So, there I was living; but I thought I wasn’t

December 12, 2014

So, there I was, living.

But I thought I wasn’t.

 

Is everything clearer now or has my vision been impaired once more?

 

I wear my mistakes as badges, and my flaws as standards for all to see.

 

What is happening to me? Or is this how I’ve always been? UP/DOWN; UP/DOWN. Or maybe I stared into the light for too long and am now blinded. Or maybe I stayed too long in the dark and started see things that aren’t there (or are they?)? Or maybe both; maybe all.
 
To overthink is not a commodity I can afford.
 
Am I being lazy, or have my strength already been depleted? Must I believe it is all downhill from here, or can I accept it is, as I said, UP/DOWN; UP/DOWN.

 
Can I continue like this forever?
 

Or will I get stronger, and therefore be able to withstand longer intervals of sanity? Or is it truthfully, insane, to live in this world and be happy and content?

 

Do I have anything to live for?

 

Do I have any excuse for dying?

No, to die would be an awfully big adventure; emphasis on awful.

To the “how come”s of this life

December 5, 2014

The other day I was asked, how come so many poets have such strong emotions all the time?

Is it real, or are they just exploiting normal feelings on stage? Are they such good actors, or are they like that all the time off-stage?

[What?]

[…]

[What?!]
I’m gonna start from what I see.

I don’t know what other people feel.

All I can tell you, is what I feel, and I see.3

When some people feel intensely, they seem to hide it pretty well.

It seems that usually because they have learned since young that it is not “proper” to be so “intense” ALL – the damn – time.

In my personal experience,

most people seem to think that intensity of feeling and its expression

(both in wallowing misery and hyperactive joy),

especially in children,

mean a lack of self-control and discipline, and thus we discourage such explicit theatrics.

Add to that the pain everyone faces when exposing deep feelings only to be rejected,

like EVERYONE experiences in love and friendships many times throughout life.

Yeah, it happens to a lot of people;

and even though they feel that way too sometimes,

they treat others as they are treated,

and they are all miserable for it.

[WE are all miserable for it]

…Which is very sad, when you come to think about it…

So many lonely people,

wasting time,

being alone…

But what, right?

Not my problem. [stretch your back]

Inhale, exhale, breathe in with your gut, breathe out through your mouth. Count backwards from 10, 9, 8, stop thinking about your problems, 7, 6, focus on your breathing, 5, 4, you keep doing it wrong, 3, 2… pichea.

Take it easy, kid, no one’s rushing you;

just, you know, just do it; fucking relax, goddammit.

~

Since I was kid, as far back as I can remember,

I struggled to control it;

whatever it is;

even I also believe it is too much at times.

I *have* been told I feel too much.

I *have* been told to

quiet down, sit still, grow up, get over yourself,

quit the fucking melodrama, geez, everyone’s got problems, you’re not the only one, you should feel grateful you’re even alive:

you got food on your plate

(you know other kids don’t even have a roof over their heads),

you got those things I bought you; why don’t you go outside and use them? Why won’t you go outside? Why don’t you come hang out with your friends? Why don’t you go to a party? Why won’t come to our party? Aren’t you gonna dress up? Don’t you want to have some fun? Why don’t you come over and talk with us? Why are you putting that face? Can’t you see you’re bringing everyone down? You don’t want to be with us? Can’t you just stop thinking about yourself and let others be happy? Geez, can’t you be happy for other people? Can you let me get a breather? Yeah, maybe you should go home and sleep it off; call me when you’re feeling like you can stop being such a dick.

[You got so many good things, here, see, can’t you see,

I brought you all these good things so you can be fucking happy and let me get some fucking motherfucking sleep, goddammit, you insufferable little twerp.]

~

I found out,

hitting my head against the damn wall time and time again,

that I could not run away from it,

heh,

or “stop feeling it“.

At least [or oh no?], not for too long.

With time, I learned to hide it expertly.

I became a grand master of masquerades.

And people around me seemed to like that behavior much more;

they thought,

‘she has finally matured’,

the wild

little

thing.

I became a ninja jedi kung fu Namaste mamasa mamakusa shihan fucking Chuck Norris tae kwon do karate kid wash on wax off WATÁ kamehameha finish him, master of masters,

in reserving NOT ONLY my sadness and anger,

but also ,

unfortunately,

my happiness, excitement, and gratitude.

…You know, those good happy things.

Whatever.

~

There comes a moment when the feelings you’ve been struggling to keep under wraps choke your throat, and you feel like your heart is going to hammer out of your mouth or simply explode.

So many things under so much pressure that they need a release valve, or the whole system will breakdown.

This nuclear plant inside of you has gone radioactive, and is therefore toxic to every living thing around it; this nuclear plant is coming dangerously close to catastrophe.

And you know this.

You dread it.

You sweat cold. You bite your fingernails. You tap your feet at nauseating velocities.

You can’t open your mouth for fear this raging beast inside will get a foothold in freedom and burst through screaming endlessly.

But you’re in public. Keep it together, please.

And so as a wounded snake, you retreat back into your hole, and seethe, and writhe, and scream, and cry.

To people, you go from being overly emotional, to apathetic ingratitude and selfishness.

If only they knew, right? You’re doing this for them.

You want to hide the truth and shelter them from a beast inside, creeping ever closer to the surface.

So you push them away.

All of them.

Especially the ones that love you.

Those are especially precious.

Those should be especially protected.

Because, you know, you can’t even hug someone,

for you know you will break.

And it’s not gonna be pretty.

So you wander around outside like a hungry zombie,

but instead of brains, you’re looking for hearts:

hearts willing to listen, feel, and comfort.
You feel your mind is about to snap-

that you’re on the verge of a heart attack-

and something MUST happen or you will surely detonate and take everything and everyone along with it.
Some of us can only find those safe corners amidst strangers, weirdly enough, that some have come to feel very similarly, and there is the sweet resonance of harmony and understanding.

I was diagnosed with depression since I was 12.

Major Clinical Depression, Severe Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.

Grief.

Loneliness.

What was I supposed to do with it?

Never had it

October 22, 2014

Keep hidin the hope
And then the pain is not yours
No one’s holdin the rope
You gotta pull it on your own

All the songs have been sung
And all the doors have been closed
Keep on wantin more
Keep on wantin

Flobots – Never Had It Lyrics |

Inexplicable storms

October 15, 2014

What happened? How to explain?

Yes, I am sad, but no, you cannot cheer me up. I will laugh, and it will be a small, precious relief; but the that nameless beast still prowls, restless, in the back of my mind. MY eyes, see my eyes overcome with true mirth, but come closer, listen: you can hear the beast’s steady breathing, feel the vicious rage emanating, yet unconcerned at your attempts, for it has established stable and permanent residency.

It is sometimes amused, seeing you struggle, your silent, desperate prayers, your short moments of respite, when you allow yourself to breathe and believe it is all over.

Only when it wants to, and there is no way to predict such a time or place, it collects itself and rises majestically above all, as the ocean before a tsunami. First, it sucks you dry, and you feel it, you feel it now, deep in your bones, so cold. And then, oh no, then, come the flood; the violent tempest. the savage intrusion upon your unprotected and weakened mind.

Ah, and there you are, alone on your beach, shivering, gathering pieces of yourself all over the vast shores, whatever you can find that the waves of time have not washed away to distant, unreachable depths. Only then, satisfied, pleased, content, the beast lies down again, and watches you with delight, all your little, tiny, futile attempts at rebuilding a life and a home that you hope, maybe, just maybe, the beast will not be able to destroy the next time around.

And again, you foolishly hope, holding fervently to a small, ever-wweakening light deep, deep within; hold on to it for dear life, shivering, so cold, pieces of you scattered, so far, withering.

But the beast sees, and the beast knows.

When opportunity knocks…

October 13, 2014

 

Opportunities of bravery, strength, and camaraderie arrive in our lives disguised as moments of fear, anxiety, and pain.

Take a step back.

Breathe.

Reorganise.

And plunge into the deep end of the essence of life and love.

You will be rewarded by grief, but also surprised by joy.

 

Sad Sandy

October 10, 2014

There was once in my childhood, a young woman named Sandy. I don’t know much else but that everyone knew her as Sad Sandy.

 

Sad Sandy, she always drew me near her when our paths crossed; her kind smile, small gifts and tokens of happiness and success, her sad eyes. Once when I was lost, she asked me no questions; she held my hand and led me home. How she knew me or where I lived, I do not know; she never answered my questions.

 

She stopped answering the questions to others long ago.

 

She roamed everywhere, with a sad, thoughtful look in her eyes, always asking questions. So many questions. So many how’s and why’s. Some people were patient and paused to reflect and answer; others dismissed her questions as rumblings of a lost mind. No matter the answer or the attitude provided, she simply nodded respectfully, and walked away.

 

No answer seemed to satisfy some hunger deep within. And so she continued elsewhere, asking more questions.
With time, she stopped asking questions, and only observed people.
Then her observations were from afar.
And on every town she was sighted, a little more distant she grew, and a little less human she seemed.

 

One afternoon, coming back home from my labours, I found her body swinging with the vines, high up in a blooming tree.

 

I wish I had found her answer, and I still think about her when the breeze blows from the East, and the scent of those blooms fills me with her death.
What did she want to know?
What did she ask?
 

Why did she leave?

 

Might as well

October 8, 2014

The precise terminology escapes me; the strings of words required to adequately and successfully transmit; the particular rhythm of the colloquial dances and meticulous etiquette.

If I knew them, would I be here writing these words of no consequence?

Oh, but I know the to-dos and que-haceres; yet the spirit of it all is missing. Going through the motions. Either my heart is not in it or I have no heart at all.

But that, neither, is correct.

I know I feel because I so ardently wish to stop it. I will push to the brink to be thrown back unconscious. Some respites I seek! One does what one can, all in all.

Teach me some new ways that work on me, oh wise ones that hammer same old adages into this infertile sand. The wind will trace new patterns with your next breath.

And we can start over, bitter and angry.

 

On days like these

October 6, 2014

Today, I think of your death.
Not your lack from here and now, but rather those physiological/pathological processes and psychological traumas that eventually consumed you.

I am stuck in a loop of your suffering.
And I hurt, knowing you hurt, so much.

Had I opened my eyes, would I have seen? Or would my heart, the heavy stone it had become, nevertheless dismiss it all?

I have taken a hammer to the stone, and exposed the atrophied, pitiful creature there. I mean to care for it and heal it, but my blood-stained hands are cruel and clumsy, and I grow tired and sickened by its weakness. Sometimes I beat it, hoping it will grow stronger and sturdier, but it remains bleeding, and I can think of no other ways.

I think it will die, like yours, seeking, bleeding, weakening; I think I will self-destruct, possibly the same way you did, and perhaps that was decided long before I was.

I hate us, for being so much alike, so weak, so seemingly strong but broken and thirsty inside.

But I remember your laughter!
And I remember the way you made me laugh, and the many games we played! And I smile, and for many days, that is enough to give me that love now gone.

But today, that happiness leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I cannot think of you any longer today; I will turn my thoughts to lesser torments.

Yet there it is, still, inside.

There you are.
Forever dying, forever now.

9/17/2014

Must we run

October 6, 2014

 

The forces that tie me together are all in a tangled mess. Should I attempt to pull them apart, only to tighten them more, or worse, pull them all apart and throw wild all their devastating energies? If I cut them for easier access, will I not suffer losing part of me in such a crude way?

Can the chains even break?

 

[And I cry out, Will anything ever change for the better? Must we recycle the cycle?]

 

I seem to be right back in the place where I started, but even more tired, battered and worn.

How could such a thing occur? Where did I lose my way? Or was the path I chose an incorrect one, among millions of choices, just another wrong one, to clutter me inside.
A ticking time bomb in place of a heart. A borrowed and torn armor, that does not fit me well. Bits and pieces, borrowed, found scattered, to mend together this ship so that it can finally soar. But perhaps I’ve messed up the mechanics in my eagerness, and now this ship won’t fly, and I will never leave this wasteland. For sure they hunt me down, the demons of my own making and allowing. How do I stop them, the ghosts that trail, the shadows that disappear, left grasping at air, out of reach, out of control.

 

But perhaps it’s better I never get a hold of them, perhaps their faces hold secrets I yet cannot bear, hidden words and silences, that provoked this castle, this hold, this prison to come up in the first place.

 

[ And i whisper within: I miss that beach. ]

 

I need my ship to run soon, besieged, nowhere to turn, did I build escape tunnels in this maze?

Or was this fortress meant to be my suicide also?

Signed, sealed, delivered.
 

The End of Certainty

October 6, 2014

All the other workers slowly stepped away from the woman in the middle, some faces were frozen in shock, others were visibly decomposing into fear and hysteria; some gave a few steps back for space but could not wrench themselves away, others turned on their heels and ran. Fear, abandoned work stations, and feathers floating aimlessly, catching the sunlight and breaking it into ever new patterns: the factory was in chaos as the epidemic spread exponentially quarter to quarter, farther and further; the woman at its epicenter.
Chick held lightly in her small hands, the woman was transfixed by the realizations, overwhelmed, lips slightly parted, her dark almond eyes seeing some private world, and thus absently, she walked away from her own station, slowly making her way.
Every few steps, she turned to other stunned workfellows, offering the chick as if in peace, but only serving to advance the terror and distress.
Well-dressed men came out of their offices and watched the commotion from a distance. Some were caught in the worker’s frenzy, and too ran; others saw their own terrors reflected back unto them, and jumped from their windows and balconies. A few stood away in anger.
The woman continued walking, her uncertainty silently escalating behind her veiled eyes. Her brow furrowed. Facial ticks rose, agitation, impatience, tension.
Finally bursting forth with years of reined passion, “No one knows!” Screams and stampedes broke out, all those who had remained could stand no more, pushing, shoving, running away from her. Some men who wished to be well-dressed made their way through the frantic crowd. She saw their spirit in the look of their eyes, and feared, and laughed. “You can never figure it out!”
And she disappeared into the crowd.
And no one ever knew what became of her.
But nothing could ever be the same.
No certainty remained.

6/3/2014