. Especially the ones that aren't physical, the ones that I can trace the effects of on my soul.
Let me give you an analogy. Has this ever happened to you? You have a sore spot, maybe it's a bruise or a cut, or just something that hurts for some reason, or...even a better example, a sore, knotted muscle in your back. And when you press down on it, or touch it in some weird way you wouldn't normally, you feel a shiver or a tingle or a pain going a great distance through your body, sometimes so far as to affect an entirely unrelated place. It's an awfully weird feeling.
Even weirder, when it's not a physical thing. But that's how all of my scars play out. You say one thing and it reminds me of something I said three years ago, which bounces back and pulls at something in me in a way that makes me unable to place the hurt. Especially because I know it's no longer relevant...but it still hurts.
Sometimes I wish I was brave enough to strike up a conversation with some of the people I've left behind. Just to see how (or if) they've changed. Just to find out if I was right or wrong for avoiding them or ignoring them, or getting myself as far away as I could (mostly the latter). Maybe one day I will. We'll see.
I've never been good at trusting. Scratch that, it's easily one of the biggest lies I've told in quite a while. I used to be really good at it. At meeting someone and opening up instantly. Pathetic as it sounds, I think I liked to think of myself as a flower--suddenly blooming once someone took the time to talk to me. That's a valid analogy to describe it, although the parallel to a flower couldn't be more inaccurate.
The things you find out about me when I open up are never pretty. They're broken and twisted and crooked. I'll talk about old relationships and rules I broke way back then like they're nothing. That's not what you seen when you really get past the walls. I don't think anybody has made their way in recently. Not far enough to see the scars anyway.
I may have alluded to things unintentionally in my conversations with people--the issues I believe in most firmly are, predictably enough, the ones that are closest to me. But the things you don't see until I really open up are the scars. Especially the ones that aren't physical, the ones that I can trace the effects of on my soul.
Let me give you an analogy. Has this ever happened to you? You have a sore spot, maybe it's a bruise or a cut, or just something that hurts for some reason, or...even a better example, a sore, knotted muscle in your back. And when you press down on it, or touch it in some weird way you wouldn't normally, you feel a shiver or a tingle or a pain going a great distance through your body, sometimes so far as to affect an entirely unrelated place. It's an awfully weird feeling.
Even weirder, when it's not a physical thing. But that's how all of my scars play out. You say one thing and it reminds me of something I said three years ago, which bounces back and pulls at something in me in a way that makes me unable to place the hurt. Especially because I know it's no longer relevant...but it still hurts.
Sometimes I wish I was brave enough to strike up a conversation with some of the people I've left behind. Just to see how (or if) they've changed. Just to find out if I was right or wrong for avoiding them or ignoring them, or getting myself as far away as I could (mostly the latter). Maybe one day I will. We'll see.
Monday, December 19, 2011
When you die when you live like we do
I wanted to start a post with something along the lines of "Getting up in the morning is the most difficult part. Not waking up, that's easy, but actually pushing past the apathy to physically move." In case you didn't notice, I didn't. But it's been on my mind all day...after I got myself out of bed that is. Which was, just so you know, at 9:18 am. So not too shabby.
Transitions like these are strange. They feel almost tarnished in some strange way, because it's all temporary. And sometimes I wonder if we wouldn't be much better off without all of these odd changes in our lives. But then I realize that I'm sitting on a couch, more or less late at night, not stressed about the following day, as I write this. So I come to the conclusion that breaks are necessary. Even if they take a little bit of getting used to.
The things you carry with you from your past propel you into the future. They don't have to, necessarily. There's no inherent quality that makes them so. You're always free to leave behind that portion of your identity and move forward without it. But as anyone who's ever tried it knows, that's a very difficult thing to do. And to a point the difficulty depends on the sort of change you're making. On the whole though, leaving pieces of yourself behind is a very difficult process.
I've had a lot of trouble lately moving on and being happy in my current life, even though I have every reason to be. Old thoughts and feelings haunt me, especially as my location reminds me of them. I like to pretend I've changed a lot, but I'm terribly afraid that I haven't, that a moment more here will trigger things that I thought I was past.
That's the thing about scars. They take a while to fade. And some never really go away because they're too deep. That's just the way things go. Maybe it's not possible to escape certain things once you've been there. Maybe they follow you, even after you tried to leave them behind. That's quite possibly what I'm most afraid of now--the consequences that my past actions may have in my future, particularly the ones that are beyond my control.
I've always been a fan of free will, of the power to control your own destiny. I like to think that there is nothing that can't be fixed or helped or cured. And I'll readily admit that's not the case with medical situations--be they a tumor or a chemical imbalance leading to depression (which, unlike most forms of depression, is a legitimate medical condition). But what I mean regarding free will is something like apathy or laziness or depression which are not caused by a legitimate chemical/hormonal/physical issue.
I know entirely too many people who have been prescribed medications who really need either
a) a swift kick in the ass, or
b) someone supportive enough to motivate them through it.
But then, why is it so hard for me to get past any of the things that have happened in the past three years? There's no denying I'm motivated and disciplined and, at least by some measures, otherwise successful. So why do I find myself still sucked into this apathy on mornings like this? Why is it so difficult to push past the way things were and enjoy them as they are now?
How can I say all of these things about a swift kick in the ass when there are days when I can't motivate myself? I certainly hope I'm right, and that all I need is a bit of motivation. But as of right now, I'm still struggling to find it.
Transitions like these are strange. They feel almost tarnished in some strange way, because it's all temporary. And sometimes I wonder if we wouldn't be much better off without all of these odd changes in our lives. But then I realize that I'm sitting on a couch, more or less late at night, not stressed about the following day, as I write this. So I come to the conclusion that breaks are necessary. Even if they take a little bit of getting used to.
The things you carry with you from your past propel you into the future. They don't have to, necessarily. There's no inherent quality that makes them so. You're always free to leave behind that portion of your identity and move forward without it. But as anyone who's ever tried it knows, that's a very difficult thing to do. And to a point the difficulty depends on the sort of change you're making. On the whole though, leaving pieces of yourself behind is a very difficult process.
I've had a lot of trouble lately moving on and being happy in my current life, even though I have every reason to be. Old thoughts and feelings haunt me, especially as my location reminds me of them. I like to pretend I've changed a lot, but I'm terribly afraid that I haven't, that a moment more here will trigger things that I thought I was past.
That's the thing about scars. They take a while to fade. And some never really go away because they're too deep. That's just the way things go. Maybe it's not possible to escape certain things once you've been there. Maybe they follow you, even after you tried to leave them behind. That's quite possibly what I'm most afraid of now--the consequences that my past actions may have in my future, particularly the ones that are beyond my control.
I've always been a fan of free will, of the power to control your own destiny. I like to think that there is nothing that can't be fixed or helped or cured. And I'll readily admit that's not the case with medical situations--be they a tumor or a chemical imbalance leading to depression (which, unlike most forms of depression, is a legitimate medical condition). But what I mean regarding free will is something like apathy or laziness or depression which are not caused by a legitimate chemical/hormonal/physical issue.
I know entirely too many people who have been prescribed medications who really need either
a) a swift kick in the ass, or
b) someone supportive enough to motivate them through it.
But then, why is it so hard for me to get past any of the things that have happened in the past three years? There's no denying I'm motivated and disciplined and, at least by some measures, otherwise successful. So why do I find myself still sucked into this apathy on mornings like this? Why is it so difficult to push past the way things were and enjoy them as they are now?
How can I say all of these things about a swift kick in the ass when there are days when I can't motivate myself? I certainly hope I'm right, and that all I need is a bit of motivation. But as of right now, I'm still struggling to find it.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
You tell me this will be the last night, feeling like this.
I want to write every day for the next three weeks. I have the time to, I know that, and I feel like I could use the release after the amount of pressure I've been under. So why is it so hard for me to pull words out now that I've sat down with a blank page before me and no one to talk to?
It used to be so easy for me to channel emotions. Especially sad ones. But now I'm sitting here with a dawning sense of loneliness and I don't know how to put it into words, which is probably more scary than the loneliness itself. I've always been able to put something onto the page. Very little of it was truly good, but I was good at using writing as therapy. That's why that creative writing class was so good for me earlier this year--I had to write.
And most of the things I wrote were morbid or terrifying or heartbreaking, in my mind at least, although I know my execution was awfully flawed. But that's what I needed to write, and taking a class about writing made me put it down on paper. So now, when I'm busy and preoccupied and writing just isn't that high on my list of priorities anymore...I don't do it nearly as often. And I'm afraid that I'm slipping away. That I can't write anymore.
I'm falling away from the middle ground I seem to have found over the summer into two opposite directions. On the one side is the success, and on the other is failure. The first is occupational, the second is emotional. The strange thoughts are back. I say that as though they are a malignant tumor which prevents me from functioning, but no, they're really not. They're nothing exceptional.
It's just that I can't talk about these things and I have a hard time writing about them, and I don't express them anymore, which means they have no outlet, so they brood. And I'm bad with brooding thoughts. If two years ago didn't give that one away, I don't know what possibly could.
So here I am, at this odd hour, trying to make sense of the life that makes none. I almost wish someone would comment on a post so that I know that anybody reads this, but I doubt anybody would if I asked. So I'm not going to ask. I never wrote this for others to begin with, although I do censor it solidly enough. The thoughts are all for me. No sentence is crafted to please anyone's fancy but simply to throw my emotions out of my mind.
I heard about the concept of a meditation stone at one point many years back. You pick a smooth stone and you hold it in your hands and pass it back and forth and will all of your worries and anxieties into the stone, so that they can't disrupt you anymore. I considered trying it, but stones don't do it for me. Writing did for a while. Then other things replaced it. I came back to writing shortly after that. But now, I don't have a metaphorical stone.
I'm sitting here lost in a world of my own creation, making everything so melodramatic and emotional it almost sickens even me. I'm not even going to pretend to understand.
It used to be so easy for me to channel emotions. Especially sad ones. But now I'm sitting here with a dawning sense of loneliness and I don't know how to put it into words, which is probably more scary than the loneliness itself. I've always been able to put something onto the page. Very little of it was truly good, but I was good at using writing as therapy. That's why that creative writing class was so good for me earlier this year--I had to write.
And most of the things I wrote were morbid or terrifying or heartbreaking, in my mind at least, although I know my execution was awfully flawed. But that's what I needed to write, and taking a class about writing made me put it down on paper. So now, when I'm busy and preoccupied and writing just isn't that high on my list of priorities anymore...I don't do it nearly as often. And I'm afraid that I'm slipping away. That I can't write anymore.
I'm falling away from the middle ground I seem to have found over the summer into two opposite directions. On the one side is the success, and on the other is failure. The first is occupational, the second is emotional. The strange thoughts are back. I say that as though they are a malignant tumor which prevents me from functioning, but no, they're really not. They're nothing exceptional.
It's just that I can't talk about these things and I have a hard time writing about them, and I don't express them anymore, which means they have no outlet, so they brood. And I'm bad with brooding thoughts. If two years ago didn't give that one away, I don't know what possibly could.
So here I am, at this odd hour, trying to make sense of the life that makes none. I almost wish someone would comment on a post so that I know that anybody reads this, but I doubt anybody would if I asked. So I'm not going to ask. I never wrote this for others to begin with, although I do censor it solidly enough. The thoughts are all for me. No sentence is crafted to please anyone's fancy but simply to throw my emotions out of my mind.
I heard about the concept of a meditation stone at one point many years back. You pick a smooth stone and you hold it in your hands and pass it back and forth and will all of your worries and anxieties into the stone, so that they can't disrupt you anymore. I considered trying it, but stones don't do it for me. Writing did for a while. Then other things replaced it. I came back to writing shortly after that. But now, I don't have a metaphorical stone.
I'm sitting here lost in a world of my own creation, making everything so melodramatic and emotional it almost sickens even me. I'm not even going to pretend to understand.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Everything You Do, You Pay For
It's that incomprehensible sadness. And maybe that's just because I'm typing on this laptop I haven't typed on in almost four months. But it feels strange. The keys are different. Nothing has really changed, but everything feels so strange and different. Reading people's writing that I haven't touched in a while. Even going back through my own dark stashes. It's strange. And I miss it.
I'm sorry that it's all I can say. But I miss it. So I know, I should just shut up, and leave it here, and give up, and let it go. But I can't. I should just leave this here. Just stop writing. And maybe then it would be a touching and emotional post about some deep and bitter sadness that I'm pretending to understand. But let's cut the crap. I don't understand it. And I'm being pathetic. And writing about nothing.
Nobody reads this anymore. And those who do have nothing to say. I think that says something about the quality of the writing on here. I've watched the trendline that indicates my readership plunging over the past six months. And while I can pretend that I don't care, I actually do. Because this blog meant something to me. It actually meant a lot. Even though it doesn't mean as much anymore, it still makes me sad that nobody has anything to say because that means that I'm out of interesting things and it means that nobody cares.
I know it's not true. That doesn't change the feeling. This is a bad post. It's full of half-formed thoughts and poorly expressed emotions. Worse than that, it's filled with more of that angst. I guess I find it back eventually, no matter where I go. I wish I wrote the way I did then, I wish I knew how to feel that deeply. But wishing isn't going to do anything. So I just want to go home now. I miss it. That's all. No fanfare. Just me.
I'm sorry that it's all I can say. But I miss it. So I know, I should just shut up, and leave it here, and give up, and let it go. But I can't. I should just leave this here. Just stop writing. And maybe then it would be a touching and emotional post about some deep and bitter sadness that I'm pretending to understand. But let's cut the crap. I don't understand it. And I'm being pathetic. And writing about nothing.
Nobody reads this anymore. And those who do have nothing to say. I think that says something about the quality of the writing on here. I've watched the trendline that indicates my readership plunging over the past six months. And while I can pretend that I don't care, I actually do. Because this blog meant something to me. It actually meant a lot. Even though it doesn't mean as much anymore, it still makes me sad that nobody has anything to say because that means that I'm out of interesting things and it means that nobody cares.
I know it's not true. That doesn't change the feeling. This is a bad post. It's full of half-formed thoughts and poorly expressed emotions. Worse than that, it's filled with more of that angst. I guess I find it back eventually, no matter where I go. I wish I wrote the way I did then, I wish I knew how to feel that deeply. But wishing isn't going to do anything. So I just want to go home now. I miss it. That's all. No fanfare. Just me.
Monday, December 5, 2011
I Fell in Love with Your Sin
We were so young then, so naive. We thought we had everything figured out. We believed in truth and beauty (and I don't mean the quarks). I don't know why that photo triggered this feeling, but now I can't make it go away. We never really talked, but when that photo was taken, there were some similarities between us and where we were in our lives. And it was such a strange place to be, looking back on it.
Some explanation, some emotion, it's trying to dig its way out of me, and I don't know how to put it into words because I'm so wasted from a lack of sleep and general fatigue and a bad day thus far. I don't at all miss the way things were then, but I miss how I felt. Everything made so much more sense, even though we didn't realize anything.
And the strangest thing--we thought we knew what love was then. I still don't know it now. Looking back, how could we have been so happy? How didn't they drive us to the points we both hit later anyway? I wish I'd gotten to know this person better, if only because we were so similar until we became so absolutely and completely different. And even then, I think there are more similarities than most would guess.
---
Nobody ever says things outright anymore. Not on those topics, anyway. Everything is that, with a particular emphasis. It's like saying the words would start something again, even though we all realize that it wouldn't. It's never brought up anymore. Sometimes it's alluded to. It's like the giant gorilla in the room. Everyone knows it's there, but no one brings it up.
I miss when we would talk about things brazenly and rashly. When the words carried their meaning and didn't just imply an unmentionable doom. Because you know what? I miss it. There are days when I miss that feeling like no other, and I know that right now, it's lost to me. It's not something I can unlock again. And part of me really, really wants a reason to do it anyway.
I miss when we never lied to others, but only ever to ourselves. The tears gave the words away. The actions spoke of things it would have taken novels to express in words. Everything was so perfectly obvious then, and we always knew. And now look at us. Each word, every action, all of it is about avoiding getting hurt. We're terrified of pushing the limits because we feel like we're finally comfortable with where we are.
Except I'm not.
I miss the lines. The edges. The suspense and exhilaration that you can find only when you know exactly what's going to happen next but can never admit to yourself. When everything was so fragile and unguarded that no amount of caution could stop it from being damaged, so no caution was exercised.
Something will happen eventually to knock me away from this mood. I don't know what and I don't know when, but it'll have its time. In the meantime though, I'll be just fine, pretending I'm not. If only because I like it better that way. Brownie points if you caught the lyrics in this post.
Some explanation, some emotion, it's trying to dig its way out of me, and I don't know how to put it into words because I'm so wasted from a lack of sleep and general fatigue and a bad day thus far. I don't at all miss the way things were then, but I miss how I felt. Everything made so much more sense, even though we didn't realize anything.
And the strangest thing--we thought we knew what love was then. I still don't know it now. Looking back, how could we have been so happy? How didn't they drive us to the points we both hit later anyway? I wish I'd gotten to know this person better, if only because we were so similar until we became so absolutely and completely different. And even then, I think there are more similarities than most would guess.
---
Nobody ever says things outright anymore. Not on those topics, anyway. Everything is that, with a particular emphasis. It's like saying the words would start something again, even though we all realize that it wouldn't. It's never brought up anymore. Sometimes it's alluded to. It's like the giant gorilla in the room. Everyone knows it's there, but no one brings it up.
I miss when we would talk about things brazenly and rashly. When the words carried their meaning and didn't just imply an unmentionable doom. Because you know what? I miss it. There are days when I miss that feeling like no other, and I know that right now, it's lost to me. It's not something I can unlock again. And part of me really, really wants a reason to do it anyway.
I miss when we never lied to others, but only ever to ourselves. The tears gave the words away. The actions spoke of things it would have taken novels to express in words. Everything was so perfectly obvious then, and we always knew. And now look at us. Each word, every action, all of it is about avoiding getting hurt. We're terrified of pushing the limits because we feel like we're finally comfortable with where we are.
Except I'm not.
I miss the lines. The edges. The suspense and exhilaration that you can find only when you know exactly what's going to happen next but can never admit to yourself. When everything was so fragile and unguarded that no amount of caution could stop it from being damaged, so no caution was exercised.
Something will happen eventually to knock me away from this mood. I don't know what and I don't know when, but it'll have its time. In the meantime though, I'll be just fine, pretending I'm not. If only because I like it better that way. Brownie points if you caught the lyrics in this post.
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