1 in the morning

A little sympathy

Wouldn't do you no harm.

Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about

You've been here before

You've felt this way

Yet you just walked in with that smug smile on your face

Like the world was your oyster

When I know there are nights

Where you feel like the world

Definitely is not your oyster

It isn't even your clamshell

And drowning in the despair of distances

Marked by men that fed you to the fire

Of their burning passionate hearts

Doesn't seem to ring a bell anymore.

What a pity.

Because walking in

Seeing me

Curled in a ball

Precisely where you had been

Is not an association you long to devise

But a terror that you brush past

According to your own wishes.

I don't want to be babied.

But just a simple acknowledgement of my sorrow

Of my pain

Of my recluse

That you have indeed known

Would have been nice.

Instead of the demeanor on your face

Showing that you plainly think yourself higher than the others

T'would have been nice to see a small smile

Showing you care.

But I guess I was wrong about you

For maybe you fooled me all along

And maybe I was the one who always gave in to the sympathy. 

19

18 was the worst year of my life. 19 is proving to be just as bad. The one thing that I've learned from living is that the older you are, the harder life gets. I have not figured out the balance between doing too much and doing too little. I am constantly overwhelming myself to no avail, leading to more nights when I snap, where I'm found sobbing in my bed or on the floor in contrast to the rational thoughts in my mind saying that there's no reason for me to feel like this; I could be utilizing my day much more than I am now. So I keep trying to train myself to do more, to work at my maximum potential all the time. I see it not working, and I try to take breaks to destress but apparently that does not work. Life keeps building its own walls around me, and as much as I try to break through them, the building materials keep getting stronger, from wood to concrete, from concrete to steel. I don't know how to ---------do anything, it seems. Maybe if I let them keep building around me they will finally completely enclose me. Sealing me from the harsh realities of the outside world. My roommate wrote a blog post a couple of days ago about how she was thankful for the worst times in her life because they teach her to appreciate the best ones. I am no where near as strong minded or mentally aware as she is. I am NOT thankful for these rough seas that sink every ship I try to build…and not even a ship, I piece together the most flimsy board or the strongest cruise ship, all of them sink. And the older I get, the more ships I build. And the more ships I build, the more they sink. I am not hopeless in this life. But nights like these show me what it's like to feel hopeless..like the whole world is working against you and then you remember something you've forgotten and are afraid to show that you've failed in some way. Everybody fails, that facet of life remains true, but what we don't realize is that we have to accept our failures and I am not ready to do that. I don't want to show others what I've done wrong, because it is never graceful, it is never honest, it never puts me in a better light. Every mistake I've made weighs on me like the pounds put on Jean Valjean's back. But I don't feel like I'm ever released from my time. People always tell you that things get better, but right now, from how old I am, 19 years and 2 days old, things have not gotten better. I can't imagine they will at this moment. I try to believe they will, I attempt to do things like they will…but I guess I have to just wait and see what the future holds. Maybe in the next 19 years of my life I'll have a different perspective. But I just feel like if I keep going at this pace for the next 19 years in my life I'll be dead before the clock reaches the end. 

still..here.

Those nights where you have music ADD and can't focus on one thought without jumping to another within less than thirty seconds.  Those nights where it becomes even harder to write with music on because those fleeting, less than thirty second long thoughts are louder than the music and you have to concentrate on them for them to go away. Those nights where you know it's been too long since you wrote last, but you didn't know what to do about it. Because life was passing by too quickly to take note of what was passing. Because the mystified eyes in this heart did not know which direction to look for the longest time. And still don't. because no matter how hard you try, you never get to write before 12am in the morning, and you know these coherent thoughts aren't that coherent in the first place, they just make you feel better by writing them down. Those nights where you realize that you…yourself…are still here. You have not changed one iota since being in this new city, new living space, new life. You feel like a whole different person because you're now accustomed to this hard busy life and you appreciate it more, but it's deceiving. You think you're smarter for having witnessed these past two months. Even though they've been the longest and best or worst months of your life, they did not change you. Those nights where you realize that because you aren't changed yet, you are still in the same metaphoric place of the mind that you've been for the past 12 months..with thoughts that need to be written down and recorded and seen by someone other than yourself. Anonymously, if possible, but probably not. Only because notoriety is more important these days than anonymity. Those nights where you realize that  I'm still here and not really going anywhere any time soon. 

time just dissipates

Is it wrong to be afraid to love somebody because they see the world differently than you? Because in their head things are a set, certain way, and it's not the same as in yours. And because it's not the same as yours, what you find completely natural they may find completely outlandish. And it will change your perception of them. And maybe then, in 10 years of loving this person, you're afraid that it will all be different, and you will have lost something and wasted something and that thing is time, my friend, and there's no way to get it back. What I fear is that in my crazy mixed up head, letting myself love someone completely normal could be a crime against humanity. Well, really a crime against myself. If someone doesn't get it, doesn't get the world in the way which you do, then sometimes you won't ever agree. And circles upon circles of debates and arguments and hair pulling out ensues, and it comes in waves of euphoria and misery yet it's all you know now because this is how you've lived for the past ten years. And when the time comes when you finally realize that it's horribly gone awry and things have to end, the time just dissipates. What started out as a short term thing took up ten years of your life. And even though I'm not speaking from experience, I know sympathy. I know what it's like to give years of your life to something, and to look back and see that it was all for naught. So trust me, when I say I know how it feels to be afraid to love some thing or body or space. You never know if the mind of that thing or body or space is different than yours and how it will react to your mannerisms and mantras and fetishes of putting on a sock and then a shoe, and then the other sock, and the other shoe, and then walking out the door with a rain hat just in case because you never know. Because you do never know. Know what's on the other side of the door before you walk in. Then maybe, just maybe, those ten years will be the best ten years of your life.

*disclaimer: I do not, by any means, claim that loving someone completely opposite than you is not a tangible thing. It is. Trust me. I'm clearly writing this for dramatic effect, for the people who it hasn't worked out for. It may seem like I'm telling them the world is over, but that's far from the truth. The moral of my story is to be sure of what you're doing so that you aren't unexpectedly hurt in the end. Gosh, that still sounds morbid. I guess the cynic in my brain won't shut up. I guess that's what you get for one in the morning on a school night. Rest easy now, and know that the world isn't as bad of a place as I make it seem. 

breaking down.

All of the things I love in my life are breaking down. My relationships with my parents, my friends' lives, my bank account, my goals and aspirations, my sanity. All of these are disintegrating as if alka seltzer was dropped in water; not alka seltzer in soda, mind you, but water, where I'm forced to watch it fizzle and bubble but not burst. It will slowly dissolve from one that was once whole into a million tiny atoms catalyzed by the addition of another atom, yet it does this slowly. Slowly enough to remind you of every single moment that you spent with that whole solid pure substance that is now going away, and all that's left will be single atomic fragments what was once tangible. Breaking down never sounds like a fun time. I always thought that cars broke down, not people. Well, as I'm getting older, I'm learning that people break down too. So much. So much that just a single word of a thought is enough to create the grandest illusion of a fear to consume a thought process, an idea, a brain, a life. Why must a human brain that is so vastly advanced concentrate on a thing that has no real bearing or basis in real life. The breaking down of the human conscious weighs on my mind constantly. And with no way to escape it. No path, no code, no control to stop the dissolution of reality. Everything I once knew seems to be that way no longer. I'm afraid that this is what growing up feels like. That growing up is breaking down, and not in the good way of breaking down walls that hold you back, instead it's the breaking down of previously known facts that cannot be any more due to age or money or status or what others think. It plagues me to think of it this way but the thoughts won't ever stop. The repeated words like obsessions keep drowning my subconscious, creating a vortex of words that may be lies, or they may be truth. I can't figure out which. And to me, it seems that I may never figure out, unless I'm going through life like every other single person on the planet, ignorant of society's misfits and conundrums. Where are we going? Where are we coming from? These existential questions that keep me up at night aren't necessary to ask if we want to live aside from the truth of the world. Finding out why is the problem, and is causing the breaking down. I can't explain the lack of control found in the degeneration of my mind. I only know that it's happening, and I just hope I'm smart enough to watch it while it fades like alka seltzer in water. 

less is more

"you are much more than this"
*disclaimer**** i am not depressed. this isn't one of those types of things. so don't think that**

a close friend told me they didn't like the person i am anymore. that the person i was two years ago was much more than i am now and i should be that person again. well people change, bud. maybe i chose to be less because i couldn't stand everyone expecting more from me. if you are more, then expectations are just one more thing to add to the list that is written on your arms. the list that bleeds through your skin into your blood and sinks itself through your organs to your feet only to become a part of you. the list of things you're supposed to be that consumes you and makes you forget who you really are. so maybe yes, maybe i am less than i was before. 
but sometimes you have to become less to figure out how much more you can be. 

i don't know who the real me is. or even if there are such things as real "me's" or "you's" or anyone out there. it doesn't mean i'm going to stay a static person my whole life if i find something comfortable to live in. stagnant is not synonymous with more. more means changing. and maybe changing makes one less, but i believe that the change will ultimately bring about good. more. more good in people. isn't that what the world needs now? so, to make things full circle, it's okay to be less. less means more time for peace, more time for discovering, creating, finding. and less means making mistakes. even though they may drive a loved one so crazy that he goes into a shock coma and won't wake up until the mistakes are fixed. so be it. at least you know who you are and that's not going to stop anything. 
the end.


i didn't mean for this to be a self empowering post. i meant it to be a rant about someone telling me i was bad. but perhaps this self empowering post is just what i needed to get out of my system and into someone else's. 

words. words.

the reason i haven't been writing anything lately is because it's not easy anymore. the words don't come to me as smoothly anymore and the thoughts they produce are hardly coherent. writing is my form of catharsis. and since i haven't been able to, maybe that's why i've been such an emotional wreck. the anxiety that builds and builds when you can't let it out is not something i would wish on my favorite enemy. never ever. so i keep hoping that it will just go away, but it won't. but that's my own fault. and i would share with you a solution to it if i had one but i don't. so i mean i keep trying to live life they way normal people do but it still finds me awake at 2 am unable to fall asleep from worrying. worry is worse than words can heal sometimes. 

but even so. it's important to keep the shape of your thoughts unlike others. i'm not too sure why not at the moment. one day i'll know. 

but right now life is too scary for me to even think straight.