All we ever do is talk from our own experiences. Every friggin line, every thought, every image. Its all just a spiraling mixed up galaxy of past and future past.... all of it endless stories we play over and over again, eating it like machines swallowing melting plastic.

Right, right?

I don't think I have been in my right mind for such a long time now. I don't know that I've ever been in my right mind. Of course, its all subjective anyway....right.!?...

 Pfft. How many people have driven themselves to madness in an attempt to avoid madness?

Probably....there's no escaping it.

Its just a matter of deciding what kind of crazy you want to be...

I just wish it were possible for everyone to accept all the different kinds of crazy without judgment. Myself included.

Hoooooo.......here goes...........

I wish it were easier for me to get over everything that happened 4 years ago. My doctor looked at me like I was crazy when I brought it all up so dismissively. She was shocked I had never been on medication for any of it.

"Yeah, I was raped by an old friend, and the next day, the man I was seeing raped me again. Oh, and before that, this other guy my mom introduced me to basically molested me and then manipulated me into having sex with him. Yeah, this all happened in about 5 months span of time."

Couldn't see it for what it was at the time, because no one told me and I don't listen to my own opinion. I suppose I dismissed it all so easily because everyone else did. That year was never about what happened to me. It was only about how I treated them after the fact. Fucked. Up. Completely mentally broken and unable to talk about it, so in shock, so outside of myself I had no control. And forced to talk about these things that I hadn't been able to process because no one knew how or thought to try to help me.

But I'm still responsible for my actions and how dare I hurt anyone after being torn apart mentally on three different occasions! Driving down the freeway, feeling the car start to move towards the ocean, no tears, no sense of needing to keep living, but I held myself back because others would be upset. Because that's what I do when I need help, I ignore it and look towards others, worry about them, feel guilty about not meeting all of their needs. How easy it is to ignore when everyone else wants it to be about themselves, anyway...

How close was I to becoming someone so different? Promiscuous and detached from my core so completely there would be no chance of coming back?  Unable to stop myself from doing things that I regret immensely. And who gave a fuck at that time? I was so alone. So, so alone with it. Perhaps by my own doing, but perhaps not. Not completely.

The only person who understood was the man I married, because he was fucked up too. We could be crazy together, and we were, and it was painful and horrible looking from the outside at first. But somehow, by some miracle, God came to rescue us, in such a dire moment. Together we have gained some semblance of peace, of healing and stability. And still these feelings surge up in me, thinking about that year, and how everything in my life changed. How there is a hole in my heart from loss and some insane kind of guilt, filling up with scar tissue, on top of a constant, needling anxiety that tries to pull me away from reality at all times. But whatever. I'm supposed to be fine now. I'm supposed to be normal. How can I be when I'm just allowing myself to feel things now?

This whole year has been like a slow trickle, is there any chance I can release the floodgates and get this over with a little faster?

When will this crazy ride end? Is there any going back from here?

I get so tired of feeling this pain. Tired of the pain, sure, but tired moreso that I need to keep talking about it. Because that means burdening others. How dare I ever do that? And does that extra guilt somehow negate the original pain? or does it just add to it, actually making talking about the pain more painful than holding it in?

Its just a matter of deciding what kind of crazy you want to be...

white bean white people (j'because)

I'm fairly certain I've come to a sort of final, blatant and horrible realization about myself (since this is always all about me, of course). I am an insane, over-sensitive narcissist under the guise of an innocent cute kind-hearted people person. And I've always been that way. Even talking about it now makes my crazy-dragon lift its head up and sniff the air, searching for some new trivial little self-inflicted conundrum to feast on with frenzied, slobbery zeal.

conditioned stimulus

So if all behavior is reinforced via consequences in the environment around the organism, how much of our personalities are based off the consequences in the environment around ourselves as we grow up?

As an ENFP, HSP, yadda yadda, how many of my ENFP - personality traits stem from repetitive incidents of reinforcement given most frequently when I displayed those traits? How much of it is "superstitious" reinforcement of behavior? How much is something beyond behavioral definition?

Ooh hoo hoo, what a strange sensation...to feel your brain making new neural connections!!! Like little highways of energy flowing through my brain, surges shooting up and back across my giri...mysterious bodies undulating beneath a silken surface...

Is the picture of innocence necessarily the most innocent within? Do I immediately get associated with stupidity? With lack of experience? I can't tell. I'm still unsure how others actually see me. Do I attempt to compensate for my looks by saying smart sounding words? Am I too focused on my looks? Not because I think I'm beautiful, or even that I want to think I'm beautiful... but because I want to know who I am. Every part of me, including the physical side? Do I want that? Should I want that? What is right? All I want to know is what is the truth. Truth. What is? Something must be objective, yes, or why would we even have that concept??? If nothing were objective.... I don't know. Where does that leave me? In a world full of shadows you can't see, upside down, no gravity, no air but no need to breathe,  no thoughts, no feelings, no material, ugh, ugh, ugh, my brain is screaming at me. Too much to even think about!! Terrifying....

Somato psico pneumático

Transmarginal Inhibition (aka know your own limits)

What is worse, to know I'm stupid for crying,  or for still crying, even though I know its stupid?

An extroverted HSP.
30% of all HSPs are extroverted.
20% of the world population is HSP.

That leaves six percent.

Lovely. I take no comfort in being unique. It is horrible. It is the last thing I have ever actually wanted. I am so tired of it. So, so tired of it. Why must I feel everything so deeply? Why must I sit here and feel everything going on around me all at once, even without consciously thinking about it? Why must I brood upon future possibilities that I or others may or may not ever encounter? How come I feel so compelled to psychoanalyze the subtlest movements of an eyelash against someone's cheek? It doesn't matter. It doesn't help me function in the present moment, and it never will. All it is is a huge encumbrance. Its so hard to just stay focused on one thing at a time...it feels Crazy, so Crazy, so Crazy... I just wish there was someone who could understand. Someone who could hold my emotions for me, comfort me and tell me it will be ok, they know what its like, they know what to do... But where are they? They must be there somewhere, I just can't find them...I can't rely on anyone else with this...

Every tiny action I attempt feels weak, chaotic, and uncertain. I have no idea what I've been doing, what to do, or what I'm doing presently. Frazzled doesn't do it justice. Depressed doesn't do it justice. Dazed, disorganized, and feeble fail to do it justice.

At least writing this out seems to help process a little bit...someday the tears will stop again, I will recover myself a little bit, and plow forward again. Or end up in an institution. Only time will tell. Oh, how simple these words are! Simple and straightforward, just as I wish to be, and yet, I can't be. No matter how hard I try. The immensity of life overwhelms me so...it always has, I have just found ways to dissociate from it from time to time...focusing on others instead, focusing on nothing at all...

adulthood?

Drab, gray streets filled with dreary gray people walking in lines. Thoughts sit melting in the background of their minds, their eyes consumed only with what they see around them.

How do people live like this? LIVE, I mean? What a typical day for someone staring over the edge of childhood.

I sit on some cold, cheerless steps, squeezing my legs tight to my chest, the brilliant blue of my coat fading around the edges where it touches the colorless pavement.

Maybe this is what it takes... takes to what?

Live, I mean LIVE, in a different way...

If only I could see it that way...

What is depression?

Depression is not simply "deep sadness." Depression is like having your heart cut out. Once its gone you lose your feelings about everything.

It is like staring at a kitchen cupboard for 10 minutes, with no motivation to look away or to even make a decision. Everything is meaningless.

Where your life is just one big, dark hole.

Of course, somehow, almost mechanically, I still take care of others needs. Even if I can hardly feel anything at all, those motions are so familiar to me...

Depression is like feeling your soul taking up less and less space inside your body. Some kind of huge, immovable force crushes it, causing the soul to shriek in pain, feeling death.


---

We are all insane. The most insane thing about us all is that we believe what we think is right.

What is being alive?

When we get high, we die a little. When we truly pray, we die. When we die, the only thing we lose is our "selves." We die to our "self" - ego - self separation. It does make sense. God makes perfect sense. It all makes perfect sense. He died to him Self too?

Self is the part of God that didn't work. Self is being cleansed from the system......

Action expresses priorities.

First day at a new school, and it's finals week. Why would they have me start in the middle of finals week?

I wander away from the two people trying to comfort me and show me around, walk into an unused section of the student center. There is a big water exhibit interspersed around and between the greek columns within. Swampy with reeds sticking up here and there, the water is divided by narrow stone walkways crisscrossing back and forth across the square pond. I walk to the back desk, but no one is there. I whimsically decide to walk across the pond, clumsily steering myself along one of the stone paths. Up ahead, a crocodile rears his head up from beneath the murky water. I turn around and head back towards the side I entered from, trying not to lose my footing on the slippery stones beneath my feet. There is a moment where I feel myself falling, but somehow I make it. I fling myself away from the pond just in time for the crocodile to spring up, mouth gaping, at the edge of the pond. My feet are just far enough away to escape his jaws as they snap shut, water splashing over the edge and soaking my legs.

nnnnnnnnnn

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN~~~

just listen

1. You're not so smart.
2. You're not so deep.
3. You don't know more than anyone else.
4. In fact, you probably know even less simply because of your scatter-brained tendency to jump from one subject to another before fully immersing yourself in just one.
5. You try to feel better about yourself by repeating the little odds and ends you do remember from different topics. This is almost as bad as pretending to be someone you aren't, with less usefulness. 
6. You're definitely not very hard working, which is probably part of why you don't know very much and have to pretend that you do.
7. You have no real passion or drive in this life.
8. You are simply a people pleaser, keeping others around you in a false state of security and comfort so that they don't uncover the truth about how directionless and useless you really are.
9. You will always need someone to protect you and take care of you like a little child unless you can stop being all of these things.
10. Stop clinging to the well-worn perception that you are special, important, wise, or loving. Because you have no idea who or what you are really like.  And maybe you don't want to know.

Get off your high horse, admit you are completely flawed.

Now what? Now what? 

waxaciously eloquentinerant fiddle faddle fa ra

How important is it to suffer?

(every morning when we rise)

Radiant Diamonds :)

What is it? What do You want me to do?

Should I go with what has been given to me today? Should I stand up and say no?

Should I follow what the leaders tell me?

How easily I lose myself in others; nothing new in this sentence....

I hate all this dissonance. How in the WORLD do people have any sense of drive? The only thing I want isn't something I can obtain by my own doing, so how do I determine what to do with the rest of my time?

I must find a way to focus myself on what I want, even though I can't actively achieve it on my own. Agh! What!?!  So do I just try to think about it a lot?

holy crap, yes.

We broke the bond, shattering ourselves into a million pieces. And only rebuilding the bond can put us back together again....

What do you want?

Something real.

But what's real?

Exactly.

How am I feeling right now?

Alone.

Misunderstood.

Unheard.

Negated.

Distraught.

Unaffirmed.

Neglected.

Abused.

Used.

Empty.

Afraid.

Forlorn.

Meaningless.

Typical feelings right. Just a normal process. Just a phase, a stage of development listed right here in all my favorite texts. Not important, hardly even relevant. Lets psychoanalyze every little thing so that it no longer holds any sense of power or worth because we box all of it up and store it with the rest of our self aggrandizing, fantastical memories of a job complete, a task so supposedly understood and perfected that it is converted simply into another notch on ones belt, the significance of which fades not only with time but with every other notch created.

Lets disempower each other in every way possible.

Lets disempower the very words we use to share with each other by flippantly spewing them out, writing them off, and keeping ourselves at a worthy distance from the true purpose of them.

Am I going crazy? 

I feel so sad to have lost my brother so completely. It's both of us obviously. We have both changed so much. Lord you know I want to believe. Please help me to do so, because today felt like digging myself into a dark grave...or getting thrown into one. 

I should have known better. I should have ...

Dissociation or desensitization?

vapid fragance

Stale air...warm and crunchy, stuck in the tip of my nose like an electric cottonball, crackling and frizzy...

Grimy and warm in my layered poly-fibrous dress. Scraping out the dead skin from under my nails against my calf, with my thumb. Feeling the tips of my nails shriek in pain as the polish coils and constricts...

So much noise, its too loud...off kilter.

What am I supposed to do, how am I supposed to decide? How could anyone ever possibly risk something as huge as a decision? Who am I to make that call?

 Is this fear of responsibility? Or simply acknowledging my own powerlessness? Because in spite of everything, we cannot stop ourselves from dying. We cannot stop ourselves from cutting into the very flesh our souls inhabit. We cannot inhibit the evils flowing out of our hearts. We cannot even do the things we long to do, because we fear what truly lies within us. We fear the power behind the beauty locked within. The good and pure behind the veil of darkness and lunacy.

God is there. God is there. God is there.

The very spark of light we shy away from, that gives us our aliveness, our hearts, toes, eyes, nose, and all the elements flowing through our bodies. The tiny green glimmer as the sun falls beneath the ocean, our spark is dying, but it is glorious and eternal. Something to be cherished and admired forever. God is there, God is there, God is there....

Decisions? Fear? Responsibility?

No.

Come find Him.

I feel as though I am such a useless individual in this society. I can't handle it, I just can't. I cannot adapt, all I can do is try to keep holding myself together as long as I can and hope that one day I stop losing it and crumbling every week or two...

You are wonderful light
My only love
Sleep well,
Good night.

Beautiful Bloody Amber

An exercise in self observation. 

Purple, shiny, headache. 

Round eyes, widen.

Look!

Up, down, slanted. 

Focus fading, ears engaged. 

Scars on cheeks meet air flowing. 

Contacts blurring.  . . 

Stubby fingers scratch, knees rub, press.

Teeth grabbing flesh, tongue searching for blood. 

Pinching and chewing, swishing side to side...

Exit.

Streams....
It is such an unusual experience to be friends with people who are so innately different from oneself. To have them tell you flat out how ridiculous your way of being is, how your very rationale for living and the values you hold most deeply are rather disadvantageous to being alive.  Seriously? To live the way you live sounds so foreign to me, so simplistic but meaningless. I do enjoy simplicity, but it is never in a way that forsakes the more transcendental elements of life. How can someone flourish in such an environment?

More to the point, life without genuine and prolonged reflection involving constantly trying to see all sides of an argument sounds so, so, so unnatural to me. Living a life that is taken at face value, with little moment-to-moment thought spent contemplating the life-changing value of each experience.... I must try not to be too judgmental about it, because obviously there is something that works in that kind of lifestyle.  The problem is, they do not give me the same courtesy and tend to undermine my own methods of experiencing the world through their own thoroughly expressed opinions...perhaps unaware of the impact of their words because of how little other's words impact them....

And then I go about my daily consultant work, learning slowly not to take in the constant contentiousness of clients. That is easy, they are isolated incidents of irascibility from people with no direct link to my personal bubble of relationships. But to have friends be so incapable of the same level of consideration I always strive to provide is something that is a never-ending source of stress for me.  And perhaps it is just me complaining about something I simply need to adjust to... always need to adjust to. To fully be considerate of those people I must learn to see why they do what they do, to be able to understand the perspective that is so strange and unknown to me and that on some level repels me. I do in that way look forward to the challenge of bearing my soul to those who are in no way prepared to handle it, even as it causes me to cringe and cry out with a lonely sort of anguish.

It would be so fascinating to spend a few days living as someone else.  Maybe a few other elses.

Forever's a hand full of tears

Head tilted, eyes straining to see the image reflecting in the mirror, slanted and mostly hidden from view. A mother, long hair bleached by the sun, reddish gold glinting and scraggled. Just a few moments captured forever in my mind as I glance through my car window into the rear view.... 

What is that? Like one of those eerie moments of poignant, lonesome reflection in a movie.

Sitting here feeling so fragile, feeling so much of everything. The sharpened sensations that occur after every heartsickening, overwhelming encounter. How much do I really matter to anyone else? How much does anyone else really matter to me? 

Which is heavier, my head or my heart? 

Oh, dearest Lord, carry us through. 

The man who thought he was a toad

It's an odd little thing to ponder, how prone we are to sell others short while we expect so much of ourselves. How we discontentedly, distractedly rifle through our inner world, aware of our constant psychological shifts and chronic identity crises. But how often do we truly recognize this process in another? Or is it more common of us to see them as innately immovable, unchanging objects, bumping along in the space around us? 

Sure, we may try to consciously give them the benefit of the doubt from time to time, but when we encounter them day to day do we not tend to lean upon our solidified, unchanging mental image of who they are? While we continue to make up our minds endlessly about ourselves, have we taken a shortcut in doing so with others? Seeing them as merely 3D images, approaching them as though they are the same person they were 7 years ago...

Perhaps it's a need for some region of mental stability, but it still seems rather unfair. Just as we know we are not always who we think we are, we must be prepared to see the same in others. 

the grass is green the wind is red

Sty me, Stymie.

Sitting here contemplating, should I go to bed early because I'm so anxious about this work I can't focus? Or should I try to be proactive and rid myself of the anxiety by staying up longer trying to get myself to focus or be less anxious?

What good will any of it do?

What does a any of it matter anyway?

Perhaps that is part of my dilemma. I am constantly fighting my inner voices telling me how meaningless it all is...

Cat stares and fringes on my shoulder blades... Blurry dry eyes covered in plastic, working out the muscles in my eyelids as I force them over my tainted corneas...

Garlic fingers.

It would be so nice to be completely irresponsible and go mad already, instead of just fighting the impulse all the time. But really, aren't we all, collectively, fighting that battle every moment we occupy space in this universe?

Love Lenka Lots

Sweet Dreams

Tobacco + Vanilla Extract + cigarette paper

Totally works!

Just what I need.

Sometimes a cigarette is the perfect way to turn the final page in a long, drawn out story...

Tears, Sighs, and Happinesses

I find myself having these odd moments of clarity and sadness on my daily commute. It is so strange, there I am just driving along, thinking, thinking, thinking, and then all of a sudden I hit on something important, and feel a shift. A release, as though some window long since stuck closed or broken has been fixed and opened. Sobbing for just a moment as the grief billows out of my chest, upward into my mouth and past my lips.

And then it passes. Just another odd moment on the long drive home...

Work

I don't know why I have to keep giving in to the same ol feelings of stress and inadequacy as always... Don't I know what I'm doing? Do i? Doesn't feel like it. Even a year later what have I actually learned? How to do paperwork and use a laminator. That's how it feels anyway ... But whatever. I'm stuck here what am I going to do? Just keep dreading every encounter, envisioning my imminent failure at every turn? At least I'm good at keeping these thoughts to myself. For now anyway. Perhaps I will reach my breaking point again once the clients pile up for real. Is it going to be just like last year? Wtf is wrong with me why can't I just stop feeling so damn traumatized from what happened with the last company? 

Everyone in this field talks about making mistakes or having clients get upset with them like its no big deal. What a catastrophe. How can I ever survive in a position so tenuous and easily projected upon by those I'm required to interact with? How can I withstand the constant pressure I feel from theperceived  expectations of clients looking to me to bring a positive  change to oftentimes hopeless looking situations? How much of that is real and how much is just my imagination? how can i stop caring so much about how others feel or think about me? this is what proves my narcissism... Its that sneaky kind of narcissism that makes me distrust every altruistic act or thought I have.  Just rambling now trying to get the feelings out . ..... Blhgdfv

I know its gonna be, I know its gonna be, I know its gonna be........

Feelin jaded; I guess that would be the term.

Sitting here with my sparkling nails reeking of nitrocellulose... drinking month old refrigerated Forgotten Wine with my needled toes curled underneath me and into the carpet...

Back home from a trip to another home. An old home that no longer feels like it, but still brings a slight sense of longing...

How are you?

That old life flashes before me with warmth, with ease... but I am no longer alive in it. Smelling the dusty, sun-and-exhaust-aged bushels of flowers shaking in the middle of the freeway, seeing a Storke along the way. Four years almost to the month when all of these things went away, and life pushed me forward, my brain emptied and my heart unsure...

 What is life for you now? Oh how I want to know. Longing...worrying, wondering.

And yet, I cannot bring myself to find out more. To dredge up what must only now be settled. I miss something... but not enough to cause any more pain. I lift these tendrils of tragedy and want and fold them delicately into me, like a flower closing it's petals.

And I set them aside...

Sip, pour, lavish

But I couldn't care for the history, when I've got you in front of me.

The loose fabric of your jeans slide and swish, slide and swish. Steps forward, swinging back, and spring ahead. This rhythmic, erratic dance playing out repeatedly. All these moments catch my glance, my imaginative eye plays with the feeling as it rushes through the neurons in my brain like silvery fish swimming through a weedy current... the light flashing off their sparkling diamond scales....What? Huh? Is this what it is like? Huh?

Sometimes, I wonder how often I get caught up in playing the other. Spending time with the chronically disabled is quite dangerous for someone like that. But also quite intriguing. I find I naturally achieve pleasure in experiencing the absurd; unfurling and immersing myself in all the pages of an encyclopedia of the grotesque, the insufferable, the bizarre...it never seems to run out of entries...

Now immersed in the world of a child with autism...that is an exciting new world. What makes a child autistic? What makes a child not autistic? Is it their brain? Is it their persona? Is it something they ate? Endless fascination. And to see them emerge from their own world and become a part of our own space is intriguing as well. How? I participate in the change but I do not know where it originates.

The desire to understand is such a dangerous thing. Too easy, too easy. It is the other side on a coin made of disinterest and apathy. Dull and unremarkable in its own way, an endless, unquenchable meaningless that struggles to deceive itself and spread passionate, empty seeds throughout every generation.


And here I sit, 10 minutes to write out words born from fleeting emotions wrapped around the simple sensations currently occupying my attention...

The world is not beautiful, because we are in it.

Anguish.

Years have passed. I sit once again in the long, wet grass. Finally, the tears etch themselves across my face as I stare woefully in awe at the tiny white buds closed against the rain. Hunched over, the black dome of my umbrella shields me from the rest of the world.

Wracked with guilt and shame...the utter, indefinite anguish.

Life is not what I thought it was. It cannot be that way...can it?

Years have passed and only now can I breathe a bit closer to the extent I used to enjoy without a thought about it. A bit. I breathe.

Why must there be such cruelty in a place made so beautiful? A question a child might ask, but one that dwells so deeply within me I wonder if it might actually be the very core of my soul. Why must such evil, such ugliness, radiate outward and consume all those unlucky enough to be in it's way, spreading like a virus, pitting good against good without their knowledge, without their consent...oh it makes me cry. I cry for this and the fact that I am not allowed to cry about this freely in the world we live in. It is something we must accept...and move on from. As if that excuses it...

Everything I see is beautiful...

But I am not supposed to feel it. Because to admit and accept that cruel things play out amongst the beautiful is to deny the beautiful it's fullness. It bars my ability to really truly see it all, feel it all, smell it and hear it all...all the way to my core. The two states simply cannot coexist.

Always on the edge of something meaningful... I feel this power, this...energy. I don't know what it is and I cannot tell where it is coming from other than I can feel it deep within me. It emanates out with a force too powerful for me to hold. Is it wrong? Is it love? Is it the Spirit? 

Or is it the Truth? 

Sitting in the wet grass, in front of the little white buds, I look up to the trees. Slender black silhouettes -- birds -- sing to me from the very tips of the trees, shaking their feathers and calling, always calling. They don't mind the rain. They don't mind anything. 

Clinging to the fragile branches at the zenith, framed against the cold gray sky, beacons of life still pure amidst the downpour. 

Baking Soda Life.

Peppermint tea.

Differential Reinforcement

Aha! My thoughts exactly... just better articulated....

"In one of my after-service discussions a woman told me that the very idea of a judging God was offensive. I said, "Why aren't you offended by the idea of a forgiving God?" She looked puzzled. I continued, "I respectfully urge you to consider your cultural location when you find the Christian teaching about hell offensive." I went on to point out that secular Westerners get upset by the Christian doctrines of hell, but they find Biblical teaching about turning the other cheek and forgiving enemies appealing. I then asked her to consider how someone from a very different culture sees Christianity. In traditional societies the teaching about 'turning the other cheek' makes absolutely no sense. It offends people's deepest instincts about what is right. For them the doctrine of a God of judgment, however, is no problem at all. That society is repulsed by aspects of Christianity that Western people enjoy, and are attracted to the aspects that secular Westerners can't stand.

Why, I concluded, should Western cultural sensibilities be the final court in which to judge whether Christianity is valid? I asked the woman gently whether she thought her culture superior to non-Western ones. She immediately answered 'no.' 'Well then,' I asked, 'why should your culture's objections to Christianity trump theirs?'

For the sake of argument, let's imagine that Christianity is not the product of any one culture but is actually the transcultural truth of God. If that were the case we would expect that it would contradict and offend every human culture at some point, because human cultures are ever-changing and imperfect. If Christianity were the truth it would have to be offending and correcting your thinking at some place. Maybe this is the place, the Christian doctrine of divine jugdment."

- Timothy Keller, "The Reason for God"

Or maybe that is not the place that offends you. This I think is a large part of why I believe Christianity is the BEST shot of truth. It offends everyone on some level, believer or not. It is so far removed from the normal patterns of human illogic and emotion that there is some innate, irrational quality within ourselves that screams and runs away by the very IDEA of it.

I do not want something that is comfortable to the base, untrustworthy, animal part of myself. I want TRUE GROWTH. In society today we all like the idea of "growing as a person" or "bettering ourselves." How can we truly better ourselves if we cling to the very instincts that preserve us for who we are? Thus, a need to reach for those very things that repulse us the most. Sacrifice of our deep seated self-focused desires is completely necessary for this - in a way thats what Buddhism tries to teach us - the only problem is - it calls for us to sacrifice ourselves without any direction after that. What truth (or "path") lies beyond that sacrifice?  There must be something. Something so foreign to ANYTHING we can even conceive as human beings, so OPPOSING to our natural senses that it is in a sense INVISIBLE to us, mentally and physically.

Hmmmmmm.

God?

Maybe?

It all makes sense. How in the world would someone so INEXPLICABLE and INCONCEIVABLE be able to realistically impose itself onto our consciousness? Well it would not be so easy. Not if you want to respect our own sense of free will. And there is the need for the Bible, in all of its lacking trying to capture the UNCAPTURABLE, it is the thing that causes so many to believe in something that appears so UNLIKELY, so OUTSIDE OF OUR UNDERSTANDING. It causes us to be repulsed  by its very un-humanness...

To be continued...

forsooth! Already forsaken. Fo' real.

Forsooth sounds like someone was trying to say for soot but with a lisp or they got something stuck in their teeth right as they were saying it.............

I think, I just actually had a thought. Unlike the majority of this obsequious, inane babble in here, an actual thought!

There is a reason to be more of a person? Wait, was that the thought? Oh, no, it was a personal realization that I can use my natural obsequosity (new word!) to further develop myself and my own hobbies and things (which I really have neglected rather ferociously the last few years...and well actualy for the majority of my life, as I attended obsequious school...ok ok enough with the word of the day).

Anyway, the general idea was nothing too brilliant. Just remember this, future self: Nobody likes a nobody. Sometimes the best thing you can do to HELP others is to act like you don't want to help them. Act like you want THEM to help you! DUH. You've known this for forever now but you have been so inept at applying it across different environments etc.

So how come thats so hard for you huh? I would think most people have INSANE motivation to freaking do what they mean when they say "I'm just doing me" these days. Thats a thing right? Kanye or something? Who freakin' cares. Obviously you don't.

Anyway, it is absolutely obvious to everybody and their mother that I'm stuck in a rut right now. A depressive rut. And its at least partially my fault. I mean, I could assign blame totally on myself or totally on another, but what good would either of those choices do for me? For anyone else? Why am I even talking about this again? Kind of just rambling now....

I'm so sick of feeling like everything I say think or do has already been pigeonholed by everyone else. Because they all know me for me, thats for sure. Not the me that bends and breaks to their every freakin' whimper for assistance. Yeah, I do that whole selfless act real well, but I'm a grade A asshat underneath. Because I think I deserve ANYTHING at all from anyone.

In fact, now that I think about it, they probably do know who I am. They might as well pigeonhole me, because to take that expression literally, basically everything there is to know about me could be fit into a pigeon hole.  I'm a simple, mouth breathing ignoramus who just happens to contain her fair share of dictionary pages pasted to the inside of her skull.

Dangit, life is complicated. Hell if that isn't an understatement.

I might be a little drunk at the moment. I tend to let myself wax eloquent when inebriated. All the guys avoid the smart sounding drunk chick, I'll tell you what. Good.

The fact that I've been psychoanalyzed since the day I popped out of my own personal psychiatrist probably has something to do with this horrible, gnawing anxiety I get whenever I feel like I'm being thought about. Note that its "thought about"  - because this is essentially synonymous to being judged. The minute anyone is thinking about me, there is no neural connection in my brain that tells me they could just be neutral. Oh no, no no no. They either love me or hate me with a passion, not really any inbetween there. Ugh, I can't stand it. I cannot stand it.

I also cannot stand being around other people and having to expend energy on them anymore. To put on a front. Pretend that I am something, sweet, solid and intelligent. I feel like a twat for using the term but I am coming to believe more and more I might be what they have dubbed an HSP - Highly Sensitive Person.  Just my freakin luck. I've been trying to deny it ever since I heard the term....

Must be nice to be able to walk around oblivious to everything other than whats going on in your own head. For me it is the opposite. I have no idea what I'm thinking about most of the time, its just a constant battle between external stimulation (mostly auditory and visual), murky twirling emotional reactions and some hazy sentences that run through my head like a broken down ticker tape machine, all torn up and twisted, cutting off certain words or phrases here and there... Now where do I go from here!? Its honestly no wonder why my life has always revolved around others. Theyre so much easier to grasp.... Egad, cue stupid existential crisis.... again.... my internal critic is on a nice even keel tonight....

This is a freakin' long post. I guess it was overdue. Haven't had a really long one in a while...

Chip chip cheep cheep!

I've never loved one like you...

The best part about wearing nail polish is picking it off bit by bit with your other fingers.

I sit here swishing the spit around in my mouth, grinding my teeth a bit, just for the feeling. Not from stress.

What is real?

Why does blogger keep italicizing my words??

/i

Home is wherever I'm with you...

We must never ever forget this: we have discovered what life is truly about. What it is about, aside from the endless attempts to seek happiness amidst a world so prone to misery. Aside from the struggle to find freedom, even under false pretenses. Aside from anyone's all consuming pride, all the egos floating out in cyber space, across thousands and thousands of pages, written words with no more substance than the disintegrating ink they were penned with. However lacking we may seem, however dreadful things get, we have attained something, and continue to attain that very thing, every moment we remain together.

I love you. And I always will. What is life without a little darkness here and there? Truly, though I complain so much here, though I might feel drained, deadened, and dried out... so what?

What in this fickle life doesn't come with a price tag? Repercussions are a dime a dozen, times a thousand. Screw it, I've won the real prize. And so have you, my love. More than I have, thats for sure. You are and will be beautiful and dazzling, in the end. And if I can even be just a tiny part of your life, I am blessed.

We are so, so blessed. Praise God!!

What else is there?

Crawl away now, you useless, sniveling thing. Crawl back to your little place, tucked away at the far end of the bed in the room down the hall, empty except for your own sweat and tear scented bundle of covers piled lopsidedly around you as you add moisture to the sheets. 

You are dead to me now, worse than worthless, you are my vexation and my illness. I shudder from your touch. I sigh when you inflict your presence on me, your mouth forming soft syllables in an attempt to assuage my anxious, blackened thoughts. What you say is meaningless at best, and the most grating and crass words ever spoken at worst. Just go. Leave me be, ugh, you pathetic creature why do you push yourself into my sight once again? Don't you know you've ruined me already? Ruined all my peace through your ineptitude and inconsideration? I simply cannot understand how anyone can be so idiotic, so insensitive, so incongruous and ignorant as you are. Why did I marry you? I wish you would just go away. You are not someone I enjoy. You are not someone i even care to understand. I will not be so considerate of someone so utterly incompetent as a human being. 

So why do I say I love you? 

-----

Here I am in my hole again. Nestled up in bed, alone with nothing but the same ol' ache and the tears staining the pillow. No one cares; ugh how pathetic and cliche it all is, how I am. I realize more and more everyday just how ridiculously I've viewed myself in the past. I am nothing special, I am not smart or pretty or skillful. I am not cute or charming, funny or creative. I am just a sad little girl clinging to a dream of realness, of living and being loved by others. 

I have given up my chances of being happy. I gave up my friends and family to venture off into the unknown and have found nothing but darkness. And loneliness, such loneliness. I'm not sure if the loneliness leads to feeling unloved or if feeling unloved leads to the loneliness...but both are absolutely the worst. Plain and simple the worst...to me in my pathetic little world. Why the fuck do I care so much about those two things? Why can't I just flip the bird and move on? Why should I care when my own husband cannot stand being in my presence? Why do I always leave feeling like a scolded animal, beaten down by its master for a crime it is not even aware of committing?

I try not to keep score...and its a good thing for him that i don't...but it sure feels like he does sometimes. And there goes my heart again, beyond the mere act of breaking into pieces. Beyond crushed to dust. Dissolving into next to nothing... 

Ugh, how pathetic I am. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. I wish I really could dissolve right now. No...no... I couldn't do that...I guess...guess I'm done...

alone alone alone...

That poor drop of water falling from the heavens. A singular bit of rain meant to meet his friends on the hard earth after a long fall, instead, after an eon of exhilaration and expectation, he is alone.

Alone and shattered, nothing more than a silhouette etched across dusty black cement.

Nobody cares. Nobody notices anyway. Isn't the fact that nobody notices a sign of how very irrelevant it is if anyone were to notice? The english language is far more clever than we tend to acknowledge.

So many days I feel like the lonesome remains of a drop of water. There is hardly anything left of me to be seen, but while I was alive, I felt the most amazing feelings.  Thought the most exceptional thoughts. Saw the most wonderful scenes...

Now that I've hit the hard, black wall so completely, I can't remember any of it. Feeling is gone, thought is meaningless, and there is nothing that can bring me back to where I was so happy.

Alone and already dead, all that is left is evaporation. Embracing nothing, I embrace true death.

Only to someday rise up again, my scattered remains pressed back together, an unstable hodgepodge that feels so similar but breathes differently....created again, simply to fall back down. Alone, alone, alone...

sense

date night by myself....

I will say, this town doesn't really know how to handle a young lady treating herself to dinner at a nice restaurant. First time I've really encountered super obvious staring due to my solitude. Something about this place just kinda sucks. No other way to say it. Its beautiful in its way but there is a deadness to it. Perhaps it has been marred by the fact that I have not really been able to "live" in this town - its solely been a place for work, really. Perhaps that death-work vibe is stuck to it. Or perhaps it really is just a dead town.

Needless to say, I still had a lovely night by myself. The pictures are mainly so I won't forget what it is like to take these little moments by myself and what feelings accompany them.

Pshsll

Perhaps something to come to...must remember...