You and I

Life is really great right now. I can’t get over how happy I’ve been. I never thought I would be able to get to this point again. Just last year, I was hysterically crying in bed, drowning myself in covers and tears until I could hardly breath. Reaching out to people was never an option, because I felt so misunderstood, so helpless and hopeless. Now I have so many beautiful people who surround me that I can tell the most complicated parts of my life to and they somehow manage to get it.

Before my problems were so minuscule and I never even recognized that. I let them become more as they flourished inside my head, growing bigger and bigger as I fed them with negative thoughts and discouragement. Now I talk. I talk to every friend or person I believe to be caring enough. I tell them every concern I have and I listen to theirs. I sound like a broken record player, going on and on about the same thing but to different people. They all manage to understand though. None of them think I’m broken. They look at me like I’m a fucking human being, not a out dated piece of technology that’s no longer in good use.

So, despite my desire to be alone, I know there needs to be a balance. A balance of spending time with people and spending time alone. A balance of talking to someone and of listening to them. A balance of sacrificing yourself and of extracting the life from them. And I want to be around the people who know this– that there is balance in every relationship you have. That, despite the inevitability of losing each other in the end, there is so much we can learn and grow from with one another in the moments that we have.

Advertisements

Me, Myself and I

I looked at myself in the mirror, my eyeliner fading from the 8 hour work day. I pull out the black pencil from my purse and use it the darken the lines. They shape perfectly around the course of my eye lid and flip up on each side to create a wing. The darker, the better. It distracted from how tired my eyes looked and if I had makeup on, it gave me yet another reason not to cry as I got through the night.

“You going out tonight?” My co worker looks me up and down as I continue fixing my face.

“Yea,” I sigh, finally putting down the eyeliner to take a good look at my attempt.

“Where to?” She continues to pry and I try not to scowl.

“I don’t know,” I lie through my teeth, throwing all the makeup I had spread about on the bathroom’s counter back into my purse. We’d both just got off of our shift and she tended to follow me out every time. I think she liked me, but I couldn’t tell you why. Every time she asked me a question I’d try my hardest to brush her off. I didn’t need friends. That’s not what I came to work for. I need money and answering her annoying questions isn’t going to get me any.

“Oh,” She stalls, grabbing onto the purse that’s hanging by her side, “Well, you’re working tomorrow aren’t you?”

“Yeap,” I finally close my bag and throw it onto my shoulder, “See you in the morning.”

I closed my eyes before grabbing onto the bathroom door handle and pushing onto it, freeing me from the confinement of her awkward imposition. Letting the door shut behind me, I rushed out to make my way to the parking lot. Without looking back, I hear the door slowly open again from behind me. I felt bad, but wasn’t I making it obvious that I didn’t want her hanging around me?

I can’t understand people like that, fucking needy. I was needy once and wanting of what I couldn’t have. Maybe I do understand. It’s an instinctual feeling, because of our social upbringings. We were once just animals trying to survive by finding our pack. Hunting in groups and forming families to avoid isolation. It was for safety.

I’ve felt like I needed someone before, until I realized that this feeling was just that. It was just a feeling. In modern society, shit has changed. People aren’t all looking for packs or friends or even a romantic partner. We have to manage to look out for ourselves and ourselves only. I could spend my whole life finding other people who could potentially be there for me, only to have them leave me stranded in a field surrounded by tigers hungry to chew on my flesh.

Today, we can’t be listening to our outdated biological triggers. You want a friend? You feel lonely, isolated, sad? Find something that’s constant, because people aren’t. I’ve decided my efforts are going towards a pursuit that wouldn’t abandon me. Money is constant. It doesn’t abandon me unless I choose to spend it on some new shoes.

Stop looking for people. Stop chasing people. They get swept away by life events as easy as paper does in the wind. The only person rooted down into the ground in your life is you. So, start investing time in growing trees to make your own paper instead of assuming your roommate will have some extra for you in her printer.

 

Cravings

I crave you. Around me, inside me, all over me. If I were to see you, it’d be all over for me. All over like the clothes we would tear off of one another and throw onto the floor.

You can take me. I’d gladly let you. It feels good to lose control to someone like you. Dark, reckless, angry and insensitive. Because I don’t need someone to care about me. I don’t need to be caressed and held dearly like a small kitten.

I’m not small or weak or fragile. I admire those who tip toe around me as if I am. I see pity in their eyes. I see constant worry as if my bones will shatter with the slightest flick on the wrist. They somehow see innocence, as if fawning over a newborn before being introduced to sin.

Maybe I like the darkness I see in you, because I feel it thriving inside myself and it’s desperate to take over. Then those other eyes watch me. Don’t lose your kindness. Don’t lose your soft, gentle touch— when all I want to do is tightly grip the strands of hair on your head to pull you closer.

Right now I’m not thinking about love. Love is innocent. Love is beautiful. Love is balanced. It’s a mutual feeling between two individuals that develops to comfort, respect and loyalty. I don’t want that.

What I feel so desperate for is passion. The most passion I’ve felt was during times of darkness. Maybe that’s my problem. My greatest, most heavy weighted feelings have been initiated by moments of running from cops, kissing taken men, tasting blood as it dropped down from a broken nose and sneaking back into my bedroom’s window only to spot my mother standing at the door way.

I was reckless and I loved it. I see that in others and it’s as if I can feel my own pupils dilate. The blackness of them expanding greater to spread over the light blue in my eyes.

I see it in you. That’s why I crave your lips on mine. I want to remember what that feels like. I want to remember what it feels like to not give a shit. I want to remember what it feels like to be seen as raw, brutal, bad and threatening. The same way I saw you when looking into those empty eyes.

Why is it that the bad is so damn inticing? Maybe some of us just have a more difficult time escaping it than others. All I know is this–people like you make it hard for me.

 

No more morning shots

I’m feeling sick to my stomach again. It could be the over consumption of junk food I’ve been munching down or the cigarette smoking used to avoid my thoughts, but it’s definitely more than just that. I’m starting to realize that I haven’t been myself lately. That’s when you start to get most uncomfortable, when you realize the life you’re living isn’t for you. It’s when you realize that you have to start making changes again.

I spent some time chasing after a guy who took me on stage at clubs and drank whiskey at 9 in the morning. I evolved myself so much in the lifestyle, that when I wasn’t around him I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was this on again off again thing and I’m not talking about the relationship with him. I’m talking about the one I had with myself. It was a battle of following my heart and pushing myself into a world that I did not belong in versus going back into the world I did.

Now that this guy is out of my life, I’ve come to the realization that I have to start rebuilding it. I’ve done this too many times. Left the life I know I’m supposed to live in order to be with a guy I have feelings for. I want to learn how to stop doing that. If I’m going to be with someone, I need them to understand that my life isn’t going to suddenly change for them. I’m going to want to keep writing at my same coffee shop every morning, not take shots of whiskey. I also like sleeping, preferably not just a drunken half sleep that causes me to wake up with a headache in the morning.

So, no more jumping into other people’s lives. It only causes me to come back to this empty feeling, like I lost myself while trying to find someone else. It’s just not going to work for me. I need to stay committed to my own life, at least until I build a foundation strong enough to where it doesn’t collapse as soon as my heart starts beating for a new love.

Adulting

I want to talk about growing up. I type this out as I lay on my bed feeling sand in between my toes, sprinkled all over my sheets from the other night I went to the beach and was too lazy to take a shower before face planting into my pillow.

Being in your 20s is such a weird feeling, but a good one. I think back to when I was a teenager and remember how much it sucked. Feeling so confused about your social life, boyfriends, high school, who you were going to be, but young enough to find ways to avoid such feelings.

In your 20s you’re actually somewhat forced to figure that all out, if you’re lucky. You’re forced into deciding what is right for you. The people, where you live, academics, your job, finances and a way of life. It all suddenly becomes detrimental to your overall happiness. It’s not as easy to get by with skipping classes to go steal a bottle from the nearest grocery store and get drunk with you best friend at a park while chain smoking cigarettes. Yes, that was my life in high school. Booze, stealing whatever the hell I wanted, smoking til I coughed up my lungs and hanging around people who had the same bad habits as I did. Now it’s like whatever I do actually has some kind of purpose.

I hope everyone has this realization eventually. That what we decide to do with our lives actually matters. Despite us being only individuals, a single person probably making a very tiny, limited impact to the world around us–we still manage to have a purpose.I’m just starting to find my own. I’m starting to cultivate reasons for my existence and that’s what becoming an adult is. It isn’t about paying bills, finding a job or starting a family. It’s so much more than that. It’s creating yourself. You get this amazing opportunity to make yourself into whoever you want to be.

Being young is fun. It’s so freeing to be able to not care. To not give a shit what other people think or what your future may entail. But, being able to try, to care, to give in and finally give a damn about where you may end up gives you so much strength. So, even though I still manage to act like a child every so often by jumping into the ocean one night only to find myself covered in sand and with a full face of makeup when I wake up in the morning, I still want to grow. I want to grow up. I want to give into the pressures of society, while still managing to create myself into someone greater than I could’ve ever imagined when I was 16.

I want to write again

I’m not going to talk much about myself. I don’t think I’m that interesting to be honest. I wouldn’t want to read about someone’s daily life, so why would I write about mine? I write stories. Made up scenarios that involve impossible romances, troubled teens who make their way out of hell and drama filled happenings that never actually happen. This makes it impossible for me to find ordinary life as interesting when I have an aggressive imagination that forces me to pull out my laptop and type out a story. I’m a day dreamer. I constantly manipulate situations in my head so that I can later make it a part of a future novel that might not ever get published, or even finished. I like it this way. So no, I won’t write about my day to day life.

I do however, like writing about life in general. Not mine. I like writing about any findings I have discovered that may help out another fellow human being to survive whatever hardship they may be facing. Life is fucking hard, especially when the one you make up in your head is far greater than the one you experience in reality. So I manage to search for anything and everything that might help me make it through my boring day-to-day activities and potentially help others do the same.

So, I’m going to start writing more. Not about me. Maybe about the people I meet that I find interesting, only because another person’s psychology and day-to-day activities aren’t completely exposed. It gives room for my imagination to take control. I’ll write about emotions, feelings, what it means to be human, stories, questions, God, spiritual well-being and hardships I may confront that others can relate to.

I’m going to start writing again. Every day. Maybe I’ll have days where my mind is so blank that I have to go on about the almond milk latte I drank this morning being too hot or the hiking trip I have planned for tomorrow. For now, I’m going to try to commit this blog to things that matter though. Because no one really cares if I burn my tongue while sipping coffee or if I’ve managed to get in a daily work out.

Freckles

I hardly remember what you look like anymore.

Isn’t that strange? How you can be around someone, be in love with them, be their best friend for six years and after only a few months you can’t seem to remember where your favorite freckle was on their face.

Shit, I see something now. Your fair skinned back, the broad width of your shoulders covered in them. Freckles. That’s all I see. You hated them, remember? I loved them. Every spot on you. Even your blemishes looked like tiny little masterpieces to me, or just components of the masterpiece that was you. Built with freckles, stubbornness, honesty and a huge heart. If someone needed the tools to create you, those would be them. I can’t forget that smile either and that one darkened tooth. The one that almost got knocked out by your best friend after he mistakenly hit you in a fight. The one I always stared at and laughed to myself about, thinking how stupid your friends were– thinking how stupid we all were.

Me and you both. We were pretty stupid huh? I say that as I think about your name tattooed on the lower part of my stomach, now covered with flowers. You can still see your name though. I don’t try to hide it any more. I tell people. “It’s my ex-boyfriend’s name” and for some reason I’m not ashamed anymore.

It is a part of me, just as you were. Just as you still are. Although it’s a part that only remains in my memories, in my heart, my soul and not in my physical reality– you still exist. You always will. The name on my stomach doesn’t mean shit compared to the scars you had left on my insides. The heart breaks you put me through and the ones that I put you through. Those will last longer than my skin. I will be buried, decomposing into the dirt. My flesh, blood and skin decaying into nothingness and still the memory of you will be lifted with my spirit, flowing in the wind.

I won’t remember your face. I may not remember how your hands feel against my skin anymore or the smell of your cologne. I do remember, however, the feelings you gave me. I remember how your presence felt. If I see you in another lifetime, with a different face and hair and attitude and clothes and gender and reality, I will still feel you. Just as I had the first time I saw you in this life.

Your freckles may fade baby, but you never will.