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It's been forever since I've written anything. The time between months. Considered within the frame of a human life, mathmatically, months are entirely inconsequential. However, in a human life, months are vast and endless, each day gaining a variety of experience and actual living time. Thus, even though I have forgotten a lot of the mundane moments of the past months, I have become someone evolved. But that's a daily process, obviously.
Can I say I'm happy now? Maybe. Content, yes. School is over for the year. Yay, I'm a senior, isn't that glorious? No, not really. I just want it to be done with. Things like that are so insignificant. A distraction, really. Something to keep your mind occupied and away from life. How I detest sitting in those little sandstone, concrete block rooms, staring at white faced, black-numbered clocks. It's dreadful really. But, as I stated earlier, that is over for at least another month. More importantly, I have not lost, but involunatarily, yet somehow, voluntarily, given up all that I had. I am words now. Words, and sarcasm, and bohemian shoes. I don't know what's inside, though. I can't find my thoughts, hidden away in their melancholy little cave. I think on an outer layer. Not autopilot. No. A perception layer. The first layer of thought, of realization. My analysis of that, my actual thoughts, seem to be out of range. Radar missed. Skipped. Nowhere, yes, somewhere, but I can't see. Perception is everything. But I can smile. Yes, I can. But is this just a shell I've found? No, I have substance, the question is: is it the substance of who I am? Is it the substance I want? Where did my magic go? My silence? My wisdom? I can't touch base there. I miss it, yes, but I like what I have now. I do find myself regretful in lonely moments of night. Or adumberated gray dawn mornings. I think of everywhere I've been. Of who I have been. Of people I have been with. It's a time of remorse, and yet, a time of gratefulness. This is me now. Every moment of my life has lead me to...this. I picture former friends, people whom I used to cling to for support, people who loved me. Most of them are gone. My words do not reach them anymore. Even when I speak, they are deaf to me. Blind to where I am. It's okay. They all will pass away with time. This is my Renaissance. The very beginning of my rebirth. Copernicus in hiding still. I have yet to publish my discoveries. But it is coming, it is near. In a year or so, it will be ripe and dripping. I am ready. I am.
Amore, Amore, Amore.
I cannot hate. Forgive me.
It's been a while. The headache and nauseousness has subsided. I feel...physically normal. Except that my bones always hurt from my lack of nutrition. Every time I move, I can feel my joints grinding together, I can feel my bones creaking...how brittle they are. My muscles feel like their sinews are unwinding...my whole body is falling apart from the inside.
"I'm not here with the mirror and a scale for the good of my health." -Frank McCourt
That's true, so true.
I'm fasting, "for lent". Actually, I just want to be able to see my ribs and hipbones again. Call me sick, sadistic, what you will. I love how it feels to be hungry. This is why my arthritis is worse. I can't eat...
I can only fall apart
But I'm happy. I am.
I still have everything I need. Everything my life revolves around. My art (all of it's different forms), and my horse.
But where am I in all of this?
Crazy? Insane? Lost inside of my own head?
Just another cliche memoir, I suppose.
I think I'm borderline. On the edge of it all. I snap, I revert to sanity, repeat. All in a matter of seconds, over and over again.
I want more sunshine euphoria. Ahh...red eyes and sleep.
Why can't it just end...I don't understand. Why?!
My head hurts so badly...I want to vomit myself to pieces. I want to be clean on the inside. I want to break away the hurt. Tear it from my body. Bleed.
There is no hope in this cycle.
"I???ve got a beautiful gun
Lying next to my bed
How I hate your pain
I hate your pain
Let it take me away
I hated the feel
Pressure
Cold and metal
This is not hope
But an ending
An ending
The grand finale
Always turns out this way
A crash, beauty, a scream
And a whisper
To fade away
Fade away"
It hurts...so bad. Anything, anything to make it go away.
"We carry pain inside of us instead of love. We do this because we can take comfort in knowing that, at the very least, we are feeling something.
And this pain is real, it is.
Just the more I think about it, the more concerned I become.
What happens when the pain just isn't enough?"
-Ambient Strippers, Broken Ice, by Christian A. Dumais
...you add loneliness to it. That should fill you up enough to keep your mind occupied. And, when it really comes down to it, you can find some valium, and then you'll be completely full, because your mind won't be so in tact.
"We have no future
heaven wasn't made for me
we burn ourselves to hell
as fast as it can be
and I wish that I could be a king
then I'd know that I am not alone
Maggots put on shirts
Sell each others shit
sometimes I feel so worthless
sometimes I feel discarded
I wish that I was good enough
then I'd know that I am not alone"
-Marilyn Manson, In the Shadow of the Valley of Death, from Holywood
It's not that I miss having someone, it's that I miss having a distraction. Now the weight of the world and her pains has room to settle in my mind. All the cycles of endings and nothings and no beginnings. All the tears and broken hearts, the tragic stories of beauty. It revolves around me. Some find beauty, though. Some find love. Some find joy. I just pray to all dieties that they don't discover what endings are. This life is worth it if at least someone can find what they are searching for. I feel lonely in a thousand different ways. There is nothing to fix. It's all tragically beautiful, with broken wings that have been ripped away to prove to us that we could never fly to begin with. If only we can accept that, we could at least learn to walk.
Our own pain blinds us so god damned much, that when we slowly kill away those around us who love us, we don't even realize it.
I slept in a bed last night that I certainly should have not slept in alone. I woke up this morning, alone. I left tonight, alone. There aren't enough drugs in this world to fix everything that hurts. What have I done? I look in the mirror and I wish I was beautiful, and I know I never will be. I wish that one day someone will love me like I love them...but I know that never will be. This is a crazy fucking life. God...I'll never forget the feeling of sleeping alone and being left without even a bye. And I can't fix anything. Too many god damned broken hearts for me to even begin to bandage. I'm helpless, defeated, and hurt. How am I supposed to fix anyone? I wish I could help you....
I cry for broken nights alone.
It amazes me how god damned easy it is to be plastic. I find myself doing this, actually, I do it more than anyone else I know. I know why I never talk, and when I do I come off as humorously cynical: because it's easier to play pretend. Sure, I can run around French class all day making jokes about how Napoleon was like a pirate, and scream couche avec toute te monde, it's really quite easy to be so jovial, and I find the more depressed I become, the easier it is. But I'm going to share something with you, I will never show when I am truly happy. When that rare occurence comes....between the years it may happen....I've learned that the best way to deal is to simply remain silent, and act as bitter as ever, that way no one will "jump the gun" to hurt you. It's so easy to hide things in this world. No one knows that I have 76 scars on one arm, because they fade, and because I have jackets that cover the majority of my body. It's not hard. There was a breaking point, and it's gone now. Long gone. But I can never forget it....it's one of those things, one of those beautiful tragic moments that no one knows about, that you don't even admit to yourself until you're lying on the floor wondering if you really are about to die this time, it's just something that stays with you. That keeps you broken glass. It makes life grey, and every touch the touch that could shatter you. I only have one person who is close enough to me for me to tell the things that make me who I am, that have shaped me into what I am, I once had two, but people have a wonderful way of boring into your soul, finding your deepest hole, and shooting you. Sometimes, I wish I was dumb enough to have a god to pray to.
But there is something about life that still makes it wonderful, beautiful. I don't want to hide my pain, I want to turn into beauty. Like the moon. Or snow. It's all so aesthetic, life that is. Every person has a beautiful face, I've realized. I'm not sure if I'm just trying too hard to see how pain etches our features into melancholy beauty, or what, but somehow I've found that we're all so god damned beautiful. And the funny thing is, is that it seems that we all share the same fears...the same inward sadness and depression...and we're all so alone, somehow. I think this is why I paint, draw, play music..it's my way of releasing this pain, and human condition. It's my way of making things beautiful. And they are...they truly are. Behind all of our tears and scars, behind our plastic smiles, behind everything that keeps us from being happy from the inside out, we're still human beings. We say our hearts are made of stone...we paint ourselves grey...we hide our emotions, we tuck them safely away where no one can reach them...but they don't go away. We just choose to let them hide inside our blankets of hurt, where we think they might be safe. It's all sad really....this world of pain and drudgery that we've built around ourselves. I find happiness....but inside that happiness I see pain. I see hurt. I see broken hearts. And the worst thing is...is that there is nothing I can do to stop it. There are no bandaids for this. There is nothing I can do....
But I still love this life.
I'm now home, feeling a bit of a NoFX deprivation, randomly. I had strange dark dreams of twisted streets and street lights...in this city that I've been in for weeks in my dreams. I can't seem to find my way out. The buildings are like old bars, with smoke-stained green paint peeling off their outsides. I never go in them, but I always find my way to the subway. Everyone I know is everywhere, but I don't know them. And everything spins and revolves around nothing, like there should be a gravitational center, but there isn't. And it's dark, but the dark with street lights and smoke. I'm not sure where that whole thing is going, but I wish these dreams would find a point in themselves. I wake up with headaches. And! the funniest thing happened. I signed on AOL, and the big news on the welcome screen was as follows: Bush nominated for peace prize. WHAT THE HELL? IN GOD'S DESECRATED NAME! BUSH FOR A PEACE PRIZE?!?! I have this feeling that world domniation isn't that far down on his list now. Anyway, on with this day. It's only 2:26. I've already been hit by the human condition, too. Blast. I thought I could evade it until at least 6:00. Oh well. I feel disheartened, but I'm not sure why. Almost like crying. >.<
Isn't it amazing how, no matter the color of your computer screen, it always emanates a blue light? Like a blue aura that is not at all calming like blue should be, but electric, and buzzing, like a television someone has left on throughout the night, you know it's on but you don't want to leave your bed to turn it off, so you end up not sleeping. I just find that interesting. I turned out the light in this room earlier, it was just me and the computer. I almost heard someone whisper "you're beautiful" in my ear, but it was just a memory. I hate the feeling of being alone. It's like being blind. Only the blind like when you could see before. Or when you have the lawn gnome you stole last night snatched from your own deck. It's a feeling beyond disheartening, beyond dissappointment. I had to turn the light back on. One of those silly fears that the ghosts will come out to get you. I had a dream, recently, a month ago, I fell asleep, my room was dark, my computer was emanating that blue buzzing light, I laid down on my futon, and immediatly was off in some dream world. Except nothing changed. My room was still dark, my computer was on, I was facing the same way. And there was this voice.....I don't remember what it said...but it was the most terrifying voice I've ever heard in my life. And it was right in front of my face. And I woke up. I'm still not entirely sure that it was a dream. I remember how alone I felt that night, when I woke up. Like no one was there to save me from the voice that would inevitably come back to haunt my dreams. I just lay helplessly, defeated, alone on my futon in the dark, until I managed to flee from my room and find salvation in ginger ale and my mother's clock that chimes away the hours and even has a pendulam. I wish that someone else was awake right now, so that they would turn on lights, make noise, do family activities, like watch television and eat. Even though I wouldn't join them, their life and noise would distract me from my loneliness right now. It's so cold. Why does it always manage to be cold when you're lonely? Where is the greater good in that? Thursday night I went to Asheville Pizza and Brewery, where I drowned in loneliness. I watched drunks play Mario Cart and pretend over pizza. I watched bands play, and band girlfriends cry. All I did was sit. Until I realized I was going to be home late, and my mother was going to scream at me. For some reason, I have this fear of being screamed at. Beat me, shoot at me, throw me into walls, none of those things are quite as bad as being screamed at. I'm not sure why. A friend of a friend's came, offered me something beautiful so I wouldn't be afraid of the screaming. I still have it. She told me it was like a sunshine euphoria, and it would make everything okay. I was shaking uncontrollably at the time, and couldn't help but say yes. Though I still have them. I'm afraid of them as much as I am of screaming. And I'm still shaking. I think my nerves are shot. I hate this time. There's something awry about it. Like when you pass the exit that you meant to get on, and then realize there are no turn arounds for miles, so you just keep going, thinking about that exit, and how you missed it, and how bad it sucks. That's what this time is like. But somehow, I have managed to find something genuinely beautiful in it. Something that makes me happy, even now. Even when I have sunshine euphoria in my purse and I shake uncontrollably, I have something that, even in the dark grey areas of my subconcious, makes me happy.
We drove over a mountain last night, my boyfriend and I. I love how streets look at night. I can never quite take a picture of them the right way. How the pavement is the same, essentially, but not. How the sky is the same shade of dark, but not. I love the feel of vehicles as you sit in them, and they purr and hum their way around curves, jolt their way up hills. It's all very simplisticly beautiful. Even better is being with someone like him. It's all very intriguing, really. I feel like life is a story, like everything is engrained and handwritten in pen in my head. Somtimes, as I read my journals, those memories come flashing up. Pages that I have forgotten. It's like discovering it all over again, and the beauty refreshes you gently, not as sudden as the first time. I don't feel so lonely anymore. Today's story has lightened everything, and my eyes feel heavy like I could sleep. The sound of whispering has faded away. I do feel a bit beautiful tonight, I think, if not where you can see, than at least in my mind. There is something of a placid peace, and I know that the story goes on. That this world, as disastrous as it is, bears something for tomorrow, whether it be death or love. Ironic that it seems that is what it all boils down to. Sometimes, on some random, desultory nights, I cry for the world and its state of pain. There is no help, no savior, and we all know that. But why must we drown ourselves in loneliness and fear? I'm not sure if we're perpetually more afraid of death or love. It's not the fear of things, but the knowledge that they are ending. I think that's a thoughtful story for a different day, though, my muse is going to bed right now.
"I cry for the lovers who learned about endings"
I feel like such a drab person....I never talk. I'm not sure why. Well, actually, I do talk to my close friends, people I know very well, but if you put me near anyway I don't know so well, for some reason I cannot think of anything to say. Ever. Ahh! I must be overly boring to be around. I mean, I'm the cliche non-rebel. I play classical instruments, I read, I paint, I belong in a coffee shop wearing a beret somewhere, but the only thing is, is that I wouldn't be reading poetry, I'd be sitting at a lonely table, not speaking. I truly wonder how I'm likeable at all, in any manner or fashion.
And, I also have this impending fear that I'm going to live a lonely life. That I'm going to be fourty and live in an apartment with six cats named Mike, Mollie, Max, Melinda, Mammie, and Mo, and I'll work three jobs just so I don't ever have to go home and realize how lonely I am. I think it's connected to the fact that I'm a boring person and no one is ever going to want to stay with me for any amount of time. I've also come to a few more conclusions, but they're too depressing to write about right now.
On a happier note, I've decided to love everyone (in their respective different ways, of course) because love does not exist in this world, simply because people put it away and only want to pretend they love, just so it doesn't hurt so bad. I must admit, I fall into that category too, I don't want to be capable of loving, because I know...I KNOW that one day it will end, as it ALWAYS does, and I never know when it will finally end up driving me crazy, but I know that this is inevitable. Unless, by a miracle I'm able to find someone that doesn't have dissolving love. Or even someone who loves at all. I'm actually quite hopeful that one of those things will happen. Then maybe I wouldn't appear to be so chronically depressed. You know, I'm really a very optimistic person, it's just that I must write about the things that worry me and hurt me. I'm not quite sure why, but if I keep them in, I end up being a bit....insane.
I just don't want to fall into the human condition and find myself living a lonely, loveless, fearful life. That's all. I know why I'm doing this...why I'm worrying. It is my fear. My fear of all the pain that things can cause. As I read earlier "it's not our fear of love, it's our awareness of love's limitations". There's always a paranoia that it could be over at any second in time, and there isn't one thing you could do to stop it. Not one thing. All that is left to do is know that you will break apart and cry, and there is still nothing you can do about it. I wish I could throw myself passionately into my emotions, like I used to be able to. However, it only takes a couple of tears to end that carefree throwing of oneself into all emotion. It only takes a couple of heartbreaks to make one afraid of life, and even more afraid to care. After one big moment of shattering, love is all but lost. That's why it doesn't exist anymore. The funny thing, however, is that it does.
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