Be a Mess, but Always Clean Up

I gave myself permission to be depressed.
I wanted my body to cry, oversleep, lay around in bed, eat unstructured meals, be isolated--all in hopes that my body would purge the toxicity and in turn, I could continue on my positive path.

That day, going home from work, I thought of terrible things.
I wished that I was ill enough to be excused from the turbulent and the tumultuous nature of daily life. I wondered if it would make a difference if I hurt myself this time.

I was late for work the next day. The feeling of shame today was so consuming I wanted to cry so hard, let them see why I've slipped up on my duties. But...I know how this works. I can't bring my personal struggles to work because it'll only make it that much worse; questions of whether I can be trusted, whether I'm healthy or tough enough to do this job. I have allowed this disorder to cast a shadow on enough opportunities in my life, I will not let it consume this one.

I will do my very best at my job today.
I will hold it together and when I get home, I will still hold it together but I will clean.
It's what I do--I clean when I feel ashamed of myself or when I know I've disappointed someone because I used to do that when my mom was angry with me for not doing something I was told to do.
It works and it's a healthy way of coping with the feelings because it's distracting and gratifying.

I felt the storm coming this time. It started with feeling more tired than usual, laziness, giving up on my routine, letting pessimism win, then showed its ugly face through errors in judgment at work. So here it is, it has arrived for a visit but I won't allow it to stay. Because what I've built for myself--within myself--is worth far more than to be given up on.

The War of My Life

This is the war of my life...
I can't do anything right. Why? Because I don't do it on time and I don't fulfill expectations. Every day carries with it the massive headache of self-loathing and anxiety.

I'm writing this here because I can't tell everyone.

I can tell some people, but not most.

I'm writing this, through blurry eyes and a runny nose, only here--not anywhere on the internet that would be noticed more because I know people don't like it. Only writing it here because I know it's ugly and there is a stigma against it still.

I've kept it too myself too long, festering in my body and mind, building up a pleasant facade when I should've been exposing it and welcoming help where it is offered. I had hoped I could sort it out on my own because I like being independent and I didn't want to face judgment. I don't even care about the judgment now because when I don't look at my unhealthiness as a massive vulnerability or disfunction but as a result of my big heart, artistic outlook, glowing soul, and emotionally intelligent mind. This is how I cope; knowing that I have these beautiful things about my personality and that despite the belief that illness makes one vulnerable, I am strong for continuing to exist and thrive.

I can't tell you why a 4 year-old girl felt the desire to rub and tear at her skin. I don't know why a physically healthy girl did not like to play competitive games at the age of ten. Why did she sit alone?
I don't know how it came about that she was anxious and depressed. Why did she pick at her skin despite the bleeding and scars? Why did she smile and bring joy to others but not seem confident? Why did she have suicidal thoughts? Why did she cry so often?

I know now that my disaster is the overwhelm of having so many mysteries, so many questions, that have not been asked and therefore not answered. I hoped my parents would answer them but the truth is they don't understand me enough to do so.

It feels like for most of my life I've been holding my breath and admitting my problems, facing them head on with help, would be the exhale I need.

One of the greatest exhales of my life was finding out that I'm not the only one who struggles with skin-picking. In 2013, I was studying psychology, an introductory course, and while discovering the symptoms of OCD and body dysmorphia I stumbled upon hair-pulling and skin-picking. I learned that the DSM-V had just published a term for skin-picking: dermatillomania. I was shocked, I broke out into tears as I searched through websites telling of "how to determine if you have dermatillomania" and "cognitive behavioural therapy to treat dermatillomania" as well as a novel about a woman's experiences with the illness. I felt so relieved and happy to know that I wasn't alone in this. I noticed that some people experienced it differently than I have and thought that maybe I didn't fall into the same category. I thought maybe because I didn't have as many scabs as they did that maybe I wouldn't seem like I needed help with it. I was also angry because I thought my doctor would have told me about this. I wanted to know, but I still have not officially been diagnosed.

I knew I had depression. I even told my mom that I know I still do but it only makes it worse in my household if I continue to discuss it. The conclusion was that I should speak to a professional. Then, I put off seeing a professional because I was feeling better. My happiness fluctuated and being in a long-term relationship and the issues that came with it definitely complicated my situation. I wanted to make myself better but didn't realize the importance of working through it with someone.

I want to go to school, I want to do well, I want to work hard to reach my goals. I want to succeed and feel fulfilled. But I can't. I stop myself because my head is running a thousand thoughts a minute. I want to do everything important, but I end up doing nothing important. I become paralyzed by disappointment in myself, in others, in life. I become paralyzed by all the emotions I'm feeling all at once and it makes no sense.

What it's like in my mind:
I should write that paper now, but I feel so tired and I'm not comfortable, rubs hand, picks at pimple, I should change into this, I hate my body, I think I need to eat, I should eat healthy, I don't, I want to sleep, picks at arm, I don't want to dream again though, pick my hand and scratch off scalp, time is going by too quickly, before sleep I need to watch something, yea, because otherwise we think about death, yes we should watch this because it will distract us, but I have to do schoolwork, but we have to rest, but we are having a hard time with how we feel, but we are bloated and fat and don't want to work out, we are having a hard time concentrating on reading because every word makes us think too much, we pick our hand, we think about writing a novel when we read about analysis of novels, we think about how our teacher will be disappointed and we get upset so we distract ourself again to keep our mind off the depression, we start to cry, we will clean our room now because that's a mess we can tackle, we are tired and we just thought about the ex-bf and how he made us feel awful, we remember that and debate texting him for 20 mins. we are paranoid that our parents will come in our room, we are paranoid that they know they know they know! we're afraid of yelling, that movement around this house is so loud and disturbing to me but I can't say anything because that would be strange. don't pay attention to the sound, pretend you're not annoyed, pretend you're someone else, okay now we are thinking about the guy before him that we loved and would like to talk to him. we are feeling upset about it all and need to distract us so we don't cry, we will watch one episode on netflix. We got enthralled in the theme of one episode so we say "just one more" but we are watching for four hours now and have not completed 3 assignments that are overdue, we're picking our hand and feet now and it hurts but we're in a trance and would like to continue. We thought about time and death again so we're watching something happier and checking Facebook, picks at hand, bad idea because I hate myself. turning off light trying to sleep, what about tomorrow? what if I screw up, I don't want to go in the classroom because I'm embarrassed. we are trying so hard not to think but everything is happening right now and we want to scream but its 4 am and we need to sleep.

It's not just me in my mind...I'm accompanied by anxiety.

Hurt and Losing my mind

It all seems to have healed until you're up at 2:30 in the morning. The hurt sets in again in that moment when you're caught alone, caught reflecting. I was thinking about going to the dentist, thinking about buying new jeans or writing a new song and then there you were...hurt. I panicked a bit as I felt the tears come through. I thought no, I'm not sad enough to cry but then I remembered it all. You're hurt because he won't let you be any other way, and you try to move on. You see other people, kiss other people, learn to play pool with another guy, spend Valentine's Day occupied with another guy but the hurt still seeps through ruining all the joy and relief. I felt relief not having you around to add more injury to the already gaping hole where love and care and trust used to live. I have trouble trusting men, and I had trouble trusting you. You stole from me--you blatantly asked for my full trust and I fell into you and you let me drop. I dropped so far from where I started. I should've just let you pass me by, should've told you to "shut up" when you first said you were falling in love with me so many years ago. My love gave you youth, another chance to rejuvenate--your love aged me, contorted what I believed love and respect to be and wore me down. What did you actually give?

How can I be okay when I'm wronged and left for dead? Left to feel it all AGAIN, like it has always been.
The damage cuts so deep that I have to ASK people if I actually deserve better and most of the time they tell me to stop giving you any credit, the minimal credit I already give to you.

I'm going to find someone someday who will actually treat me well.

I will get back at you for this in the best way...
I will become my best self.
Since you will not give me the peace I need I will have to find it within myself, as hard as it is since I carry anger toward you.

Since you've been gone I've realized:

1. I'm more confident in myself now
You didn't appreciate me really. Now that I'm free to new people, I'm learning that I don't really have to try to evoke compliments. My perception was so perverted when I was with you that I convinced myself I wasn't the type of girl to illicit compliments from men. I thought I needed to change my body or demeanour but I just don't.

2. My care is better spent on other people who reciprocate it so much better, and I don't even have to have as much history with them as I did with you.
I love my friends and I'd rather spend my time caring for them because they're not selfish but rather considerate and understanding.

3. I don't need to defend you anymore.
You never reflected on your wrong doing and apologized to me, whereas I did. I don't have to tell the friends you haven't seen or worked with in ages why you haven't responded to them because the truth is you don't care. You weren't considerate to those valued friends, and you weren't considerate to me.

4. You used your parents' divorce and your young failures as a crutch--and I went with it.
I sympathized with you all the way. When you broke down when I was handing the truth to you and voicing my feelings about your misbehaviour as a boyfriend, I paused my emotions for the sake of yours. It wasn't noble of me because every time I did that I turned away from myself. You need to realize that it isn't okay to always use those events as an excuse for your wrongdoings in a relationship, you're giving yourself permission to continue to make the same mistakes without developing into a healthy person.

5. You weren't interested in growing with me.
You may think that since you're much older than me that you were done growing and I was the only one left to grow or catch up. The truth is I've grown up more than you have in a few ways. You need to get off your high horse "rockstar" mentality and grow up! During that process...stop hurting people! It's not that hard to say "I'm going through some stuff right now so I think it's best we stay purely just friends". Take an oath of abstinence. You owe it to me and to potential women you could deceive, asshole. You didn't have a relationship mentality when we were together, as though you're meant to have casual relationships or non-monogamous ones. You freaked out at the thought of anything remotely indicative of commitment. You wanted me at arms length and now you've got what you wanted and then some.

No tinder needed for this flame, and you can forget that match

The End
And I thought it was me, over and over again
me, me and me
I thought I had made it an awkward mess
that the silences and lack of substance was
the sum of my age and lack of experience.
And I thought it was my body, inflaming and inflamed again
me, me and my body
I thought it was my cherub-like roundness
that your 'maybes' and distance were
the product of all my quirks and openness to care
And I thought it was my personality, wild and unashamed again
that I became too enthralled and overthought your interest

You would see me

I thought it would only be a matter of time
before you saw me
And thought it so obnoxiously gleaming, so innocently ugly
You'd throw pity in the place of interest
And run toward the prettier pastures, the exit's refuge--whispering "that was a close one"
Leaving me in the shadows of my self-doubt, and dampened spirit

But it wasn't me, and how could it be?
When this time I came first with the lust and neglected the like
Ripened forbidden fruit swaying decidedly in your direction
Only to let the fruit rot, escalating quickly with no promise of climax to come
A flame snuffed out before it even flickered
But I'm not disposable,
you were nothing but a MATCH.

It's not me, It's not me, I swear

Wasn't life better when you could curl up in a chair and fall in love with fiction?
When fictional novels gave you a spark of life even if it was fabricated and impermanent
You'd close your eyes and imagine being in that world,
 feeling love and comfort from a fictional male.
Remember when you swore that your best friend was bound to be your lover?
When he couldn't see past your appearance you shouldn't have seen it as a sign to change, you should have seen it as a chance to look within.
He didn't know you like that, or maybe it wasn't enough but it's just not about you.
All those nights that your boyfriend made you cry, fracturing your kind heart, I bet you wanted to burn all of those books that made you feel lovely, that gave you bright hope in experiencing fictional love in reality. And cut out your heart.
He didn't know the affect it had on you, but it's not about you.
I bet you held that cigarette up to your lips in the rain wishing you were not invisible but noticed more: "look at me, I'm dying inside too as I grow up".
Wasn't life better when your trust in people was strong; no tricks or lies
He told me that when people grow up and go through experiences they lower their expectations but I refuse to let that be me.
You let the silence eat you up and force out negative thoughts about myself,
but it's just not about you.
I've been at my lowest--I've been treated poorly--I can't live happily in a situation where my livelihood is sussed out by a dimming star; keeping me from shining by not joining in
He doesn't know you like that, doesn't rise to the occasion, but it's just not about you.
I spread my brightness, put my sadness aside and held it in for the sake of you, to comfort you. I got upset and pretended to be okay...you shouldn't have made it easy to do so.
I keep progressing and you're at a halt. 
The fictional female in me says it's time to turn the page and start a new chapter.

Feel Me Completely

Stomp your feet, widen your eyes so that they bulge out of that beautiful brain. We've met at a crossroads where we are not enough the same but it hurts to turn around and give up on the journey.
I'm the kind of love that should set you on fire--dangerous and hot, leaving you ruined for life by the pain of never knowing something that could burn you quite like me. But I'm also the soothing spring that refreshes your soul and cleanses your aches, leaving your mind clear and body reborn. I want my wreck of a body to be new again under your touch and my confidence to soar with the wings you give me from every kind word. Now Passion's withdrawn and my heart is fractured because I can't remember you saying right and your doings are always wrong. Comfort is lost in your painfully blank visage and the rigidness, and shakingly aggressiveness in your embraces. You tantrum like a torn child trapped in a broken man who's yet to resolve past issues. Your brain is like your room: a tangle of wires, loose socks, miscellaneous items that you cannot sort out, dust and crumbs of problems you forgot to clear. I'm a caged bird that sings to you "Sort it out and love me fully, sort it out and feel completely".

From sentiments to sediments

I lay awake at night sometimes thinking of the boy who lived down the road. And all his efforts to keep me away. He is afraid of his attraction to something he doesn't quite adore. He is afraid to get to close to something he might actually enjoy. I never asked to be so important as to be avoided. I only tried to be a friend. My persistent conversation was far too apparent and so He left me with no reason.  

I was a little rude. But I was young and didn't know how else to talk with you. Now i wish we could reunite as real friends, not as a "little girl" begging for attention.

My birthday marks a day your dog died. You broke my young heart when you said you couldn't talk to me too often. So, I knew my place and my role and I stuck to it really well. But heart-to-hearts were not flat, I wanted you to know how I felt. 

Years later and you're on my porch and we are talking like friends. Years later and you still don't want to show you care. Years later and I'm still stuck behind while you live your life and forget my eyes. 

So why did you do that? Show up out of the blue at the cafe to remind me that you exist? To remind me that I can't talk to you? To remind me that I'm perpetually battling the year of my birth? And there you come beaming with that wide eyed gaze that I swear you reserve for only those you've loved. I left you alone and now the consequence is that when I see you my heart still aches, and it does so into the night, under the moon and back over the sun and through the clouds. And through those clouds there is still the mystery of you and us if you would ever let it. I swear I'm old enough now not to meet you with anger. I swear I'm old enough to share experience. I swear I'm ready to meet your gaze and be "that situation" you've always wanted. I still live on a quiet street where your grandmother sometimes walks, she tells me that you liked me once and my heart says, "I like you again". You see, I always said goodnight even if abruptly following a "hello". I did so just so that you'd know...I'm here. 

But that's the end now isn't it? True love isn't real and if it were it sure isn't on time. 

You see, I don't have time to wait. Not for wide eyes that have no words, not for hesitant crushes or sentimental heartbreakers. I quit on that kind of love: the kind that spits in my face with every empty invitation, disappointment that I'm not my brother or primitive fear of my age difference. I'm off to a higher plane. 

untitled

Am I a walking contradiction?
Forgotten before I'm received...
Before I'm remembered
Ugly and aged before I'm young and beautiful?

I want to be cold but my warm heart beats kindness
A frown still creeps when I try to forget my sadness
Hand scarred, remember who you are....who you are.

Big brother's parasites twitch in my head in synchronicity
Media voice in my head, megaphone distorts

Phantom vibrations, ghostly ringing
No one's calling, you're not singing

teeth chatter, words don't matter
someone else is always better

parent has the remote control
pin my heartstring
make me pay the toll

Your Friend's Little Sister

When I was younger I thought you were the best guy
in the world
Always thought I was the only girl to know
I still recall those summer nights
when we were all friends, you used to stare at me
so much back then I just thought it meant nothing
guess it was the way you looked at me and..

Well, you're older, and you're thinking
she's just my friend's little sister
So we talked, right? it went nowhere 'cuz
you keep thinking I'm just your friend's sister

I still remember your smell from back when we were younger...
playing games outside all night
how you liked me but would never tell, you used to smile...
you used to laugh
you used to tease me, tease me
you used to be happy
What happened?

So you're older, and you're obnoxious
cuz even now I'm just your friend's sister
So I tried to, get to know you--I guess you're too weird!
I'm still just your friend's sister
I bet you really miss her
your friend's cute sister
Yea, I bet you really miss her
She's more than your friend's little sister.


Song written by Natalie Klett

YOU ROCK! Tribute to an ex-friend

Dear JM,

You used to ROCK, if rocks are rigid, frustrating and lacklustre. Did you tell me you loved me?
 I can't recall.
Things you Like:
rock
your guitar
your drugs
slim girls
me
You were beautiful in my eyes. Eyes they were blue. The feel of your arms around me...I can't recall.
Your pale hands were cold and clammy, hair long and kept.
You seemed friendly and smart--not book smart, street smart--emotional smart--or so I thought.

I gave you so much time to fall in with me but instead you carelessly chose to fall out and runaway
all that was left was fragmented me, unsure how to act, unsure how to be
I was the giver of chances and you were a thief
I let you harvest my happiness all for a kiss with no feeling

And when you sauntered into my circle instead of a chance I drew a line
and you probably smiled after the shock, liked me more than you ever had
because you realized I had grown a spine
You might have thought it was your doing but this backbone I was born with
you melted all the tension with your kind reassurances and sent it south with
neglect
I wanted kisses in the rain not to be left to drown in confusion and pain
I wanted to find love in my best friend but it was just an idea with a dead end

I grew a spine, you stayed a coward, we're no longer friends and for once it doesn't feel good to be right. Did you make me happy? I can't recall.
Are you happy? I hope so.

Fuck being Reserved

Has my life become about tiptoeing around my own dramatic tendencies and meanwhile suffering with trying to tolerate my loved ones' messes? Am I a just a tumbleweed whisping by quietly and accumulating garbage or am I a strong wind that picks up hot air and swirls into a tornado, collecting casualties as I go--cows and barns and such?

I much prefer to reserve dramatic response for positive use. Instead, I'm lit dynamite with a fuse longer than most realize. I don't think people have it out for me, I just think they're oblivious of the fact that I hold my discontent in so as to give them another chance. Take advantage of that chance and throw me around like I'll always stick around? Well, to put it simply...
fuck you.
I have greater feelings to feel, more joyful memories to experience, and more respect to gain. elsewhere. with someone else. Because I'm worth more than this, you ought to recognize.

Fine Leather

Inhale,
It seems now the polluted air takes on a new adult form of comfort
It`s real, distorted and un-pretending
It`s trying and anxious, some call it reckless
I`m not reckless 'cause I sometimes want to wreck it all
Cause I fall--
falter with unknowing looming so tall
the only thing I know absolutely is of the deterioration of a body
Inhale,
biologically breathing, surviving isn`t living
with routine repetition lost ambition and mostly blindly sipping
from my devil`s cup, temple tipping cause my mind`s mixed up
Tripping on doubt as it cynically interrupts
Caught breath, fine leather
Fastened tight, I'm light as a feather
Hold, hold!
Exhale.

Brokenness & The World's Most Beautiful Disaster

 My most vivid memories of elementary school involve drama. Not the negative drama where you could get hurt, no--the drama that is acting and creative movement, a captivating idea brought to my knowledge through a teacher by the name of (blank). Ms. (blank)'s way of teaching inspired me to gravitate to dramatic people. My first crush was named Eric, everyone enjoyed him because he was funny, outspoken, and at times, rebellious--a character. I did not want flat, I was attracted to people with grandiose gestures and immense passion. I wasn't aware of it at the time I locked eyes with him, but Zach's passion and movement made me unconsciously want him. Now I tend to wonder, is part of getting what you want...convincing yourself you never can? If you're telling yourself you can't have something and time passes by and you actually don't get what you want, wouldn't that really mean you're getting what you want because what you believed came true?

The happiest clown still cries when the makeup disappears, the most successful comedians see themselves as the world's best joke, and this is the way the world turns. Musicians and artists: extremely happy or extremely sad, no in-between. His face crunches into an expression of disgust with the topic of discussion and I watch as his skin wrinkles and stretches back and wish I could erase the lines. Even when he is well-rested his eyes look tired and worn, like they've seen more than they should and as if tears just don't come out from them anymore. His hair has grown longer due to the lack of time for a haircut and his face sometimes seems so sunken in as though he's been starved of stability. I feel the chill of his new basement room and while on his bed I tell him I'm cold. He asks, "do you mean that emotionally or physically?" and this comment would only make sense to someone if they knew the context. He wrapped his body around me and I instantly felt his warmth. For the past few weeks before that point, our intimacy had been difficult with all of the negativity surrounding his daily life. Zach was having difficulty with what used to be an incredible kitchen job at a decent restaurant. The difficulty came with, essentially, the McDonaldization of the restaurant which meant more pressure and less passion. He'd decided he could not work in the environment any longer and while problems arose with matters of work and matters of our relationship, the fatal state of his grandmother added the imminence of grief to his shoulders. With hope and determination, Zach scored a job wearing chef's whites working at Swan, a finer restaurant than the previous. He had been tossed around and the pit in my chest grew with the inner conflict I faced between being selfish and arguing with the hope for it to become resolved which in reality became endless. It only left me feeling worse for keeping him awake late enough to leave him with the minimum time left to sleep which would surely affect his performance at work in the morning.

I went into the bathroom, holding back tears of anger and wanting to remove the tangles from his stomach and lower back. I wished I could say something that would cure him of this continuous ache. It was a mental trigger of an ache that I'm sure no one else could understand completely. He wanted to be alone and I held back offence and instead felt helplessness. I felt guilt for having caused it but how I felt did not matter because his feelings meant more to me; that is why we left to get me home. My guilt and need to be alleviated of such feelings shows, as I realized it to be, self-centered behavior when I came to the conclusion that to act selflessly was to be silent and go home.
The pain in his face and weakness made me upset and furious not being able to fix it, but still I stayed silent and let him take me home.

Pretend you're okay with it as long as I'm Happy, World!

His body is a flawless figure, the perfect specimen of man. His skin soft and stature lean but not quite muscular. He reminds me of a wolf; the scruffy lone wolves that roam around with their deep eyes and neverending gaze. In the first few weeks of being with him, that gaze would provoke a nervousness inside me; the kind that made me question my judgment. Now, his staring eyes are warm and full of wonder--there's a matter-of-fact sureness in those eyes.
I'd dreamt he and I were coming close to confronting my parents of our "plan to finally date each other" despite what obstacles they might think would come with the age gap. He was sure as he was in real life, but then, in a short instant, everything changed. He told me to forget about the whole thing, as if he didn't want to deal with the drama of it all. In a fit of rage and upset I literally ran and told my parents with the idea that if I just got it over with that maybe he wouldn't leave. I'm haunted by that small fear that the person I truly love will disappear.

We make love and bask in the delicate high of the chemicals stewing due to eachother's efforts. Is there anything more relaxing and naturally enjoyable to induce/experience with another being?
It's a mistake and almost an expectation to wish to be tangled with him all the nights of my life because I am refusing believe in a forever. But it makes me feel safe and secure knowing I can here and now. Safe and secure to know it is possible. I'm not under his spell or "brainwashing", I've made my own sick bed and I'll lie in it. The irony in the use of the word "lie."

Pipe Dream or Reality

Sleep deprived but satisfied and seemingly redeemed, he gazed at me and a smile grew. His eyelids struggled to stay open but he spoke to me with an eagerness and enthusiasm that I cherish like the world. That is why it was so easy to fall in love with him; that enthusiasm, his genuinity. I could listen to him speak all day, never getting a word in, I like his use of words far better--that's not to say that I don't believe I have anything significant to contribute. I suppose it's a new step: appreciating another person's time and openness to the extent of being content with just listening. Sure, I'd like to ask him silly, unrelated questions so to fill in the blanks: what is his favourite song? favourite colour? Favourite book? Favourite memory? I wanted to know more and more, and he's giving more than he shares with 95% of the people he's ever spoken to. I wanted him to tell me what his favourite beauty mark is out of all of the flecks on my skin, that I want him to remind me he thinks I'm beautiful now and then, say "I love you" not just when we part but whenever he feels it in his chest. But he has given my kisses on my forehead, my cheek, sometimes discretely at the back of my head so delicately I feel like I'm porcelain. I'm breakable so he never lets me fall too far, when he has...we've mended together. I long for a time when I will be able to see him more than once a week, that my family can see the source of half of my happiness and recognize the goodness in us being together. I want to lay with him and watch movies together at night, cuddled close together. I want to hear him laugh and be there for him when he's upset and deal with any shit that comes our way. I believe I can handle it, I won't be afraid of what people say and I'll give him the trust I can find...though that part of me is broken. I want him to take my hand and be proud to stand next to me and introduce me to his friends and family. I will be that girl. I want to be his and him to be mine.

Like trying to find a Light Switch in the Dark

I envy how he's able to analyse so deeply, the root to his sorrow; his expanding existential crisis.

Because it's much smarter and "admirable" than thinking, crying and obsessing over miniscule issues and over-analyzing the emptiness of everyone surrounding me. Yeah, that's what I ridiculously do and it's embarrassing even to myself--I'm embarrassing myself. Deeply, I'm really mostly upset because I lack that modern apathy that, i'm sorry to marginalize, I recognize in most people with divorced parents. Talking to him, being with him is like walking through a dark room--tripping over unknown, miscellaneous objects that bruise and scrape and hurt me--in search of a light switch. Then at the end of the day when no messages are sent and conversation is short and lacking substance, as if I just smashed my knee into an obstacle in the darkness, I tell myself "Careless me! I should be more careful next time, wouldn't want to reveal myself and ruin it all!" I suppose someone who reads this ridiculous, melodramatic entry might think I'm honestly batty. I suppose I am BATTY.

I just don't understand. Is it true that when you grow up, your heart dies?
Or is it apathy just a cowardly white flag when life gets tough?
DEAL WITH IT, FIGHT FOR FEELINGS; NOT AGAINST THEM.                                          
                                                   

                                                                                                             dumb-asses.

Get Over Yourself, Baby

On the eve before her 3rd exam was to commence, she cried in her bed to no avail.
Her goal was to fully dispense her body's percentage of water through her tear ducts, all for no one to see. She wished he was there to witness her tears, to deal with the overwhelming emotion of feeling unimportant. Late replies were always a trigger for her, in the past it had been the most evident sign of a person's lack of interest in her attempt to sustain a conversation. But so, most of her so-called 'friendships' continued this way through the poor medium of "MSN Messenger," a popular way to chat over the internet with the use of an email. She dealt with a lot in those years, lost herself in low self-esteem--or rather never did find herself--until Jordan came along and propped her up on her own two feet and said, "Stop it." It took her quite a long time but eventually she got the hang of it and soon she was capable of doing more than just 'standing' and began to soar. With the finest of feathers, of the most unique colours she flew, a day here and there she wavered and returned to the ground.

All of these experiences and nostalgic emotions run rampant in her mind but he doesn't know what she has endured and how strong her fear of being meaningless truly is and why it is so. All he had to say was "you're important to me," but he didn't say so and though she tried to rationalize that he had not said it because maybe he thought his actions proved it but as the night passed...she ached with the thought, "maybe I'm not important to him." She instantly wished she was a complex composition, just the right stringing of notes to make him weak in the knees. She thought cleverly that maybe then she would be openly admired and acknowledged as important. An hour earlier, she had spiralled into hysterics; to cry or to laugh? She'd rather smoke a cigarette on the roof of her old school and yell till her chords would give out. If her chords gave out there would be no point to her existence, she might as well have never entered his life. So maybe when they meet again it'll all be forgotten, she'll fake a smile and fall into his charming crooked smile like an enchanting curse. She'll leave her frustrations to another late night to soil her pillow with tears and angry diary entries. She'll be stern telling herself to "get over yourself" and find some key ingredient to growing up and inject apathy into her veins as if it were conveniently prescribed. Apathy is not the diagnosis but the cure.

Delicate Mindset of an Insightful Youth

When did I last speak to him?
What did we discuss? And just how many times have you spoken?
Also, why haven't you coaxed a conversation via [insert popular social network]?

These are the annoying and repetitive questions that circle my mind, of course only after having thought of him. What's interesting now though, is in the past when I was 'infatuated' with him the thought of him accompanied a daydreaming sigh or the instant desire to "be his." I look back now and think it disgusting and immature. I almost wish I could quarantine that parasite in my mind. I mean, of course it's normal to have feelings for someone but the fact that I nearly made it obvious...
Destruction.
Anyways, now I feel I've become hostile; the desire to know is demanding. This has always been a general aspect of my personality, wanting to know more, to be right. I hate to admit it but I suppose it has now become an obsession. I'm unsatisfied, feeling too insignificant to be a part of his world. To him, I'm only fifth business. To him i'm an over-dressed, plain-faced and un-insightful girl with a naive heart and impractical ambition. To him I am none of the above because I'm sure I'm not all that famous in his head. To him I'm a 2-dimensional shape, flat and lacking depth. To him I'm a void. To him, I may not be worth while.
However, I know that I am not shallow, I am not 2-dimensional, nor am I plain or un-insightful. I'm not ignorant nor am I intelligent but that's exactly proved by how eager I am to know him.

Taking out the Trash

the warmth in the belly of your soul doesn't seek to suck the sweet nectar from my sore heart, swelling with passion and desire. 

How it was, what we were. Who you are and what you are--the distinction is becoming clear. 

I treat your apathy like a common cold but this is all in vain, 

to sit and wait whilst splitting my cares into two, to donate to you.

It's a beautiful burden to care for you and I calculate the reasons to let up

Cuz you're preoccupied with your objectivity

While I'm craving unity

Cuz I'm an alcoholic and you're my flask

And to you I'm just a simple task.

One day I'll be all-encompassing spontaneity

And you'll be the man who demands careful planning and punctuality

But I will run around town and leave you last on the list

My least important deed, likely to be missed.

For the time I spent being seen as a 'task' I have been reduced to being as insignificant and mundane as doing the laundry or taking out the trash.

I still wish to have a mind with potholes where cares were meant to be.

Thoughts of Unknown Protagonist

I love the remarkable way that his mouth turns up into a strangely adorable smile when I do something very right. I'm literally, "music to his ears." I shouldn't seek out his validation but I must admit that at times I do. I feel I may never impress him...no, I feel I may never hear about how and if I've impressed him. It's strange to think it's always been that way, but will he never wish to impress me? Does he think he already does impress me enough? Well, I've made it known throughout the years. Has he wished to impress me though? The thought makes me feel warm.

I'm impressed with his ambition to pursue a connection with me. Yet, when it's repeatedly brought up and can't help but subject my body to turn numb. I wanted to be comatose. I wanted to perform metamorphosis to show I'm already there, "surprise everyone, I'm not really my age...I'm older." But such thoughts are the very reason why I'm trapped; I overtly try to prove myself. Declaring myself so openly gets exhausting when outsiders disregard it or pass it off as adolescent nonsense. There's no space for me to break away from "adolescent nonsense." Anyways, the thought that was so numbing is the period of waiting...does this mean we'll break apart? How exactly would that happen? Would he still be in love or find another?
If two people love eachother enough...they won't need anyone else, even when they're technically "single."
I'm in it for the long haul.
I get weak thinking that he can so easily let me go.