|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| His snoring jars me from a deep sleep, in which I was dreaming of the state of things in my daily life. How dull. And I turn my body to face my ear away from the noises he emits, accidentally waking him in my movements. He
turns, presses his naked body against my own. He mumbles something in
my ear, "I will always be here for you." Moments later he is asleep and
snoring again. The light from the street paints
itself as horizontal bars against his ceiling. The cat pads her way
next to the bed on the side which I am facing. She looks up at me,
pauses, and then slinks back out of the room. The
warm grey that wraps everything like soft felt at that particular hour
of night can be inhaled more deeply than the bright orange cellophane
wrapping of the morning. So I succomb, close my eyes, and imagine
myself inhaling the almost-darkness. I feel my chest rise and fall.
Triumphant and defeated. Triumph and defeat. Triumph and defeat. When
I awake in the morning, he is sitting with his back to me at the bottom
of the bed. He is wearing a crisp white dress shirt, an orange and blue
tie, slacks the color of four in the morning, and he is pulling black
cotton socks over his feet. He feels me stir. He
glances behind him cautiously as though if he were to look too suddenly
or obviously it might awake me from the sleep I am possibly still
engulfed in. He smiles, climbs over to me from
across the bed. I am still naked, and this feels vulnerable and cold
and I do not like it. He gives me small kisses on my face, I hope he
does not do this for much longer because it might wake me up and I am
still thinking about sinking back into rest. Finally
he leaves. I lie awake staring at the new shade of his ceiling. I get
out of bed, pick the condom wrappers up from the floor, adjust the
bedding, replace the pillows, carry his dirty laundry to his hamper,
pick up the used cups, empty out the ashtray, and then
brush my teeth with his toothbrush (which he does not mind me doing,
though I would mind if it were mine.) Finally, I get dressed. It is almost fall, and I can feel it in my bones and the cloudiness inside of my head. I
exit to daylight. To the slight nip of the air and the salmon pink
cheeks of strangers. As I focus on the chilled breath of the season at
my ankles and just below my thin sweater, my mind retracts to the hope
that perhaps, if I am lucky, he will call me again soon. | | |
| The pain of life can be so overwhelming, even in small doses. Even if
your idea of harsh reality check is breaking a nail, it still hurts a
lot, as much as the death of a loved one might hurt another.
Sure,
there are degrees of hurt, dead family is much worse than broken nails,
but there are degrees of hurtfulness as well, your potential to be hurt
by something. I mean like, degrees of hurt = death (high) nails (low),
and then degrees of hurtfulness = few family (more hurt by loss) ugly
fingernails (less hurt by loss).
It's obviously more complicated than
that but maybe you get the idea.
What can't hurt you could destroy me.
what I shrug off, tears you to pieces. Just one of the teartopieces
hurts, just a small dose.. Well it's self-explanatory. I think if you
have too much, and it doesn't outright kill you (talking mostly mental
hurt here so yeah), in the end the hurtfulness decreases, or no, it
gets to a point where it can't get worse. Things can still hurt you,
people, memories, emotions, they can all still hurt you, but they can't
hurt you anymore.
You hurt so bad that when people look at you and
compare their own lives they feel better about themselves and hurt
less. You're like a big black hole of hurt, sucking up everyone elses
hurt when they get near you. pain pain pain pain pain. You're taking in
so much hurt, that in the end most of the world damages you. and you
think "I need to hide." hide from the pain, hide from the hurt, the
fear, the insecurity. make you're own little safe place; in your mind,
your home, your writing. .whereever. Fuck that confrontational
bullshit, confronting the hurt just makes you more aware of it. no,
numb is better. gone is better. distance. abstraction. escape. apathy.
All these things make what life you have left easier. it's not much
life, but it doesn't hurt you. and who's to say you're wrong? who's to
say that it's not the right or best thing to do? maybe, when people
tell you that you need to get back to reality or whatever, maybe
they're just jealous of how safe and warm you seem? maybe they want to
drag you kicking and screaming back into their world just so when they
look at you they feel better about themselves again, rather than
secretly envious.
Honestly, is it really such a bad thing to get away from this world? even just to want to? | | |
| I haven't felt so right since he kissed me.
He's left me a
complete mess.
This throbbing, nauseating pain keeps finding its way to
the pit of my stomach.
And all I really want is some secure solitude
but I can't even get that.
I swallow the pain and the tears but my eyes
are so blank & vacant and my spirit is so limp.
An empty bed awaits
me tonight but will be let down.
I fear this black, starless sky, cold
& empty, and this fire burning my insides.
All I can think about is
my forgotten blade gracing my skin and easing whatever it is exactly
that I'm feeling inside.
But the pain is so relentless.
Can't I just
cut out my heart? Free myself completely.
These days wear me out, I slowly fade - burning out like the stars in
my night sky.
The sun comforts me until the night falls and the shadows
find me again.
Footsteps fall like rain, but I am alone.
I stiffle my screams with my
heart, & these tears drown me to sleep.
I bleed these words but
they're not enough. I'm not enough.
No, I'm nothing {to him}.
I fight
this everyday.
But inside, I'm crumbling.
He still has me.
This
depression still has me.
The best I can do is to let everyone think
that I'm OK.
But really,
I'm
falling
apart.
| | |
| Should be sleeping as usual.
Sorry to all who have written me and not
gotten anything back, I've been on a rollercoaster as of late and its
left me hollow and drained by the end of the day.
The demons in my mind
have been eating me alive and at times I can't imagine making it out
with any mental capacity to speak of, a broken child unable to take
care of herself anymore.
I just need to get away from it... even if its
just for a day, or a night.. maybe then I could make it through this...
without it? well lets just say I have my doubts.
These
frowns seem tailor-made to fit my face. A smile is almost out of place.
That sneer will never stem from grace. My teeth are sharp but tis my
tongue that makes the solid base. Is my mouth just a gleaming wrinkle
filling space? A glossy link from a weary, artless place? for lo, in
your memory, my lips will leave more trace, than the well-worn prosaic
pithy I try to state.
I do not like disappointing people.
Perhaps this is partly why I have a tendency to be so distant from
everyone.
The less they know of me the less they can expect of me and
the less likely they are to be let down when I don't live up to what
they feel I am capable of.
What I am capable of.
No one's going to ask
me to sail to the moon.
There's no unrealistic expectations; there are
some misguided ones to be sure, and some lack of understanding, but
that's due as much to my self-imposed distancing; and nothing that has
been asked of me has ever been beyond my abilities.
Well okay there was
this one time that charlie asked me to betray the other angels and I
was like fuck off you evasive ninny they're like my sisters and besides
I could never eat a whole triple-layered ice cream cake but that's
another story (or reality. whatever).
All I lack is Strength. Resolve.
Confidence. Will. Patience.
And that's what this adventure is truly
meant to accomplish.
I'm hoping to force my own hand, so to speak, to
put myself in a position where I have to be stronger.
No one else is
going to do it for me.
No one else will push me that hard, because of
the protectiveness thing, the aura of weakness or whatever.
Sure, maybe
this is weakness, doing it this way.
It's sort of running away to face
problems that are right in front of me.
But I simply cannot be trusted
to do this thing without motivation.
I can only grow so much if I am
not made to grow any further.
I can honestly see no other way of doing
it.
Maybe it is a wheeled toaster.
I wont know until I try.
And maybe
I'll crumble and burn.
It's a possibility.
I do not fear it though.
I
don't think I will.
If anything, this might be too easy.
If it turns
out that way, I'll make it harder.
Probably the hardest thing will be
knowing when to stop.
Realising when I've come far enough, that I've
found what I wanted. | | |
| Lately I have been trying desperately to grasp the shreds of something beautiful.
Continue trying to dig up the remains of something outstanding from inside of me.
Each time I return empty handed and more frantic than ever before.
He asked me what I was looking for once...before he left.
Or maybe I left.
I told him that I had to find that special thing.
It used to be him.
He cried when he looked at me and asked why I'd hurt myself like that.
When I came back, or maybe he did, he was married to another woman.
She was beautiful and quiet and they shared a little apartment.
We went for coffee and I asked about his children.
He didn't have any.
Wouldn't ever have any.
I told him I was sorry and he told me that he was in love with the wrong woman.
He asked me if I was better.
His eyes flashed to arm, and lowered slowly after finding the answer himself.
When we got the bill he said that he was sorry that there were no such things as happy endings.
He told me that he couldn't touch his pretty wife.
It made him sick but he went home that night anyway and when he went home she touched him.
She nursed him back to health after he suddenly caught the flu.
I went alone to an empty apartment.
I don’t know why that keeps running through my head, it’s like a bad movie I can’t get away from.
Do you shut your eyes when life can't get any better in fear that you can only see it get worse?
Should I be willing to miss the moment because it will never last?
Is once really enough?
Or am I greedy enough to always be asking for more?
Is the here and now real if it's different in my memory?
Things are good until I step out the door.
For once can I make sure they stay that way?
Can I still love myself when I feel worthless in comparison?
Teach me how to make confidence last.
Tell me how to bottle elation.
Let me learn to have success rise like perfume from my skin and invade my world.
Does anyone know how to stop these insecurities from crushing them? | | |
|
