And so I continue to procrastinate
It’s tragic when you know that what you have has an inclination of failing and crumbling into ashes, but you choose to sit still and not work on it because you don’t feel like dealing with it, just yet.
Ever have one of those moments where your self-confidence completely deflates? I have a couple of those recently and it’s really starting to wear on me.
How do I even begin to encompass everything that has happened, that has brought me to this perfectly placed place in my mind, in my heart, in my life? I do not believe there are any words for this. Nothing quite captures these feelings, nothing describes the beauty, no word is eloquent enough, and no word is good enough for this. This. I don’t want to get ahead of myself but I must admit that I am in a whirlwind of pure bliss. I replay lips brushing my shoulder before they ever even brushed my lips a thousand times and my stomach hasn’t quit turning over from it. Light resonates from every memory I have with you. I go back to fingers against my feet; I remember hugs and waiting for my bus ride, you asking me not to go. I remember when you told me those words and I felt everything change. You don’t even know it yet. But I do, God, I do.
I’d dig a tunnel to the center of the Universe
Too many layers.
Too thick of a shell.
Too much weight: physically, emotionally.
Everything must go
Live morbidly and die vitally.
Can happiness be a conscious choice? Can you say, I will not be miserable and stick to this resolution as if this were as easy as what to have for breakfast, or when to take a shower, or to wear pink on Friday and pull your hair up in a pony tail?
Can joy be imposed on one self as a mandatory sentence because you are trying your best to be “positive”? How many times I hear not to wallow, but to rejoice, to find celebratory things in the mid of darkest nights, to see the diamond buried deep in rotten soil? Smile, they say. You are being too negative, they frown upon my mood. Life is not that bad. It is what you make of. Smile, they all encourage.
Wearing smiles make us happy, I think. Carrying a tune and whistling to ourselves lift our spirits up. Never look deeper. Don’t dwell on the facts of life. We will be ecstatic ever after.
Someday… but for now I will sit still.
I think I will let things sit for now. This feeling will eventually go away and I can start to feel myself again. It might take weeks, months, years, but I have to believe things will be okay. If I don’t… I just have to. People say, “you deserve better,” but this was better. They don’t see that. But maybe I’m not seeing something, at least not just yet. My vision is blurred with hopeful thoughts, memories and nostalgia. My heart is a closed fist, stubborn and unwilling to let go. There are so many signs and behaviors telling me, “no, you need to leave, NOW.” Yet I stand with my foot in the door knowing that once I walk out there will be no turning back. I am not ready for that and it is not in my nature to return to something broken.
Just half a year ago, I wanted nothing to do with these kind of things. Today, I let these very things drain me. “It will be worth it” versus “you’re wasting your time,” and I don’t even want to think about it or the future anymore. Or the present. Or the past. As long as there isn’t anyone else who is able to sway me, I will let things sit. And I will live my life each day for myself. And I will strive for my own personal endeavors. And in time, everything will unfold and no matter what happens, it will indeed be worth it.
I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have- Life itself.
Not so strong without these open arms
Eyes closed in an empty house, pulling thoughts from the back of my mind. This is when I am most vulnerable; because I can convince myself of things I don’t really want or need or tell myself that “it is okay,” that “everything is okay” when they really are not. There are many other things needed to be done or attended to, but I am sitting here thinking, and all these silly stupid emotions creep out of me.
While I am thinking these thoughts, I am smug about having to organize them, select the right phrases and structure and rhythm so I can place them on here — like those magnetic letters on the refrigerator — to create something pretty to look at, something people can relate to. And I am wondering why it even matters. Sometimes I just want to be disorganized, but subconsciously I really do care about what others think of me.
Sometimes I just can’t validate my feelings or myself. Sometimes I feel I have no existence, although when I walk and spot my feet marching left and right, it becomes something of small proof that I am in fact animate. Sometimes I feel that what truly lives is what lies deep inside of the confinements of my outer flesh, and it doesn’t always declare itself for it is held captive and restrained by my doubt. Sometimes, even with great effort, the things I disseminate just aren’t conveyed in the ways I wish they would. Sometimes, I am so desirous to live, and fail to do so. Currently, I am living, for it is only these stark four walls, the silence and myself. When no one is at close, the true colors fly from outside of the curtains of the window completely detached and uncontrolled.
The notion of fleeing arrives quietly. The heart, my heart, flutters in a burst of panic at the idea of leaving its once comfortable nest, then steadies. It steadies itself, perched so elegantly among ivory branches. It’s not the first time, it tells itself, and it’s not the last…
Now or then, here or there, we take things for granted. Like drinking a sip of water or breathing through the nostrils. I rely too much on memory, and the always reliable autonomic system. One slice of the outer layer and we are helpless and exposed. Pain lurks just beneath that thin epidermis; nerve endings hanging below the surface, waiting to shock us with the power of agony. Poke me now after the strip of skin is gone, and I will wail like a newborn. With the first breath we take, we all must have felt it right there, in the labor room. Without warning, this sudden coldness sucks us out into this too bright too harsh too empty world. Away from the warmth; away from the snug tight fitted place that feels like home and empowerment.
The minute we step out to this world, we feel expelled, abandoned regardless of the willing hands that hold us. Our first instinct is to cry for the lost love, before learning to love again. Tomorrow, I’ll make a point to look in the mirror and remember how I am; what I am capable of, pain or not, embrace the ability to drink a sip of water, or feel the ice turn into a drop of water with the slightest touch.
Rejoice. Appreciate. Accept. Enjoy.
Birthdays are just that. Nothing more or less.
I find it hard to put myself in this position, where I am giving too much so soon, not knowing whether you will end up on that list of past love. I dislike my thoughts, and these feelings. The fact that I am so unsure of myself, the fact that I cannot handle anything that may seem too good to be true, the fact that I am playing with fire. I’ve placed my heart in your beautiful soft hands, not knowing what the outcome may be, whether it be good or bad. I am scared, but equally as naive, for I strongly believe that this could be real, whether my incredulously immense self doubt tells me otherwise.
I don’t know. I really don’t. hush hush, train of thoughts. oh please, hush.
Letting go has been hard. Because I thought that giving all my moments away to the hands of the past would leave me vulnerable. I thought it would leave my own hands empty.
There is nothing worth keeping me around, for. I promise you, I will not get better. I am horrible, and that is how I will stay. You’ll need more than a break to save yourself. Go; save yourself.
There is change in the air, flowing through my bones.
Yes, there is change.
It floats on the breeze that sways the trees and shines with the rays of the sun. I am not entirely certain of what this change is to bring, or how it will manifest within me, but I do know of it’s arrival. Ecstatic from this realization, I find myself dancing in the most inappropriate places at the oddest times. Alas, I do not care, and I will not stop. Arms spread and mind and heart open, I exist ready and waiting.
But, maybe there is more to do. I shall try with all of my best intentions.
I know I fell; became a hopeless mess of anxiety and loathing. I cannot apologize, for I have no decent reason, save stupidity. However, I am altered and I do intend to become a better person. I will do it in honor of the hope and love you once held for me; in honor of who I once was.
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