QUESTion #15

Now that it has had time to sink in...2012...you are here!!! Now what the fuck are we going to do with you??????????? Hmmmmm......

On E

I have this annoying itch in my throat. I have an itch period. Something, something, something, I can't quite reach. And so it lingers.

In a world that is so connected, we are all so eerily disconnected. Frightening. Fucking scary. I try to connect to what really matters everyday, but I often feel myself being sucked dry, like everybody around me has turned into vampires. Where are all the people that share energy, not just take it?

My eyes are heavy. Sometimes I feel so done. Like I want to fucking throw my computer off my lap, really hard at the wall. And then that's it. Get up and go somewhere. Where? Anywhere. Be somebody different. Somebody I always wanted to be. The somebody I compare myself to until it hurts.

I need a mental shift, or the whole fucking world to shift. I am too simple for this world's complexity. I don't want much. I don't need much. But what I do want and need is all that really matters, and that's what everyone else around me seems to be missing. And this makes me so sad. And so I'll just keep bleeding I guess...(I am so dramatic it makes me laugh).

How did all this happen?

Wrongful Desires

When I was 12 I was almost raped. I guess that would be called molested. I am baffled and disgusted that the boy, who was 17, wanted to touch a girl that didn't even have breasts yet.

I remember the way that he used to look at me while I was playing with his niece and nephew. I remember my heart racing, my breath catching, and my mind wishing me invisible. He made me unbearably nervous. When he would make wrongful comments, or ask me sick questions, I'd say nothing back. I would try to stay away from him, make excuses to take the kids to the neighbors or for walks. When he would find a way to touch me, even slightly, I cringed and felt myself jump. I was afraid to tell my Mom and his Aunt Jill that I didn't like it when he came to the house. It was my first baby sitting job. I didn't want to seem unable to handle it.

I don't think that the whole event affects me much today. Although, I tend to have a memory of him when men give me flattering comments. I get that same uncomfortable feeling and I have a hard time finding a response. I think, you want to touch me too? Is that it? Of course, I'd never say that, instead I say Thank you, change the subject, and drop the memory of fuck face back into my black hole.

It is so odd how our minds hold on to certain memories, even if we want to let them go. I have decided the bad memories must have something to convey if they keep sticking around. Perhaps if we wrap our mind around them enough, we can squeeze out something good to take away.

Is there a such thing as a bad experience? If we can learn something from it, be stronger and deeper because of it, then the bad isn't all bad. Is it?

Figures and Numbers

This life, and our feelings, are not an equation to be solved.

I couldn't sleep. I guess you couldn't either. I couldn't see you, but I could hear you. I wasn't touching you, but I could feel you. You said, sometimes, we have to go with our gut. Our minds can fuck with us.

God, do I know this.

I felt the clock ticking down the time. I knew what I wanted to say. I thought, follow your heart. So that's exactly what I did when I asked you that question, in my kitchen, before you left.

"Fearful Waters" recede she said...

Many Moons and Battle Wounds

When we are sleeping, the brain sorts through life's daily challenges, experiences, images, and thoughts. It may even solve problems and interpret ideas, all while we are completely unconscious. Then it filters, deciding what to keep and what to discard.

Dreams are so interesting because they are a window to this subconscious problem solving and mental sorting. I think about some of the thoughts and memories that have been programmed to stay with me, even through all the filtering, their residues are burned onto my brain and I keep spinning the negatives. What am I supposed to be developing?

In that certain slant of light, I think I see something more than shadows. It's amazing what we think we can see while in the dark.

Good Question

Sigh.

I never know what to make of this crazy fucking world, this crazy fucking life. I sure do love it though.

What if the world were to really end in 11 months? It better not; I would be so fucking pissed! Damn Mayans better be wrong. I have waaaay too much shit to do still.

When you watch the people that you love the most in your life die in a hospital, you make a silent promise to yourself to never hold back saying how you feel. So why do you still hold back doing what you feel?

If there is anything that surprises me most in this life, it is that we are afraid of what we want and afraid of who we are (and aren't).

As I type all of this I think of the quote I attached to my dashboard when I was 21. It said: "The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes."

This is still my favorite quote.

There is no fucking way the world can end in 11months! Is there???

Childhood Reflections

Do you remember when we stood in the middle of the living room, in that tiny 3 bedroom house? I was eight, you were six. Mom was only 28, and she was crying and hugging us. It was our first home, “just the three of us”, she said through tears.

Mom’s hair was jet black and covered her entire back. When she cut it short, I sobbed. She didn’t look the same. Remember when we played for hours in the woods, you, Chris, and me? We buried treasures and lost treasures. I almost died swinging on that vine by the Big Rock. We loved going to the Big Rock and playing in 100 Acres. Remember when Mom beat me for starting a fire in 100 Acres, which I never actually started. I didn’t know what to think of my bruised body, fat lip, and black eye. I remember the whole ordeal vividly. I had to stay home from school for a week because she didn’t want my teacher to ask what happened. I realized she felt guilty, which made me feel less scared. And less mad. I was so mad at her! She bought The Outsiders and we watched it on the couch together. I was only 9. A few years later, I read the book, and it became one of my favorites.

I remember when Jim started coming to the house more often, and the train he bought to go under our tree. A short time later I would be in Mom’s room, while she was crying on her bed, asking me if she should be with Jim. I was 9, maybe 10, what did I know? But I remember telling her, “Yes, Mom. Please. We like him.” I wanted him to keep coming back, and I was so scared he wouldn’t. I didn't fully understand why she was crying.

Remember when Uncle Ray moved in, and we were so excited? We thought he and Stacey were the coolest people in the world. I wanted to be Stacey. I liked everything she liked, and often asked her to pick out my school clothes. When she gave me attention I felt so special. I liked how Uncle Ray laughed. Doesn’t he have a fun laugh?

We played “Ship” in our room. If you touched the Ocean water (the bedroom floor), you died. We made incredible tents and played Atari, and later Nintendo. I adored playing my Muppet Casio and pretending I was a famous piano player. I made pictures on my chalkboard and hated when you erased them. I had the top bunk, and when you were mad at me, you would kick it. Hard! I pretended it was fun, and that made you stop. When I couldn’t fall asleep at night, I would get out of bed and spy on Uncle Ray and his friends. That’s how I saw The Wall for the first time. Uncle Ray caught me, but allowed me to stay up and watch the rest.

On other nights, when I couldn’t fall asleep, I would do what Grandma taught me, and say a “God Bless” prayer for all the people I loved. I did this out loud, do you remember hearing me? When I was done with that I would talk to Pap Pap Pete. Mom said he was a painter, a photographer, and an electrician. She said he loved to travel and took her places as a little girl. She said his death was the biggest tragedy of her life, and that it was a horrible shame we would never know him. In my child mind I deemed him the smartest man I never knew. Do you remember if you thought that too?

You’ll never read this, and I’ll never ask, but do you remember? I know you do. What else do you remember?

Own Deception

I think things I do not speak (or write). I want things I do not attempt. I do things and do not know why. I wonder if anyone really knows me. I think nobody does. Then I wonder if I really know myself.

When I dream things that are disturbing, I think I must be disturbed. I look at myself for longer than usual in the mirror and think you are too boring to be disturbed. Are any of my thoughts or ideas my own, or just a product of what I've seen and read? I think I am such a waste. I look harder at myself, and I don't understand why I let that happen. Now I can't look at myself anymore, and I would love to smash the mirror, but I know I will regret it later. Pussy.

Most days, I am a positive force. Mentally I know how to be strong. I try not to focus on my own self conscious thoughts. I file them in my brain as selfish and I do not want to be selfish. When I was a teenager, I went through periods of depression. I remember how much I hated myself. I would day dream and night dream that I was one of my friends. That their families were mine, their essence was mine, and that I could slip into their body and brains like a thief into a vault; except instead of taking the treasure, I would become it.

Almost every day of my life I either feel invisible or want to be invisible. I am not sure what this means. The only thing that makes me truly happy are the people I love. Sometimes I like to think about them and how much I love them, just to make myself cry and feel something real.

I have this stupid blog, and my personal journals that I've filled with thoughts, but the truth never really comes out. It stays deep inside. I feed it when I eat, I exercise it when I run, I keep it alive, but never let it out. Maybe I am afraid of what it might look like. Will it shine like a magical, diamond orb, or will it be a dark mass, oozing with blood? My blood. Like some sick parasite I have been sustaining.

I will get up from this table, go about my day, and love every second of it. Because even as I entertain my fucked up, self conscious thoughts, I know how lucky I am, and I know how much I have, and this realization makes me even angrier with myself. What the fuck am I doing? Being worthless again.