I would like to apologize for my recent neglect. I know, it’s hardly a new thing for me to randomly retreat and vanish for days or weeks on end — it’s become a habit of mine, and I don’t just mean with blogging. In this case, though, the cause was an external one, and I can therefore apologize without being a total hypocrite. I will not promise the sudden and inexplicable turning over of a new leaf, lest my previous point be proven moot; but I do hope to catch up with you all.
Anniversary the Third
Apparently, today (technically yesterday now — sorry) was my blog’s third anniversary. I had meant to begin blogging on my birthday (later in the month), a sort of coming of age present to myself; but, metaphorically speaking, the temperature of my feet began to drop, and I decided it’d be best to just jump in before I completely lost my nerve. I’m very glad I did so.
Though I haven’t exactly been on top of things lately, I appreciate this community a great deal, and everyone who’s decided to join me here, recently and in the past. I wish I could return half so much of your cleverness, kindness, and attention. But I’m afraid I must again caution that my attentions have external reasons to be diverted, and I may (assuming that’s even possible) be even more scarce than I’ve been. Sorry in advance!
Apathy is a Survival Trait
I say that I am tired,
But I’m meaning something else;
I’m meaning that I’m tired
Of this life, of this house.
I’m tired of the moment
That I am living in;
I’m tired of the words
That never come when I beckon.
I’m tired of the people
Trying to tell me what I am,
When I already know,
And I’m just trying not to give a damn.
Apologies; this one’s darker than perhaps it ought be. I’ve been having issues with a member of my family lately; he doesn’t seem to realize that no one is more critical of me than me, and it feels like he’s made it his mission to remind me constantly that I’m useless, that I’m “mean,” that I don’t care enough, etc. To be fair, I’m not the only one he does this to, and I have some understanding of the reasons behind it. But I am also really, really sick of it. Because I actually care what he thinks. And nothing I ever do is good enough, so… What’s the point?
Of course, I’ve never really talked to him about it. The last time I tried expressing my frustrations to him, I called him an attention whore. That was months ago. He still brings it up. That’s a common problem with me. With most of my family, actually. It’s either 0 or 100. Nothing in between. So when someone asks me what’s wrong, I just tell them I’m tired.
It’s not entirely untrue.
Letter Without Address
Eliza wrote about how she has a dream of having a collection of letters from a bunch of different people, sort of open letters to anyone who might be struggling with suicidal thoughts. Letters without address, meant for anyone who needs them. I don’t know if this qualifies — I’m definitely no Eliza — but…
To whoever you are, whatever you’ve done:
I dance with fire. I dance, and everyone around me burns trying to drag me away from the flame. No matter how cold they get, or how many buckets of water they try to bring, often it just makes the flame seem warmer, that much more enticing. The more they try, the more of a failure I realize that I am. And I can’t escape the fact that if I just stepped into the fire, then they wouldn’t be rushing to and fro, worrying. I can’t help but wonder if all I am is a burden… Or maybe even a monster. I don’t know about you, but as for me, I’ve gotten very good at using people. I’m not good at much else; but you don’t have to be if you know the right things to say.
It scares me sometimes. And at every encouragement, every eager entreaty, every assurance that yes, I am worth it — at every one, I wonder. Do they know? Can they? If they can’t see the monster inside, the pathetic little beast that I am, how can they pass any kind of fair judgement? And often, I’ll smile at the well wishes, shake my head, and then stash them away in that deep, deep place in my heart where bright things still dare to live, but so rarely dare to come out. I think a part of me is hoping that if I save up enough of those, I’ll be able to afford a highway between that bright place, and the world outside.
Maybe whoever’s reading this can beat me to it. Whatever kindness I have, is yours. Death is always there. Life? Not so much. Give Life a chance to prove you wrong. Give others a chance to make their own choices — yes, even about you and your worth. If they hate you, let them hate you. If they love you, let them love you. And if you’re completely alone, then forget about yourself for a moment; Be for someone else what you always wished someone could be for you.
And maybe, embrace a platitude or two.
I swear I’m trying not to cry,
But it comes every time I think of you;
I keep asking myself why:
It turns out I’m a traitor, but a loyal one too.
I wonder if you think of me,
Or if you’ve traded your stray for a much better breed;
One that stays where you can see
And isn’t prone to making of a friendship lost, a need.
I don’t know if you feel like I do;
If you’re just waiting for an overture to come.
But I’ve given what little I know how to,
And still it seems our friendship’s done.
I believe in happy endings;
But I think this story might not end that way.
Sometimes there’s an inevitable end to things
That’s neither good nor bad, but just a sad cessation of yesterday.
Sorry again for my scarcity; I fear that may very well continue. I’m eager not to slip as deep into my wallowing as before, but when I try sitting down to write with positivity in mind, I immediately go blank. The closest I can often get to positivity, it seems, is a lack of negativity. Which frequently translates to silence.
In this case, I still may not have made it into the Sunshine & Rainbows department, but honest sadness is different from giving in to frustration, and this was very much on my mind.
Sorry yet again for posts unread, and comments neglected; my mind has been elsewhere. Don’t let that make you think I do not notice, or do not care; I notice your kindness, and care for your thoughts. My own thoughts, however, are not always suited to the challenge of being revealed, and thus I leave things for another day…
I’ve let days go by in silence,
Because I can’t find the words.
I’ve been called out as self-destructive;
I’ve been told, to seek my worth.
But I just can’t believe
That there’s anything to find.
There’s nothing here for me to learn;
My world’s on repeat like my mind.
I slip back into bitterness;
I don’t know what else to wear.
I’m not one for garishness;
Not the girl with ribbons in my hair.
There were days where I could’ve been,
But those days are slowly giving way
As I fight a battle I can’t hope to win:
For which is dark and which is light when every side is gray?
I’ve let days go by in silence,
Because I can’t find the words.
You told me to be positive:
I’m trying, but it hurts.
I find it so hard to believe
There’s any bright side to my mind;
Somewhere there’s a darkened seed
That’s made its home inside.
I could slip back into bitterness,
And just complain that it’s not fair;
Or I could accept my bit of foolishness,
And maybe with a bit of care
It could become the learning that it should’ve been
Until there even comes a day
I don’t equate my life with dark and sin,
And find that there’s much better things to say.
The first poem here is one I wrote a couple of days ago, grappling with some things that came up in a conversation with my sister; Namely, she observed that I’ve grown increasingly self-destructive and self-depreciating. At one point she asked a question on what I thought the meaning of life was. After a little hemming and hawing, my answer was “learning something.” She suggested that I try and find something positive to learn every day. You know, something other than “I discovered I’m an idiot, and that life sucks” — she specifically forbade that. I’ve been having quite a bit of trouble there. Positivity, apparently, has long since ceased coming when called, and her darker brother comes in her stead. Though, this second poem I wrote tonight, and it came a little bit closer to the words I was seeking.
The #1 Most Inconvenient Thing In the World
Shall I call down Death from on his throne,
An abdication to declare?
For his lordship over worst of woes
Has a challenger!
Often it’s been whispered
That there’s a thing that’s worse than Death;
And it’s this very thing that’s snickered
As I’ve cursed under my breath!
It’s a nuisance I can scarce compare…
(Do tell if you’ve a metaphor to lend!)
And I call myself a poetry connoisseur —
But no, meter is not my friend!
Sorry for being absent these last few days. Had some things on my mind… Still do. But let’s see if we can work poetry into it, eh? Just don’t expect perfect meter. I’ve never been able to fully wrap my mind around that…
Another Lost Soul
I don’t want to be the angry one;
I don’t want to be another lost soul:
But it’s burned there all along,
Been there like a siren song,
And I don’t know how to vanquish
What I barely can control.
I’ve been really behind on comments and posts the last few days (Week? Two?). I’ll probably remain behind for a little while more. Sorry (again). I mentioned at some point previously that I’d probably be a little distant… Still, you all deserve a lot more attention than you’re getting right now. Well, whether I’m on or not, I haven’t forgotten about you; and hopefully, I’ll be able to find a proper balance of things.
Be still my mind, soon you will find
Yourself alone again.
Be still my heart, abandon your art
Of feeling you’re home again.
You think you’re free: take it from me,
Nobody ever is.
Today is the sun, tomorrow there’s none:
That’s how it always is.
Be still my doubt, just let me out;
Why are we staying here?
Be still my tears, quiet your fears;
No use in waiting here.
If I see the sun, then to it I’ll run:
A child of light again.
I’ll not sit and stay, the same dead-end way:
I’ll be alive again.
I haven’t been particularly active on here these last few days (sorry!). My energy has been directed towards other things… good things, I think. Brighter things. Things like waking up in the morning: drinking coffee; going outside; waving at strangers; listening to lighter songs than what’s become my usual…
I’m pretty sure this is temporary — but I kind of hope it’s not. I like this feeling. I like dancingly getting chores done, and getting to see the sun on the other side of the house, when the day is bright and new. But with my mind in that mode — let’s call it “carpe diem mode” — I find it hard to focus on writing. So, apologies if I’m scarce, and know I haven’t forgotten about all of you; I’m just remembering a me I had forgotten about.
Not Me: Thinking Out Loud
I’m so sorry… Of all the things I could have been, I became this. I could’ve been like my brother and reached out and made a life for myself where I could.
But instead I’m here. Still just sitting here. Waiting for something to befall me, be it destiny or accident.
Probably accident. Screech, crash, bang, and then I’m gone, in all likelihood. It would be just like me to not be paying any attention and accidentally step in front of a car. It wouldn’t be on purpose, of course. But it wouldn’t be exactly unwelcome.
I sometimes like to pretend that I can see the future. The prediction is always the same: I’m going to die alone. It’s not even a future anymore, it’s a fact. I’m going to die alone. So what’s it matter if it’s distant or soon?
I’ve lived nineteen years, going on twenty. So young, and often much younger than I should be. And yet those years, these days, they crawl by like an eternity, and they’ve never changed in form, not really. The world is still a distant thing, and I am still… what I am: The person who walks on the path before me. And it’s still a circular one.
My brother sees this. He sees us all going in circles, ducking our heads, diving into whatever we can to hide. He wants it to change. He wants it to change — but he doesn’t want to change it. None of us do. It would be like organizing a junkyard… while being attacked by a pack of wild dogs. Nobody wants to take that on. Especially when the thing we’re taking on, is the nothingness of never taking anything on. Someone has to start. But each of us vows, it won’t be us.