I always have some difficulty when starting these out. Not for the fact that I do not have much to say, but I always fight a constant and nagging feeling that no one really cares what I'm writing about. I guess this is why I usually wait for the most interesting of moments to share, the kind of moments where I'm given advice from sex workers, climbing through windows, and having to hold someone's hair while they expel all that demon hooch that they have ingested in a guise of being absolutely fine. Oddly enough, with this writing exercise of getting to a minimum of 1000 words and learning to write frequently I"ve come to the point of not spinning a story that pulls people to attention, but more of the random thoughts that I usually share in small confidences only to hear them declare I should share things such as this.
This week is only halfway there has been odd in some way. Once more I'm going to spout a given that should be known that I am odd when it comes to social interactions and cues. I don't understand anyone hitting one me, complimenting me, or even going out of their way to speak to me. Not only do I carry this belief that I'm not worth the trouble, but I honestly believe that it's better that I am left alone. Considering all the work with Crazy Doc I've learned that I have in some way walled myself off from such interactions that do not place me in a position where I offer a service. I'm all too familiar that I see people who I do not know as someone who wants something from me and I want to keep that as blunt as possible. Ha.....if you're thinking that this was the advice from the sex worker, no it isn't. I wish it was, but no.
Yet every now and then new people do squeeze their way into my life even if I do my best to keep them at bay. As antisocial as I can be I can not hide that I have a good cluster of people after more than 10 years had held on and made sure that I could not shake them off, much like a dog with fleas. These people are valuable to me, more than others and oddly enough some friends made their worth more in pulling in people of greater value than themselves, not lying, who I trust more than anyone else. I've always worked with an almost militaristic, mafioso form of loyalty with those who were closest to me, a loyalty that I had in the past had to end if only to survive. I'm not one to shy away from a me standoff for a greater principle of friendship, but I have a strong sense of dying stupidly that keeps me from making my last stand over things that I find so frivolous.
Yea, that's over.
And yet, I am amazed at people and the confidences they have with me. In this week, people close to me have puzzled me with things that I have difficulty in seeing myself. I don't have an image of what I am that I've been told is healthy. It's a mixture of a huge monster with a loud roar and bravado to make most cower, even when I'm simply trying to lay low. The other extreme I'm small and unseen. I'm hidden and I slip through crowds of people, even when surrounded by my companions. A survival reflex where large crowds are simply a dangerous thing if only an ingrained instinct gained from the One Time and people who see me as a threat in their mind built up by people who'd would shoot me on sight. Not healthy. It's why I"m always on the defense and move. I don't enjoy parties or festivities and if I do, someone has to make me comfortable enough that only alcohol has gotten me in the past.
I guess it's why I enjoy house sitting. I get to uproot what weak roots I have and pretend to be someone else. It can also be why I always give another name when asked for one that does not demand personal information, think coffee, although I'd sooner connect that I have issues with remembering names, numbers, and small important information that is not drilled into my head in practice. Yes, I have forgotten my own phone number and name. It's awkward, but then again I live in awkward, hence why I enjoy uprooting.
Being someone else, sitting in a cafe with the laptop out and simply trying to blending in, if not hide. I simply want to see if people will rally the townsfolk and light the torches to chase me out of town. Somehow I build up a persona with known places that may be attached to any legend and only with decades amount of time do people forget me. A small corner, warm coffee, and time alone to people watch helps me build up enough of an immunity to being outside and is needed, yet without it, I at times forget how to go outside and would rather remain in one place and stagnant.
And yet people close to me shock me at times. They want my time. With them. Sharing time and a moment, usually with food without asking me for some great task that I'm always used to. Sometimes they just want me near and I am almost bothered with this. I don't understand people not wanting me in a role, or in a position, or even doing something. To have people accept you as you is a hard idea for me. People who can put me at ease is already hard enough, but then asking for nothing in return can seriously fuck my head. It confuses me. I'm used to being used, but used for me where is not being used? Why? Because of me? Then who am I?
Why me and who am I to you? That's the question that hurts me.
I don't know what people see in me and it's confusing as hell. Every now and then I get snippets from people who think I'm this or that and the adjectives puzzle me because they are usually connected with people with enough confidence to take advantage of those adjectives. I've been called the following, "buff", "sexy", "engaging", "entertaining", "life of the party", and even "amazing", not for the actions that I do, but in reference to the noun and I am that noun.
"That's sexy."
Um.....it's a push-up.....I can see that, but it really focuses on your core.
"That's Amazing"
Oh....this.....took a long time to work on and I had to work at it, but you can do this too.
"Lifting that makes you look buff."
Oh......huh, really? I just lift to lift the things to lift.....you know....like your couch.
"You're so funny. I love hearing your stories."
Yea.....they're hilarious now, but hey if you can learn something from them.
I can deal with that. But I as the noun? "You are _______."? That one is as confusing to me as string theory.
In truth, my work has been trying to build up some sort of persona that isn't ENFORCER or MUSCLE. Even REPLACEMENT. I don't really know what I bring to the table in truth and usually know that if you give me enough time I will master something, but before then I look as if I spout chaos. So.....yea.....just something that I'm trying to understand. That concept of accepting the adjective as a noun instead of making it an adverb. I can be THIS if you give me some time, but I don't think I AM THIS.
.......does any of this make any sense......because it doesn't to me....*Sigh*
1,309 words in 45 minutes.
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Monday, March 27, 2017
Random writing practice on another Sunny morning before work
Another Monday morning in LA where you know that the clouds above will yield to another brilliant and sunny day. I was supposed to rain last week in which weak sprinkles here and there was great enough to ensure that I get the patio part of the building I work in, to myself out of fear of being wet. Not much of an issue for me, especially when I carry a dingy, yet clean towel to wipe up any rain drops from the black metal tables while others look almost amazed at my ability to use towel skills while other can not connect the dots of how I am able to sit in wet places.
Don't laugh too much, I've gone to tables soaked where someone was sitting at.
The sun is already bursting through, shining it's happy warmth on my face as I semi squint while writing this. People are arriving to work at their own pace as I continue to practice a craft that I am still not confident at as I tap away on the chrome book. There is a bit of SunTzu in my actions being here early, but also that traffic can be a nightmare and I do not do well to be on edge on the way to work. I'd rather have at least an hour minimum to buffer any delays to work such as this morning. The 105 was blocked and snail-paced while meeting the 405 and with a bit of maneuvering I'm able to get to where I need with only a minute of time lost.
With my bagel consumed and Chai warming my stomach, I stretch to find some topic of conversation that is my monolog. Somehow I always get great fiction ideas when falling asleep for a work day, but in my waking hours, I usually lean towards writing about what is and was. I still ponder if it means that I'm simply better at writing what comes to mind or if I can't hack fiction in any way. Not too worried, but something that does sit in the backseat of my mind as I contemplate my writing worth.
I made it practice with writing on work mornings while sitting out minorly watching people walk to the building and to Starbucks. It's a great distraction while exercising my introverted means of being social-ish. I mean I am here in the morning and I am outside and I am watching people walk about, but I have headphones on and simply tapping away. I usually look for interesting moments, like that goth couple looking as if they left the matrix. Awesome outfits and bravado pouring out of them and worth the watch. I always wondered if I could just get up and walk with asking to go with them considering it looks a lot more interesting than sorting through paperwork and records requests.
Other times, I look to satisfy my 15% and 85% and in rare moments 100%. 15% moments are usually enjoyed with those who live too damn far from me and with a drink in hand as we engage, indulge and maul of fashion choices chosen by most women. Never cruel or used to hurt, a select few usually sit and marvel why such a magnificent outfit with glorious accessories was worked on when they decided to give up with the plainest choice of flats. Other times we laugh at the patterns of either ughs, leggings, and summer dresses that the majority of those who simply decide to resemble each other. Very few times we are marveled by a choice in shoes or accessories where we raise out voices and praise them.
I rarely get those moments, but I do look in case it's seen so that I can share with friends too far away.
85% moments are also rare, but they're picking up. I don't usually hav3e moments where I gawk at women. It's stupid in some ways, as I can painfully remember those who even make a miniature mating ritual, read acting like a douche, to let said woman watch that she is and that she is going to be objectified with height chances of her anatomy spoken in ways most would describe produce. I've never seen a woman respond to said attention with, "why thank you, my succulent titties are suckable and I am quite complimented in the fact you'd like to release your DNA all upon them as I lick them up calling you daddy. " I know, a little too rough there, but I'm actually being gentle.
But I am in some sort of new puberty swing and I do look and force myself to look away if only to remove myself from any pool who'd look as stupid as mentioned before. Women are more akin to flowers to me at the moment. Beautiful to look upon and even a treat to smell if their fragrance is strong enough to catch my attention, but best left alone at the moment. I'm not ok yet and I'd rather not complicate my attempts of getting better as of yet with having to focus on someone else.
100% moments are awesome. It causes my mind to shut down and simply take in the moment. Having my mind attempt to communicate and create thought while one side is in awe with how stunning the woman is while the other wants to scream out how great her outfit is.
Like now........damn!
Woman in silver heels the color of her dyed hair in black leggings and a short cardigan hugging a figure that either was blessed by the gods or created from days worth of hours of work until persona and figure meld into art.
Damn, I have to share that one with a friend.
Not much to write really. I'm mentally ok at least until Tuesday afternoon and I'm not really chewing on anything in particular that I want to share, yet I do have to practice, no?
Peace and love.
1, 000 words at 35 minutes.
Don't laugh too much, I've gone to tables soaked where someone was sitting at.
The sun is already bursting through, shining it's happy warmth on my face as I semi squint while writing this. People are arriving to work at their own pace as I continue to practice a craft that I am still not confident at as I tap away on the chrome book. There is a bit of SunTzu in my actions being here early, but also that traffic can be a nightmare and I do not do well to be on edge on the way to work. I'd rather have at least an hour minimum to buffer any delays to work such as this morning. The 105 was blocked and snail-paced while meeting the 405 and with a bit of maneuvering I'm able to get to where I need with only a minute of time lost.
With my bagel consumed and Chai warming my stomach, I stretch to find some topic of conversation that is my monolog. Somehow I always get great fiction ideas when falling asleep for a work day, but in my waking hours, I usually lean towards writing about what is and was. I still ponder if it means that I'm simply better at writing what comes to mind or if I can't hack fiction in any way. Not too worried, but something that does sit in the backseat of my mind as I contemplate my writing worth.
I made it practice with writing on work mornings while sitting out minorly watching people walk to the building and to Starbucks. It's a great distraction while exercising my introverted means of being social-ish. I mean I am here in the morning and I am outside and I am watching people walk about, but I have headphones on and simply tapping away. I usually look for interesting moments, like that goth couple looking as if they left the matrix. Awesome outfits and bravado pouring out of them and worth the watch. I always wondered if I could just get up and walk with asking to go with them considering it looks a lot more interesting than sorting through paperwork and records requests.
Other times, I look to satisfy my 15% and 85% and in rare moments 100%. 15% moments are usually enjoyed with those who live too damn far from me and with a drink in hand as we engage, indulge and maul of fashion choices chosen by most women. Never cruel or used to hurt, a select few usually sit and marvel why such a magnificent outfit with glorious accessories was worked on when they decided to give up with the plainest choice of flats. Other times we laugh at the patterns of either ughs, leggings, and summer dresses that the majority of those who simply decide to resemble each other. Very few times we are marveled by a choice in shoes or accessories where we raise out voices and praise them.
I rarely get those moments, but I do look in case it's seen so that I can share with friends too far away.
85% moments are also rare, but they're picking up. I don't usually hav3e moments where I gawk at women. It's stupid in some ways, as I can painfully remember those who even make a miniature mating ritual, read acting like a douche, to let said woman watch that she is and that she is going to be objectified with height chances of her anatomy spoken in ways most would describe produce. I've never seen a woman respond to said attention with, "why thank you, my succulent titties are suckable and I am quite complimented in the fact you'd like to release your DNA all upon them as I lick them up calling you daddy. " I know, a little too rough there, but I'm actually being gentle.
But I am in some sort of new puberty swing and I do look and force myself to look away if only to remove myself from any pool who'd look as stupid as mentioned before. Women are more akin to flowers to me at the moment. Beautiful to look upon and even a treat to smell if their fragrance is strong enough to catch my attention, but best left alone at the moment. I'm not ok yet and I'd rather not complicate my attempts of getting better as of yet with having to focus on someone else.
100% moments are awesome. It causes my mind to shut down and simply take in the moment. Having my mind attempt to communicate and create thought while one side is in awe with how stunning the woman is while the other wants to scream out how great her outfit is.
Like now........damn!
Woman in silver heels the color of her dyed hair in black leggings and a short cardigan hugging a figure that either was blessed by the gods or created from days worth of hours of work until persona and figure meld into art.
Damn, I have to share that one with a friend.
Not much to write really. I'm mentally ok at least until Tuesday afternoon and I'm not really chewing on anything in particular that I want to share, yet I do have to practice, no?
Peace and love.
1, 000 words at 35 minutes.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Looping Elton as one would poke Lions with sticks
I'm not one to wrap myself in nostalgia. It doesn't affect me the way it does others considering mine is usually spiked with some PTSD. It probably why I don't dwell on it for too long. I'm not going to compare it to heroin, but it's that one thing that you wonder how someone can do something to themselves and taking any walk into the past, even happier moments usually calls to some deep need to medicate and numb myself to at least sleep long enough. It's why I never was afraid of sleeping pills and hard liquor to get the job right when my own mind can do so much worse.
At the moment, I think I want the strongest amount of alcohol possible. If I had my pain killer bottle I would swallow at least 5 of various colors and sizes to kill that feeling I now associate with having my heart being ripped apart from the inside. Elton has that hold on me, specifically, Someone save my Life with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road at a close second. Something about Elton that just stabs so deeply inside me that reduces me into a wreck. I'm not showing any outside emotion. My survival instinct will never do that, but I am so close to simply sleeping with the bottle. I want to medicate badly, but I know better now. I have that secure knowledge where if I ever give into it again I will not come out. It's a death sentence that I happened to dance around, but now being somewhat functional without my ultimate armor, I can not help feel that something like this can put me down for good.
Elton.......Elton is that one seal.....of the worse hells that I have ever faced. That release where I can feel myself fall apart inside as an empty echo of terror radiate inside me. It's what remains of sadness, having it implode to a level that I walk with something that feels like a black hole. Elton gives me that strength to embrace suicidal tendencies and simply break down and then apart until I pull myself together to face another day of being made of stone. Elton says it all. What I can never say nor even reduce myself to; asking for help.
I would never die before I ask for help, but I would kill myself willingly with a smile on face then ask for it and Elton will serenade me gently. It's as if I ripped my own heart out than to have it rip itself and every now and then I have to hold it....to remember why I pulled it out.....why without it I can function. I have to hold it to remember why I got rid of it......and then crumble apart....like now.....
It was not a bad day. It was actually a good one, but.......a phantom ache echoes ever so gently that Elton soothes as any handful of opiates would....that peace of not opening one's eyes....and not caring you're gently crying yourself to sleep. I want that now and I know it. I want it now and knowing how much of a bastard I am I will only play Elton for the 8th time and ache.....instead of swallowing what will soothe me. I can't do that, my painful sobriety placed upon myself. This is my last challenge really. To feel pain.......and, not numb....wait.....
"...and there's one more beer and I don't hear you.......any .....more...."
That's the sound of giving up......that will be my last words.....it had been my last words only to wake up screaming on how I am cursed with my grandfather's fortune to evade death and almost shame it. It's my swan song....it's my easy exit.....sneaking out before I allow the shame to fall upon me....fall of the world finally crushing me and not having the strength to flip it off one more fucking time.....I am stubborn, you just never realized that it was what kept me alive all those years.
No memory is without pain....not for me. It spurned me to blaze ahead with nostalgia burning behind me as one would burn ships set for home to resolve to push forward with no reprieve. I hurt.....I'll admit that now. I have to with all the therapy I've had, I have to say I hurt.....I still do not know how it never killed me or how I never realized I die so long ago. Either way, I punish myself in a way and feel all of it......staying away from what numbs me.....no booze....no pills.....no physical pain to boost my endorphins.
Just feel fucking pain. I'm told it's the first step to healing and a grand certificate to prove life.....pain......ha ha.....I'll be ok....no......I don't know if I will be ok....I'll be alive tomorrow as I am now.....just reconnecting......what......repressed shit.....all the slings and arrows I've absorbed....I don't know....just.....ouch......I'd rather be physically hurt....I know how to heal that, much like the first bruises from a loved one in order to hide what they have done.
They're just scars...and I carry them all.....So....just feel it.......*sigh*
Yea......everything has that tinge of pain....never a happy moment.....never......
I'll be ok.....just wanted to document this.....share with you in my small pocket of time and space that I am not made of stone. I am not strong as steel. That I bleed......a lot and frequently......just where you can see it....It's why Elton say the things I can't say. Ever.......
..........going to sleep now....I will be fine, don't worry....when have I been not functional? I'll be there for you....promise....I will....just not now....not here.....
Now, I am broken and you can not reach me.....I lay broken, pained, and will let sleep take me......and you can't touch me.......ever.......as I want it.....ha ha....ha....ha....ha....as I want it....it's the only thing keeping me....*shrugs* I don't know any ....more.....getting better is either going to kill me or heal me, but it's going to do something.
Good night. Hold those you can and love. Remember those we lost and those you can not reach. ha ha.....listen to me good....I'm sleeping with myself tonight.....I think that's why I love to write....you can't stop me....you can't......reach me....you can't touch me....it's all too late....all of it....it happened and when you get to me....it's gone.....
".......safe in time"
I'll be ok tomorrow.....just wanted to show....I don't know....I'm not made of stone....I may not be human, but I am not stone.....
.....why couldn't I just drink again....oh yea.....ha ha.....healing....fun....
At the moment, I think I want the strongest amount of alcohol possible. If I had my pain killer bottle I would swallow at least 5 of various colors and sizes to kill that feeling I now associate with having my heart being ripped apart from the inside. Elton has that hold on me, specifically, Someone save my Life with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road at a close second. Something about Elton that just stabs so deeply inside me that reduces me into a wreck. I'm not showing any outside emotion. My survival instinct will never do that, but I am so close to simply sleeping with the bottle. I want to medicate badly, but I know better now. I have that secure knowledge where if I ever give into it again I will not come out. It's a death sentence that I happened to dance around, but now being somewhat functional without my ultimate armor, I can not help feel that something like this can put me down for good.
Elton.......Elton is that one seal.....of the worse hells that I have ever faced. That release where I can feel myself fall apart inside as an empty echo of terror radiate inside me. It's what remains of sadness, having it implode to a level that I walk with something that feels like a black hole. Elton gives me that strength to embrace suicidal tendencies and simply break down and then apart until I pull myself together to face another day of being made of stone. Elton says it all. What I can never say nor even reduce myself to; asking for help.
I would never die before I ask for help, but I would kill myself willingly with a smile on face then ask for it and Elton will serenade me gently. It's as if I ripped my own heart out than to have it rip itself and every now and then I have to hold it....to remember why I pulled it out.....why without it I can function. I have to hold it to remember why I got rid of it......and then crumble apart....like now.....
It was not a bad day. It was actually a good one, but.......a phantom ache echoes ever so gently that Elton soothes as any handful of opiates would....that peace of not opening one's eyes....and not caring you're gently crying yourself to sleep. I want that now and I know it. I want it now and knowing how much of a bastard I am I will only play Elton for the 8th time and ache.....instead of swallowing what will soothe me. I can't do that, my painful sobriety placed upon myself. This is my last challenge really. To feel pain.......and, not numb....wait.....
"...and there's one more beer and I don't hear you.......any .....more...."
That's the sound of giving up......that will be my last words.....it had been my last words only to wake up screaming on how I am cursed with my grandfather's fortune to evade death and almost shame it. It's my swan song....it's my easy exit.....sneaking out before I allow the shame to fall upon me....fall of the world finally crushing me and not having the strength to flip it off one more fucking time.....I am stubborn, you just never realized that it was what kept me alive all those years.
No memory is without pain....not for me. It spurned me to blaze ahead with nostalgia burning behind me as one would burn ships set for home to resolve to push forward with no reprieve. I hurt.....I'll admit that now. I have to with all the therapy I've had, I have to say I hurt.....I still do not know how it never killed me or how I never realized I die so long ago. Either way, I punish myself in a way and feel all of it......staying away from what numbs me.....no booze....no pills.....no physical pain to boost my endorphins.
Just feel fucking pain. I'm told it's the first step to healing and a grand certificate to prove life.....pain......ha ha.....I'll be ok....no......I don't know if I will be ok....I'll be alive tomorrow as I am now.....just reconnecting......what......repressed shit.....all the slings and arrows I've absorbed....I don't know....just.....ouch......I'd rather be physically hurt....I know how to heal that, much like the first bruises from a loved one in order to hide what they have done.
They're just scars...and I carry them all.....So....just feel it.......*sigh*
Yea......everything has that tinge of pain....never a happy moment.....never......
I'll be ok.....just wanted to document this.....share with you in my small pocket of time and space that I am not made of stone. I am not strong as steel. That I bleed......a lot and frequently......just where you can see it....It's why Elton say the things I can't say. Ever.......
..........going to sleep now....I will be fine, don't worry....when have I been not functional? I'll be there for you....promise....I will....just not now....not here.....
Now, I am broken and you can not reach me.....I lay broken, pained, and will let sleep take me......and you can't touch me.......ever.......as I want it.....ha ha....ha....ha....ha....as I want it....it's the only thing keeping me....*shrugs* I don't know any ....more.....getting better is either going to kill me or heal me, but it's going to do something.
Good night. Hold those you can and love. Remember those we lost and those you can not reach. ha ha.....listen to me good....I'm sleeping with myself tonight.....I think that's why I love to write....you can't stop me....you can't......reach me....you can't touch me....it's all too late....all of it....it happened and when you get to me....it's gone.....
".......safe in time"
I'll be ok tomorrow.....just wanted to show....I don't know....I'm not made of stone....I may not be human, but I am not stone.....
.....why couldn't I just drink again....oh yea.....ha ha.....healing....fun....
Sunday, March 19, 2017
Surround yourself among those who inspire Fear and Awe
I'm in that limbo space where you're waiting for a friend to do an event and where you are simply keeping time until it happens. It's that point where you are watching all these different people warm up, talk and work out personal jitters before they go through routines that would amaze people who are not familiar with what's going on and others who are in the know would consider failures.
My friend loves freerunning and parkour. Something I wish I was able to get into 15 years ago despite my aversion to anything challenging gravity. It's quite amazing, but the muscles and reflexes I've built up scream contrary to everything being taught. A personal shame really, but I'm good with it to a certain degree. I'm with her significant other as we with sit in the stands waiting for her moment to test into another rank that still confuses me. It's awesome to watch her do all the things that seem to mock the concept of gravity, although her significant other does have issues with keeping her whole and safe.
I feel the same way, although I more than understand the need to defy things all too well.
It amazes me how people drive themselves to work at something. It's beautiful in open spaces as each person go through routines, movements, and actions demanding balance and a strong stomach. All of us have at least something that causes others to cringe or make uncalled declarations of "I could never do that" to somehow soothe our own damage sense of value and to slightly diminish anyone with a weaker resolve than most. None of this is my thing, but the drive and the focus are more than admirable.
Watching her prep and watch coaches ask her to "do the thing" is cryptic as we watch her make moves and motions not quite understood. How the mind is able to store explosive movements in an almost mundane list format in order to process the sequence is almost blasphemous. Everything people are doing is more than enough to pull away one's attention. Even "failed" flips are amazing as landing are made with a bit of corrective stumble rather than knife like swiftness. All of it is amazing in the classical sense rather than in the post-hipster movement of "meh-ing" words into bleak guttural snarkiness with limp impact. "Don't think", "just drive" and become the flow" is chanted among others and to personal spaces as each of them, my friend especially, silently, yet sternly correct themselves to against "stupid things". Once more, all of this to the layman is spectacular, but these people who drive for a perfection unknown are not pleased.
Human anatomy is really a delicate design as intricate and delicate processes finely tuned yet still efficiently inferior to a mechanical process always striving to perfect the form. All of it driven by thousand of years worth of striving and reaching towards something better and reinforced by random chance and beneficial mutations. All life push and drive towards an unseen goal that is rather felt, yet mostly driven by a reptilian mind that simply wants to eat and not be eaten. Given enough time and we have Jordan slamming baskets, Serena slamming rackets and everyone else in between looking over to personal challenges with a drive rather than a "hold ma beer".
Her movements are now inspected and analyzed with a precise eye and calculative thatI do not possess. As long as she doesn't fall and land "wrong" I'm more than content. Judges keep poker faces in place and perform her rituals as we look on with subconscious held breath. I steer my gaze towards louder movements as people fling themselves towards objects that have my instincts screaming while others peacefully observe and nod with smiles. This is heavy. I never had these moments of impotent observations outside of my tourney days where I would simply scream out key phrases that demand harder strikes and cunning tactics ingrained with hard pressured sparring matches. A child off to the side drops from a failed attempt at the bars and lands correctly enough to be safe, but loud enough to raise concern among parents. A tiny voice stating "I'm ok" is raised as other cheer.
My friend cuts the silence with an odd giggle, not attached to the moment I focus on. I turn back and watch her once more.
She launches herself toward obstacles, tucks under while flinging herself towards a wall that limits her progressions with only fingertips pressed against the lip of the top. Only soft "fucks" are emitted until one was enough to break the judges stone facade and emit a nod. Her significant other and I exchange looks and nervous laughs. We make promises to exorcise our anxiety on her afterward over treats. Once again, we have no idea what's going on, but hand slaps are shared and we wonder, "was that a good?"
I'd like to apologize to everyone I place in this position over the years. Sorry.
She climbs up high once more much further than before and tosses herself off stoops to lower stoops while still considerable high up and far off. I can not be more descriptive at the moment simply because it rubs on my crazy towards heights and probability or happenings due to heights. Once more giggles, nods, and hand slaps. Cheers erupt as a child attempts to flip over a bar as all of his companions and those near him offer encouragement. He drops successful and we all share a moment of human struggle that even I comprehend.
She returns to us for a sip of water as we relieve ourselves of all the moments and meanings and sounds that can not find the proper vocabulary. We all nod and we wait once more in limbo wondering when and how it will end. In a blink, another test taker blitzes through a barrage of obstacles and in 17 seconds, almost expelling the residue of movement with an impact to his face. Significant Other and I both agree that mouth guard if not bubbles must be given to prevent faces from being smooshed.
My friend finishes doing some flippy thing as we both gaze back and realize with disappointment and relief that we missed something exciting and nervewracking. I'd like to apologize once more to the people....sorry. Once more she flings herself towards another obstacle on the bars as she slips through a smaller space made by an upright mat and the bar she holds. Nods and giggles are shared. We are still holding our breaths.
Sorry.......
I know she'll do well. She's made of amazing and this is the process in which she tries herself. Always surround yourself with people made of awesome, once again original term used. The kind of awe that causes your breath to stop and hold in your throat. That kind of awe where you shake in wonderment that you witnessed something too huge to break down at the moment. People who inspire stories that make those not there spur themselves in envy and lost opportunity. Never be the most interesting person in the room, unless your ego is fragile and delicate. Do place yourself among the giants of your thoughts who dare confess challenges that would cause lesser individuals to be driven away by their own awkward self-imposed limitations to dwell in safe spaces of their constructions where mundane moments thrive as weeds. I will never do most of these things without the inspiration of chase from things more driven to bit than mine, but it does push me towards the remaining windmills I would never dare to forgo for excuse of age or injury.
Dare to be magnificent. Your failures only disturb cowards.
.......sorry once more.
Hour and 9 minutes, 1,301 words.
My friend loves freerunning and parkour. Something I wish I was able to get into 15 years ago despite my aversion to anything challenging gravity. It's quite amazing, but the muscles and reflexes I've built up scream contrary to everything being taught. A personal shame really, but I'm good with it to a certain degree. I'm with her significant other as we with sit in the stands waiting for her moment to test into another rank that still confuses me. It's awesome to watch her do all the things that seem to mock the concept of gravity, although her significant other does have issues with keeping her whole and safe.
I feel the same way, although I more than understand the need to defy things all too well.
It amazes me how people drive themselves to work at something. It's beautiful in open spaces as each person go through routines, movements, and actions demanding balance and a strong stomach. All of us have at least something that causes others to cringe or make uncalled declarations of "I could never do that" to somehow soothe our own damage sense of value and to slightly diminish anyone with a weaker resolve than most. None of this is my thing, but the drive and the focus are more than admirable.
Watching her prep and watch coaches ask her to "do the thing" is cryptic as we watch her make moves and motions not quite understood. How the mind is able to store explosive movements in an almost mundane list format in order to process the sequence is almost blasphemous. Everything people are doing is more than enough to pull away one's attention. Even "failed" flips are amazing as landing are made with a bit of corrective stumble rather than knife like swiftness. All of it is amazing in the classical sense rather than in the post-hipster movement of "meh-ing" words into bleak guttural snarkiness with limp impact. "Don't think", "just drive" and become the flow" is chanted among others and to personal spaces as each of them, my friend especially, silently, yet sternly correct themselves to against "stupid things". Once more, all of this to the layman is spectacular, but these people who drive for a perfection unknown are not pleased.
Human anatomy is really a delicate design as intricate and delicate processes finely tuned yet still efficiently inferior to a mechanical process always striving to perfect the form. All of it driven by thousand of years worth of striving and reaching towards something better and reinforced by random chance and beneficial mutations. All life push and drive towards an unseen goal that is rather felt, yet mostly driven by a reptilian mind that simply wants to eat and not be eaten. Given enough time and we have Jordan slamming baskets, Serena slamming rackets and everyone else in between looking over to personal challenges with a drive rather than a "hold ma beer".
Her movements are now inspected and analyzed with a precise eye and calculative thatI do not possess. As long as she doesn't fall and land "wrong" I'm more than content. Judges keep poker faces in place and perform her rituals as we look on with subconscious held breath. I steer my gaze towards louder movements as people fling themselves towards objects that have my instincts screaming while others peacefully observe and nod with smiles. This is heavy. I never had these moments of impotent observations outside of my tourney days where I would simply scream out key phrases that demand harder strikes and cunning tactics ingrained with hard pressured sparring matches. A child off to the side drops from a failed attempt at the bars and lands correctly enough to be safe, but loud enough to raise concern among parents. A tiny voice stating "I'm ok" is raised as other cheer.
My friend cuts the silence with an odd giggle, not attached to the moment I focus on. I turn back and watch her once more.
She launches herself toward obstacles, tucks under while flinging herself towards a wall that limits her progressions with only fingertips pressed against the lip of the top. Only soft "fucks" are emitted until one was enough to break the judges stone facade and emit a nod. Her significant other and I exchange looks and nervous laughs. We make promises to exorcise our anxiety on her afterward over treats. Once again, we have no idea what's going on, but hand slaps are shared and we wonder, "was that a good?"
I'd like to apologize to everyone I place in this position over the years. Sorry.
She climbs up high once more much further than before and tosses herself off stoops to lower stoops while still considerable high up and far off. I can not be more descriptive at the moment simply because it rubs on my crazy towards heights and probability or happenings due to heights. Once more giggles, nods, and hand slaps. Cheers erupt as a child attempts to flip over a bar as all of his companions and those near him offer encouragement. He drops successful and we all share a moment of human struggle that even I comprehend.
She returns to us for a sip of water as we relieve ourselves of all the moments and meanings and sounds that can not find the proper vocabulary. We all nod and we wait once more in limbo wondering when and how it will end. In a blink, another test taker blitzes through a barrage of obstacles and in 17 seconds, almost expelling the residue of movement with an impact to his face. Significant Other and I both agree that mouth guard if not bubbles must be given to prevent faces from being smooshed.
My friend finishes doing some flippy thing as we both gaze back and realize with disappointment and relief that we missed something exciting and nervewracking. I'd like to apologize once more to the people....sorry. Once more she flings herself towards another obstacle on the bars as she slips through a smaller space made by an upright mat and the bar she holds. Nods and giggles are shared. We are still holding our breaths.
Sorry.......
I know she'll do well. She's made of amazing and this is the process in which she tries herself. Always surround yourself with people made of awesome, once again original term used. The kind of awe that causes your breath to stop and hold in your throat. That kind of awe where you shake in wonderment that you witnessed something too huge to break down at the moment. People who inspire stories that make those not there spur themselves in envy and lost opportunity. Never be the most interesting person in the room, unless your ego is fragile and delicate. Do place yourself among the giants of your thoughts who dare confess challenges that would cause lesser individuals to be driven away by their own awkward self-imposed limitations to dwell in safe spaces of their constructions where mundane moments thrive as weeds. I will never do most of these things without the inspiration of chase from things more driven to bit than mine, but it does push me towards the remaining windmills I would never dare to forgo for excuse of age or injury.
Dare to be magnificent. Your failures only disturb cowards.
.......sorry once more.
Hour and 9 minutes, 1,301 words.
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Dismantling the Machine: Living with a Dying Battery
I had a very busy and social day yesterday.
I write this from a silent house where the other people are upstairs and silent or at least silent as far as my youtube music for concentration and big ass headphones will let me hear. I can sense more the heavy tapping of my finger to keys instead of the tippy taps. I took the liberty to make a french press of coffee using the mystery grind to avoid more noise and find a place to keep myself busy. I brought along my Xbox to keep my occupied, but previously planned plans have a tendency to go meh when things are going well at the expense on how much social tolerance I have. Yet a great many things were accomplished as well as the fears and worries of people close to my heart have dissolved to hope and determination, so the price is well paid. And for more bang for the buck, the right people came out of the woodwork to meet my close heart people to so that potential ring flashers can meet and exchange secret signs, knowing nods and mention the right names to know that they are not alone and greater good can be accomplished. So everything has been done to make things happy and yay. My heart close people even have the option to return from far away exiles to areas close to palate and joy of civilization instead of being the people on the edge of civilization.
And yet, if I may complain for the moment, am exhausted. It was never this bad before, but then again I ended up usually sick and forced to take the time alone where emotional batteries can recharge and my tolerance for the world can be refilled. Everyone to see came about and it was great and all, but social interaction drains me. I can not explain this, especially when most people consider me social and an odd extrovert when in honesty I'd rather see individuals for limited time, small cozy places and with an option of walking out. I was reminded yesterday that I am odd. I always have been odd and chances are even with all the work I am putting in will remain odd. I have issues with control and not having it, social interactions that have to be formal and not on my will, and how people assume that I am normal when I need to leave time to time to take a breath in and to calm myself in order to move on. I use the oddity of my motives to sway minds to my side and to introduce what I call reality.
Most people if given the opportunity will go along and let me if only to discover something new and brilliant they have never seen considering they never had to make due socially or in any other way. I feel the anxiety build and my breathing shortens only to barrel through with adrenaline and that's when my oddity kicks in. Much like Howie and Robin, I have to change the dialogue so that I least can perceive that I can and I realize my minor freaking out is either seen as comedy or just being weird. Fuck it, I simply roll with it. It's a magnificent filter for many things as well as people who are unimaginative. It's as if you told someone they could not use their legs to travel and you start seeing them be all weird and kookie and laughs are had ha ha ha ha.....and then you realize people do this in crutches, wheelchairs and sometimes in ways that you tend to forget because you're busy being fucking normal to understand. What you often times consider odd is someone's everyday challenge and simply have to get over if they plan to do what is needed.
I don't do well in large groups of people. I don't do well with groups of people I do not know or even trust all that well. I do well with people who know me for at least a decade and realize that I can be odd, but if everyone becomes still and my fucking mind stops screaming, I can interact calmly and make sense instead of focusing on who is around me or what can happen if I am not vigilant. Alcohol helps immensely, but I can not be drunk all the time anymore and I would rather have a drink to myself to nurse and perhaps pour down the drain when I realize I don't want it or need it. I have a tendency to medicate with either caffeine or alcohol and I now look at what I enjoy with moderation with apprehension and worry that I don't want it or need it or even want it near me. I'd like the idea of having A BEER or A DRINK, but I also love the fact that I don't have to drink it or even have one. That I can resolve my anxiety or simply sit with it as the jittery ADD-ish child that it is.
I drank to die. Not to kill myself, but to accept the fate I felt in my very being that will come about once I stopped being vigilant.
Therapy hasn't cured me. it only allowed me to sit still and see if the Jackels exist. It has given me agency to get up and state that I had enough socialization and I'm leaving, so that I may now be typecast as rude rather than odd and hyper. So "Auggie is SO crazy and bounces off the walls" becomes "Auggie is really withdrawn, sensitive, and carrying some heavy shit that prevents him from being among us, his closest companions, because he might go silent, relive a moment that nightmarishly brings up a moment of time that he can never escape and feel guilt and horror over it because he had no ability to prevent it, solve it, or even make the occurrences stop. Auggie has PTSD and he has it fucking bad. If it was milder he would burst into uncontrollable tears and weep until be lost all breath, as he did back then. Now he's simply emotionally distant that he resembles sociopaths, if not for his sense of being overly vigilant and protective of others. He is so far gone that he even wishes to become a sociopath and drop the tattered and ragged remains so that he can least be free of the PTSD moments. So that he can stop caring and he can perhaps exist as the machine he almost resembles. Instead, he's a machine that can not drink anymore. He sits in a room and the peppy Crazy Doc that he just wants to pat on her sweet head and kiss it endearingly while explaining it is a lost cause and she should help better people who have the chance of being flesh and blood. Go along now, sweetie. Heal those who can still feel.
Instead, the machine sits in his pocket of space and time and confesses all in hopes that it at least explains so much or help someone else. I promised myself after Russel passed that I would not let it take me without explanation. I will not let it take me without people knowing what I am going though so at least those around me know I fight daily and struggle with simply breaking even or minimizing my losses. I recharge a dying battery and moments when I am drained I look at the exchange ratio and if lucky, I realize that I got something for it. I made the lives of someone else better for something that is dying.
Friends are up. I have to pretend to be human.
1,497 words at 47 minutes.
I write this from a silent house where the other people are upstairs and silent or at least silent as far as my youtube music for concentration and big ass headphones will let me hear. I can sense more the heavy tapping of my finger to keys instead of the tippy taps. I took the liberty to make a french press of coffee using the mystery grind to avoid more noise and find a place to keep myself busy. I brought along my Xbox to keep my occupied, but previously planned plans have a tendency to go meh when things are going well at the expense on how much social tolerance I have. Yet a great many things were accomplished as well as the fears and worries of people close to my heart have dissolved to hope and determination, so the price is well paid. And for more bang for the buck, the right people came out of the woodwork to meet my close heart people to so that potential ring flashers can meet and exchange secret signs, knowing nods and mention the right names to know that they are not alone and greater good can be accomplished. So everything has been done to make things happy and yay. My heart close people even have the option to return from far away exiles to areas close to palate and joy of civilization instead of being the people on the edge of civilization.
And yet, if I may complain for the moment, am exhausted. It was never this bad before, but then again I ended up usually sick and forced to take the time alone where emotional batteries can recharge and my tolerance for the world can be refilled. Everyone to see came about and it was great and all, but social interaction drains me. I can not explain this, especially when most people consider me social and an odd extrovert when in honesty I'd rather see individuals for limited time, small cozy places and with an option of walking out. I was reminded yesterday that I am odd. I always have been odd and chances are even with all the work I am putting in will remain odd. I have issues with control and not having it, social interactions that have to be formal and not on my will, and how people assume that I am normal when I need to leave time to time to take a breath in and to calm myself in order to move on. I use the oddity of my motives to sway minds to my side and to introduce what I call reality.
Most people if given the opportunity will go along and let me if only to discover something new and brilliant they have never seen considering they never had to make due socially or in any other way. I feel the anxiety build and my breathing shortens only to barrel through with adrenaline and that's when my oddity kicks in. Much like Howie and Robin, I have to change the dialogue so that I least can perceive that I can and I realize my minor freaking out is either seen as comedy or just being weird. Fuck it, I simply roll with it. It's a magnificent filter for many things as well as people who are unimaginative. It's as if you told someone they could not use their legs to travel and you start seeing them be all weird and kookie and laughs are had ha ha ha ha.....and then you realize people do this in crutches, wheelchairs and sometimes in ways that you tend to forget because you're busy being fucking normal to understand. What you often times consider odd is someone's everyday challenge and simply have to get over if they plan to do what is needed.
I don't do well in large groups of people. I don't do well with groups of people I do not know or even trust all that well. I do well with people who know me for at least a decade and realize that I can be odd, but if everyone becomes still and my fucking mind stops screaming, I can interact calmly and make sense instead of focusing on who is around me or what can happen if I am not vigilant. Alcohol helps immensely, but I can not be drunk all the time anymore and I would rather have a drink to myself to nurse and perhaps pour down the drain when I realize I don't want it or need it. I have a tendency to medicate with either caffeine or alcohol and I now look at what I enjoy with moderation with apprehension and worry that I don't want it or need it or even want it near me. I'd like the idea of having A BEER or A DRINK, but I also love the fact that I don't have to drink it or even have one. That I can resolve my anxiety or simply sit with it as the jittery ADD-ish child that it is.
I drank to die. Not to kill myself, but to accept the fate I felt in my very being that will come about once I stopped being vigilant.
Therapy hasn't cured me. it only allowed me to sit still and see if the Jackels exist. It has given me agency to get up and state that I had enough socialization and I'm leaving, so that I may now be typecast as rude rather than odd and hyper. So "Auggie is SO crazy and bounces off the walls" becomes "Auggie is really withdrawn, sensitive, and carrying some heavy shit that prevents him from being among us, his closest companions, because he might go silent, relive a moment that nightmarishly brings up a moment of time that he can never escape and feel guilt and horror over it because he had no ability to prevent it, solve it, or even make the occurrences stop. Auggie has PTSD and he has it fucking bad. If it was milder he would burst into uncontrollable tears and weep until be lost all breath, as he did back then. Now he's simply emotionally distant that he resembles sociopaths, if not for his sense of being overly vigilant and protective of others. He is so far gone that he even wishes to become a sociopath and drop the tattered and ragged remains so that he can least be free of the PTSD moments. So that he can stop caring and he can perhaps exist as the machine he almost resembles. Instead, he's a machine that can not drink anymore. He sits in a room and the peppy Crazy Doc that he just wants to pat on her sweet head and kiss it endearingly while explaining it is a lost cause and she should help better people who have the chance of being flesh and blood. Go along now, sweetie. Heal those who can still feel.
Instead, the machine sits in his pocket of space and time and confesses all in hopes that it at least explains so much or help someone else. I promised myself after Russel passed that I would not let it take me without explanation. I will not let it take me without people knowing what I am going though so at least those around me know I fight daily and struggle with simply breaking even or minimizing my losses. I recharge a dying battery and moments when I am drained I look at the exchange ratio and if lucky, I realize that I got something for it. I made the lives of someone else better for something that is dying.
Friends are up. I have to pretend to be human.
1,497 words at 47 minutes.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Dismantling the Machine: Trust you as far as I can throw you
I can honestly say that not a lot of things scare me now.
As a child, I was always frightened, as far as I can tell. I'll even go as far as saying I didn't stop being scared until I was in my mid-thirties when I finally let go the security blanket that is religion. Oddly enough, it was the concept of exorcisms in which the god fearful would be tormented by demons of their brand of belief, yet you'd never hear people of a different religion or even an atheist being taken over a Christian based demon or even vice versa with another faith's. It helped me realize with everything else I piled up in the corner of "don't look at it too closely" that it was time to let go of it all. The being looking over my trails and tribulations without so much as a helping hand, everything supernatural attached and realizing that most apologists are simply saying "because" when questioned over their reasons while arguing that you are completely wrong simply because you can not exactly pinpoint how a particular protein gets unraveled, even though there is more than substantial evidence stating how it happens without that particular detail. Check your math, savage, but you have to BELIEVE in what I have to say because....I have a book!
Ok, enough venting....Sorry, it's a sore spot when you finally realize you've been afraid for so long trying to appease nothing when in truth you were always a good person.
Yet yesterday at the Crazy Doc's, I was unnerved. There are some things you hear that you can not help to be skeptical. "Trust me" is a big one. "I'm _________" usually peaks my attention considering that people are willing to tell you that they have some sort of trait that you can simply take their word for. "You can tell me anything" is another that makes me laugh, especially wondering why someone wants to know and why would they dare to ask to hear the things I refuse to think about in the dark for too long. There are simply certain things I hear from people's mouths that put me on alert and prepared for a large amount of crazy coming towards me.
Two things were said in less than 20 minutes that one alone would be more than enough to make sure I'm never in the room alone with the person. I kept silent after one, I was made quiet, meaning that the person said the right thing to "turn off" my venting. It's rare and usually a lucky stroke by the person who uttered it, but something I do respond on the level of "sit" or "down" commands given to dogs. It's something that pulls away any annoyance and instantly calms me. Few people can do it and they are never in the same room and I am never "intimate", read in any indefensible position with them. So to say any significant other can never soothe me with a word is a method to keep me safe rather than any issue I have. It's a level of trust that I do not have anymore since the last person tore me apart with that trust.
The second phrase is "I'm not going anywhere". That alone is enough for me to get up and walk away. Oddly enough it was said as our session ended and I was on my way through the door. I do not like this phrase. It's not only loaded, but it's the kind of leap of faith that I do not have anymore. I once asked a friend who he himself categorized as "marrying up". He more than admitted that he's not a looker, but somehow he has something that keeps his wife happy, content, and in love and the only thing he wanted to do is to keep that going until the day she realizes that she made a huge mistake. Laughs were had, but it left me unsettled that he would even have that amount of trust. Their relationship is strong, just celebrating an anniversary just a while ago and I still can not believe that people can have that ability to know that the person they share a bed can tear them apart and still sleep peacefully with them.
It's surreal to me.
I also remember sitting at near a bus stop with a friend as an obese man walked off the bus and waited to help his significant other get off too. Immediately people did that either polite "OH.....oh...nothing to see here" look that they do as they acknowledge that they have seen a sight while others at safe distances pointed and smiled at the fat man helping the fat woman get off the bus. They soon held hands as they slowly made way down the streets of the mixture of stares and cruel snide points. I sat there, sipping my drink, and bluntly told my friend that they were obese. They had people mock or turn their faces away to not hurt their feelings, with some attempts doing as much damage as the mocking. And before he could bring issue on what I was getting at I said, I see two people I envy more in the world. Two people who may have physical limitations that constantly bring the slings and arrows of the world to them, but they hold each other tight walking slowly down the street, them against the world. Them against everything that can be said to them and that they already know or have heard immensely. And yet they hold on to each other, much like older couples do when the seem so frail and brittle to the world, they hold on to each other and know they are safe, loved, and that the world will never matter. If I was in any of their places I would have to walk it alone, much as I already have. I would walk alone because I can not trust anyone to support me and I do not see myself.....worthy......no....of value, that's a closer meaning, to support someone who needs so much from me. I don't think I've ever failed anyone in a relationship outside of not being the person they wanted in the first place. Yet, even I know that in the end, I'm not someone who they had wanted for lasting reasons. I was temporary and useful for the moment, but not someone you'd hold on to in these moments.
I envied them and I lamented at what they have that I do not. I do not have that.....belief....faith.....trust.....I don't know what else it can be called. I had been ripped out and had salt added to the wound before cauterized.
So those two things said in a matter of minutes frightened me. Things you'd imagine giving you comfort or relief. Instead, it put me on edge with the usual reaction of getting my defenses up. If she said that she loved me, even as a joke, I would have jumped through the 4th-floor window and welcomed the ground.
I think my next set of days are going to be.....horrific for me. I know you must read this and imagine why I would ever feel this way. I feel it because I'd rather be crushed under the weight of the world alone than to trust my back to anyone outside of a handful that I must be emotionally distant to.
I'm not looking forward to Tuesday. I'm actually scared of it.
As a child, I was always frightened, as far as I can tell. I'll even go as far as saying I didn't stop being scared until I was in my mid-thirties when I finally let go the security blanket that is religion. Oddly enough, it was the concept of exorcisms in which the god fearful would be tormented by demons of their brand of belief, yet you'd never hear people of a different religion or even an atheist being taken over a Christian based demon or even vice versa with another faith's. It helped me realize with everything else I piled up in the corner of "don't look at it too closely" that it was time to let go of it all. The being looking over my trails and tribulations without so much as a helping hand, everything supernatural attached and realizing that most apologists are simply saying "because" when questioned over their reasons while arguing that you are completely wrong simply because you can not exactly pinpoint how a particular protein gets unraveled, even though there is more than substantial evidence stating how it happens without that particular detail. Check your math, savage, but you have to BELIEVE in what I have to say because....I have a book!
Ok, enough venting....Sorry, it's a sore spot when you finally realize you've been afraid for so long trying to appease nothing when in truth you were always a good person.
Yet yesterday at the Crazy Doc's, I was unnerved. There are some things you hear that you can not help to be skeptical. "Trust me" is a big one. "I'm _________" usually peaks my attention considering that people are willing to tell you that they have some sort of trait that you can simply take their word for. "You can tell me anything" is another that makes me laugh, especially wondering why someone wants to know and why would they dare to ask to hear the things I refuse to think about in the dark for too long. There are simply certain things I hear from people's mouths that put me on alert and prepared for a large amount of crazy coming towards me.
Two things were said in less than 20 minutes that one alone would be more than enough to make sure I'm never in the room alone with the person. I kept silent after one, I was made quiet, meaning that the person said the right thing to "turn off" my venting. It's rare and usually a lucky stroke by the person who uttered it, but something I do respond on the level of "sit" or "down" commands given to dogs. It's something that pulls away any annoyance and instantly calms me. Few people can do it and they are never in the same room and I am never "intimate", read in any indefensible position with them. So to say any significant other can never soothe me with a word is a method to keep me safe rather than any issue I have. It's a level of trust that I do not have anymore since the last person tore me apart with that trust.
The second phrase is "I'm not going anywhere". That alone is enough for me to get up and walk away. Oddly enough it was said as our session ended and I was on my way through the door. I do not like this phrase. It's not only loaded, but it's the kind of leap of faith that I do not have anymore. I once asked a friend who he himself categorized as "marrying up". He more than admitted that he's not a looker, but somehow he has something that keeps his wife happy, content, and in love and the only thing he wanted to do is to keep that going until the day she realizes that she made a huge mistake. Laughs were had, but it left me unsettled that he would even have that amount of trust. Their relationship is strong, just celebrating an anniversary just a while ago and I still can not believe that people can have that ability to know that the person they share a bed can tear them apart and still sleep peacefully with them.
It's surreal to me.
I also remember sitting at near a bus stop with a friend as an obese man walked off the bus and waited to help his significant other get off too. Immediately people did that either polite "OH.....oh...nothing to see here" look that they do as they acknowledge that they have seen a sight while others at safe distances pointed and smiled at the fat man helping the fat woman get off the bus. They soon held hands as they slowly made way down the streets of the mixture of stares and cruel snide points. I sat there, sipping my drink, and bluntly told my friend that they were obese. They had people mock or turn their faces away to not hurt their feelings, with some attempts doing as much damage as the mocking. And before he could bring issue on what I was getting at I said, I see two people I envy more in the world. Two people who may have physical limitations that constantly bring the slings and arrows of the world to them, but they hold each other tight walking slowly down the street, them against the world. Them against everything that can be said to them and that they already know or have heard immensely. And yet they hold on to each other, much like older couples do when the seem so frail and brittle to the world, they hold on to each other and know they are safe, loved, and that the world will never matter. If I was in any of their places I would have to walk it alone, much as I already have. I would walk alone because I can not trust anyone to support me and I do not see myself.....worthy......no....of value, that's a closer meaning, to support someone who needs so much from me. I don't think I've ever failed anyone in a relationship outside of not being the person they wanted in the first place. Yet, even I know that in the end, I'm not someone who they had wanted for lasting reasons. I was temporary and useful for the moment, but not someone you'd hold on to in these moments.
I envied them and I lamented at what they have that I do not. I do not have that.....belief....faith.....trust.....I don't know what else it can be called. I had been ripped out and had salt added to the wound before cauterized.
So those two things said in a matter of minutes frightened me. Things you'd imagine giving you comfort or relief. Instead, it put me on edge with the usual reaction of getting my defenses up. If she said that she loved me, even as a joke, I would have jumped through the 4th-floor window and welcomed the ground.
I think my next set of days are going to be.....horrific for me. I know you must read this and imagine why I would ever feel this way. I feel it because I'd rather be crushed under the weight of the world alone than to trust my back to anyone outside of a handful that I must be emotionally distant to.
I'm not looking forward to Tuesday. I'm actually scared of it.
I can honestly say that not a lot of things scare me now.
As a child, I was always frightened, as far as I can tell. I'll even go as far as saying I didn't stop being scared until I was in my mid-thirties when I finally let go the security blanket that is religion. Oddly enough, it was the concept of exorcisms in which the god fearful would be tormented by demons of their brand of belief, yet you'd never hear people of a different religion or even an atheist being taken over a Christian based demon or even vice versa with another faith's. It helped me realize with everything else I piled up in the corner of "don't look at it too closely" that it was time to let go of it all. The being looking over my trails and tribulations without so much as a helping hand, everything supernatural attached and realizing that most apologists are simply saying "because" when questioned over their reasons while arguing that you are completely wrong simply because you can not exactly pinpoint how a particular protein gets unraveled, even though there is more than substantial evidence stating how it happens without that particular detail. Check your math, savage, but you have to BELIEVE in what I have to say because....I have a book!
Ok, enough venting....Sorry, it's a sore spot when you finally realize you've been afraid for so long trying to appease nothing when in truth you were always a good person.
Yet yesterday at the Crazy Doc's, I was unnerved. There are some things you hear that you can not help to be skeptical. "Trust me" is a big one. "I'm _________" usually peaks my attention considering that people are willing to tell you that they have some sort of trait that you can simply take their word for. "You can tell me anything" is another that makes me laugh, especially wondering why someone wants to know and why would they dare to ask to hear the things I refuse to think about in the dark for too long. There are simply certain things I hear from people's mouths that put me on alert and prepared for a large amount of crazy coming towards me.
Two things were said in less than 20 minutes that one alone would be more than enough to make sure I'm never in the room alone with the person. I kept silent after one, I was made quiet, meaning that the person said the right thing to "turn off" my venting. It's rare and usually a lucky stroke by the person who uttered it, but something I do respond on the level of "sit" or "down" commands given to dogs. It's something that pulls away any annoyance and instantly calms me. Few people can do it and they are never in the same room and I am never "intimate", read in any indefensible position with them. So to say any significant other can never soothe me with a word is a method to keep me safe rather than any issue I have. It's a level of trust that I do not have anymore since the last person tore me apart with that trust.
The second phrase is "I'm not going anywhere". That alone is enough for me to get up and walk away. Oddly enough it was said as our session ended and I was on my way through the door. I do not like this phrase. It's not only loaded, but it's the kind of leap of faith that I do not have anymore. I once asked a friend who he himself categorized as "marrying up". He more than admitted that he's not a looker, but somehow he has something that keeps his wife happy, content, and in love and the only thing he wanted to do is to keep that going until the day she realizes that she made a huge mistake. Laughs were had, but it left me unsettled that he would even have that amount of trust. Their relationship is strong, just celebrating an anniversary just a while ago and I still can not believe that people can have that ability to know that the person they share a bed can tear them apart and still sleep peacefully with them.
It's surreal to me.
I also remember sitting at near a bus stop with a friend as an obese man walked off the bus and waited to help his significant other get off too. Immediately people did that either polite "OH.....oh...nothing to see here" look that they do as they acknowledge that they have seen a sight while others at safe distances pointed and smiled at the fat man helping the fat woman get off the bus. They soon held hands as they slowly made way down the streets of the mixture of stares and cruel snide points. I sat there, sipping my drink, and bluntly told my friend that they were obese. They had people mock or turn their faces away to not hurt their feelings, with some attempts doing as much damage as the mocking. And before he could bring issue on what I was getting at I said, I see two people I envy more in the world. Two people who may have physical limitations that constantly bring the slings and arrows of the world to them, but they hold each other tight walking slowly down the street, them against the world. Them against everything that can be said to them and that they already know or have heard immensely. And yet they hold on to each other, much like older couples do when the seem so frail and brittle to the world, they hold on to each other and know they are safe, loved, and that the world will never matter. If I was in any of their places I would have to walk it alone, much as I already have. I would walk alone because I can not trust anyone to support me and I do not see myself.....worthy......no....of value, that's a closer meaning, to support someone who needs so much from me. I don't think I've ever failed anyone in a relationship outside of not being the person they wanted in the first place. Yet, even I know that in the end, I'm not someone who they had wanted for lasting reasons. I was temporary and useful for the moment, but not someone you'd hold on to in these moments.
I envied them and I lamented at what they have that I do not. I do not have that.....belief....faith.....trust.....I don't know what else it can be called. I had been ripped out and had salt added to the wound before cauterized.
So those two things said in a matter of minutes frightened me. Things you'd imagine giving you comfort or relief. Instead, it put me on edge with the usual reaction of getting my defenses up. If she said that she loved me, even as a joke, I would have jumped through the 4th-floor window and welcomed the ground.
I think my next set of days are going to be.....horrific for me. I know you must read this and imagine why I would ever feel this way. I feel it because I'd rather be crushed under the weight of the world alone than to trust my back to anyone outside of a handful that I must be emotionally distant to.
I'm not looking forward to Tuesday. I'm actually scared of it.
1,256 words 46 minutes.
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Things that I will never understand, but it's most likely that I am not human and have the social empathy of a potato.
1. People who want to own a piece of another person's clothing
I'm going to be blunt. I've slept with a good amount of women. I've shacked up with a smaller percentage of them. I've done laundry and I even broke up with......all of them and I have to say that I have never been drawn to their clothing. I have lost a great amount of clothing to women and if I ever get something of theirs I usually give it back or it gets tossed into the bonfire. As close to any of this, I enjoy waking up next to someone who I've been in a relationship and cuddling close and smelling them. I enjoy their smell. I've even enjoyed how each of them taste. Yet keeping something of theirs and smelling it, even when we are done? NOPE!
Even less when online models offer you certain pieces of clothing for a price. So....yea.....nope. You'll never find any "mementos". It also relieves me of any embarrassing moments if someone discovers a purple rhinestone bustier.
2. Love songs, especially R&B, sound either desperate and needy in a stalker sort of way or self-degrading.
I know the chemistry of love. It's the worst drug to be on and the hardest to be clean when it takes so much time to finally feel yourself once more and you realize that relationship was a train wreck to begin with but you ignored it because body parts, infatuation, or you have been "pinning', read stalking, the other person so long that your shrine is taking one a bit of a serial killer feel to it. Sorry, I have felt affection and caring towards someone else, but they have never been my oxygen or my one and only because I had many ones and onlys. If anything I realize I stepping into love in the same manner that one steps in pet fecal matter, you always wonder why you were not paying attention more. Love songs never help afterward unless you're trying to find the most easiest way to end your life.
Once again, I do not claim to be human in any way.
3. Children being perfect because they're my little blah blah blah
No. Stop it. This is why we have sociopaths and monsters. You are not raising a dolly or a small child or a [insert your own sickening mind rotting baby talk, because you either do it, you fucking, monster or you have heard it, alcohol helps]. You are going to raise a human being who has to carry on your family name and have to deal with other people. I say this because I attract the human version of garbage and when they get too close, usually stabbing distance.....not even fucking joking....I have the scars to prove it, I always wonder if they had parents. Yes, yes they did and they were shit not because they put out their cigarettes on them or used them for bowling balls, but because inserting them a concept of how perfect and amazing and incredible and individual and what other bullshit you tell them you also have to remind them that they are one fucking person among billions and to have some human empathy because if they had some then they would know not to be human garbage and maybe I would not be in therapy!
Seriously, fuck you. Raise your future human right or I'll start calling you out now. I won't name names because that will tip you off and give you a head start.
4. Saying hello is not flirting
I am a whore. I am a complete whore, tease, and I play hard to get. I have been seeing multiple people for the 30 years. I make people feel good about themselves and yet I have never at least offered to finger/handjob them because I am a whore. Do not believe me that I have only been polite enough to you to prevent you from realizing that I am just a trauma away from being emotionally dead. Never believe me that when I say, "lets get dinner" that I am not banking fuck points because why the fuck would I ever spend time with you unless it's to bend you over and fuck you hard or to tease the fuck out of you like the shitty whore I am, remember I started out saying it. I'm actually just teasing the fuck out of you and fucking everyone else. I mean, you seen me say "hello" to others. I'm fucking them. A lot. A good amount of fucking. And then we laugh at you and how I am teasing you and not fucking you. We laugh and we fuck some more until you realize you have to break up with me because going for three meals after work is way too much of a commitment and always lead to fucking, but I'm not fucking you, remember? So why invest in other people unless you are going to bend them over and fuck em so good......so good.....
There I said it. Now your hunches are confirmed. Leave me alone now. I just wanted to say good morning to let you know I need the nondairy creamer and you're in the way.
5. IPA's are the new shitty beers because we can't have something nice unless we saturate life with it and Coors decide to make their own.
I get it. It's bitter and has a bite. Nice.
And yet it's fucking everywhere. Like Coors. It's to the point now you're flavoring it. Like Coors. And making interesting bottles. Like Coors. And if offered everywhere and all the time so that there are nothing else besides IPA's......and Coors.
"Can I have something pleasingly red and warm with a hint of bite?"
"No.....we don't have that, but we have 105 different IPA's......and Coors".
"Oh....can I have something dark, bitter, and thick with a thick foam?"
"Um......we don't have that, but they make a coffee IPA!"
*waiting for it*
"It's made by Coors!"
"Can I have a nice Hefeweizen with a slice of lemon, please?"
"Um.....ah......I don't think we have that IPA."
Stop it. Stop it before you ruin it all......like Coors.
I'm going to be blunt. I've slept with a good amount of women. I've shacked up with a smaller percentage of them. I've done laundry and I even broke up with......all of them and I have to say that I have never been drawn to their clothing. I have lost a great amount of clothing to women and if I ever get something of theirs I usually give it back or it gets tossed into the bonfire. As close to any of this, I enjoy waking up next to someone who I've been in a relationship and cuddling close and smelling them. I enjoy their smell. I've even enjoyed how each of them taste. Yet keeping something of theirs and smelling it, even when we are done? NOPE!
Even less when online models offer you certain pieces of clothing for a price. So....yea.....nope. You'll never find any "mementos". It also relieves me of any embarrassing moments if someone discovers a purple rhinestone bustier.
2. Love songs, especially R&B, sound either desperate and needy in a stalker sort of way or self-degrading.
I know the chemistry of love. It's the worst drug to be on and the hardest to be clean when it takes so much time to finally feel yourself once more and you realize that relationship was a train wreck to begin with but you ignored it because body parts, infatuation, or you have been "pinning', read stalking, the other person so long that your shrine is taking one a bit of a serial killer feel to it. Sorry, I have felt affection and caring towards someone else, but they have never been my oxygen or my one and only because I had many ones and onlys. If anything I realize I stepping into love in the same manner that one steps in pet fecal matter, you always wonder why you were not paying attention more. Love songs never help afterward unless you're trying to find the most easiest way to end your life.
Once again, I do not claim to be human in any way.
3. Children being perfect because they're my little blah blah blah
No. Stop it. This is why we have sociopaths and monsters. You are not raising a dolly or a small child or a [insert your own sickening mind rotting baby talk, because you either do it, you fucking, monster or you have heard it, alcohol helps]. You are going to raise a human being who has to carry on your family name and have to deal with other people. I say this because I attract the human version of garbage and when they get too close, usually stabbing distance.....not even fucking joking....I have the scars to prove it, I always wonder if they had parents. Yes, yes they did and they were shit not because they put out their cigarettes on them or used them for bowling balls, but because inserting them a concept of how perfect and amazing and incredible and individual and what other bullshit you tell them you also have to remind them that they are one fucking person among billions and to have some human empathy because if they had some then they would know not to be human garbage and maybe I would not be in therapy!
Seriously, fuck you. Raise your future human right or I'll start calling you out now. I won't name names because that will tip you off and give you a head start.
4. Saying hello is not flirting
I am a whore. I am a complete whore, tease, and I play hard to get. I have been seeing multiple people for the 30 years. I make people feel good about themselves and yet I have never at least offered to finger/handjob them because I am a whore. Do not believe me that I have only been polite enough to you to prevent you from realizing that I am just a trauma away from being emotionally dead. Never believe me that when I say, "lets get dinner" that I am not banking fuck points because why the fuck would I ever spend time with you unless it's to bend you over and fuck you hard or to tease the fuck out of you like the shitty whore I am, remember I started out saying it. I'm actually just teasing the fuck out of you and fucking everyone else. I mean, you seen me say "hello" to others. I'm fucking them. A lot. A good amount of fucking. And then we laugh at you and how I am teasing you and not fucking you. We laugh and we fuck some more until you realize you have to break up with me because going for three meals after work is way too much of a commitment and always lead to fucking, but I'm not fucking you, remember? So why invest in other people unless you are going to bend them over and fuck em so good......so good.....
There I said it. Now your hunches are confirmed. Leave me alone now. I just wanted to say good morning to let you know I need the nondairy creamer and you're in the way.
5. IPA's are the new shitty beers because we can't have something nice unless we saturate life with it and Coors decide to make their own.
I get it. It's bitter and has a bite. Nice.
And yet it's fucking everywhere. Like Coors. It's to the point now you're flavoring it. Like Coors. And making interesting bottles. Like Coors. And if offered everywhere and all the time so that there are nothing else besides IPA's......and Coors.
"Can I have something pleasingly red and warm with a hint of bite?"
"No.....we don't have that, but we have 105 different IPA's......and Coors".
"Oh....can I have something dark, bitter, and thick with a thick foam?"
"Um......we don't have that, but they make a coffee IPA!"
*waiting for it*
"It's made by Coors!"
"Can I have a nice Hefeweizen with a slice of lemon, please?"
"Um.....ah......I don't think we have that IPA."
Stop it. Stop it before you ruin it all......like Coors.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Dismantling the Machine, Part 3: Anticipation before being ripped asunder emotionally
The internet in the Crazy Doc’s waiting room was out as I attempt to write this. As much as I love my beloved Chromebook, I realize that without a signal I can’t do much on it. Thankfully I have enough music stored on it to keep me calm. That and tinkering with it I now learn that I can use my documents program to write. I always knew I could, I just didn’t know how to get to it. I know, odd. It’s almost like having an idea what to do in a blackout until you realize this is your opportunity to test out all that planning that you never conducted or bothered with thinking about.
So here I am, attempting to write with sloppy finger work and no use of any autocorrect to my grammar or spelling. I’m writing blind almost as if I was back in….um…..10 years ago? Ha, this would have3 been enough to make most laugh while I know most who have not endured past decades as of yet thinking back to such a time with almost a sense of savagery. We played in the dirty until the pony express brought us news of injuns attacks, who’s turn it was to die and primitive live before youtube. I mean, can you just? Can you?
….um, just what? I got nothing. Just wanted to make a cheap joke and I’m proud of my attempt. Not exactly executed, but a great attempt at a half ass thought of a try.
Either way, I sit in the empty room attempting to keep my mind still with George Baker and whispers of Tarantino in the back of my mind. I’m going to state this now since I think I’ve built up enough padding before I cut through it, that I would love to write fiction and yet, I know deep within me I’m going to have the roughest time doing so. Not that I don’t have stories, but that I flow so much easier simply writing about nothing in particular in mind rather than put my vision of worlds unseen into life. Somehow I am a bit more comfortable sharing my thoughts than my stories unless we are cozy enough with ourselves and there is no other medium with those above the age of 10.
I know, if I put an effort I can work that creative muscle and probably impress you all with the things that run through my head and yet I somehow have this infatuation with sharing with you all the thoughts in my head that have been kicked around long enough to form an odd argument. Perhaps this is a place I’m most comfortable with sharing, having a need to have both space and time altered to have a monolog with you. And that is what it is, a monolog that I finally have the comfort and safety of a distant time and place had where you are able to read this while I sit in a place safe from….well…..you. Not exactly you, but you. Savy? It’s not exactly you, Johnny Doe of Somewhere Elseberg at least 15 time zones away, but the idea of having this conversation with you here is as close as I can have it “live”
Did I mention in a past life I wanted to be an actor? I was even told I was good at it. A great sense of blah blah blah…..*replace blah with self-congratulatory bullshit*. And yet, my greatest moments were also monologs. I adored them. I used to ingest them by the lbs and even written my own stuff, yet life has a way of grabbing you by the throat and simply dragging you away from what you love as it laid in distant view in a glorious blaze of lost potential. So...yea….that.
And yet, I still love the idea of a monolog. I can see it’s value and need, especially in my situation where I have the hardest time trying to connect with people while defenses are not up and running. In this safe place of my choosing, I’m able to share with you a moment to time had that does not exist. I’m able to share with you the things that I somehow find worth, much like any pack rat attempting to bring value to the garbage laid askew about them.
There is a bit of sadness if you think about it. There may just never be a moment in life where I feel safe enough to bare this while among you. A moment where I am not protected, strong, and not looking after your needs. So while among you, you are my focus. You are my world and reason to have a conversation. Me….nah….not worth, but one day we shall have drinks and perhaps, mayhaps I shall think about sharing with you what I am not comfortable with….
And if you believe that I have many things to offer such a brilliant sucker you are.
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know why I can not share this with you. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I’m willing to sit in a room with someone who I take every attempt to remain vulnerable as we find what causes me to remove myself from you. I’m not going to being to say I’m not broken. I’ll even agree with you with the thought that I do not and probably will not see myself as a priority. Too much there to even attempt to change the subject when you can just say, “yes” and move along.
Looking at the clock on the wall, I know my time is almost up here. I have to go in soon and I can feel the anxiety slowly building knowing that this moment will also be lost. I will soon go inside and hour close to an hour tear myself apart and attempt to pull myself together untilI can function once more until that time comes in again. We’re losing this moment together. A moment we never had together and yet, I feel the sadness. This is all I have. This is all I have to give and I know very well that it’s not even crumbs to offer the smallest mouths.
These are the moments where I know I have nothing to give and the option of offering you anything is extremely limited. We have these moments and that is all. And yet, I try to give these as if they have any worth. I give them because it’s all I can give and I sit in the room in hopes for a little more to give.
*puts on Bowie’s Starman*
My music was a bit too….dismal at the moment and I need to at least try, no? I have to, even if I don’t think it will help, these are often the moments where I break through and ….life gets better. I gain an inch of progress and I’m rallied to push more. To try more and put myself in the positions where I am weak and broken rather than incredibly intangible.
Someone else just walked in. Soon four more people will pop up before I go in. When I leave it will be crowded and all I want is the elevator down and outside. Not really a great place for reflection. Everyone who leaves has that look, that pained look that begs for privacy and time to collect. Some people are on their phones. Some stretch and breath deeply. Others have rituals that I can never comprehend past outside of knowing they need them as I need mine. Distant strangers being distant and strange…...that’s a title. That’s a gem of one. Have to use it.
*plays A Little Bit of Soul*
Bowie didn’t last long, so this. I can do this…..I don’t have a choice. I have this. I have this and I can do this…...yay…...nothing at all that I can do to prepare for this…..YAY! That’s what kills me, I can’t prep for this...I can’t stack the deck or even prepare myself for the
….oops…..have to go…...bye…...
So here I am, attempting to write with sloppy finger work and no use of any autocorrect to my grammar or spelling. I’m writing blind almost as if I was back in….um…..10 years ago? Ha, this would have3 been enough to make most laugh while I know most who have not endured past decades as of yet thinking back to such a time with almost a sense of savagery. We played in the dirty until the pony express brought us news of injuns attacks, who’s turn it was to die and primitive live before youtube. I mean, can you just? Can you?
….um, just what? I got nothing. Just wanted to make a cheap joke and I’m proud of my attempt. Not exactly executed, but a great attempt at a half ass thought of a try.
Either way, I sit in the empty room attempting to keep my mind still with George Baker and whispers of Tarantino in the back of my mind. I’m going to state this now since I think I’ve built up enough padding before I cut through it, that I would love to write fiction and yet, I know deep within me I’m going to have the roughest time doing so. Not that I don’t have stories, but that I flow so much easier simply writing about nothing in particular in mind rather than put my vision of worlds unseen into life. Somehow I am a bit more comfortable sharing my thoughts than my stories unless we are cozy enough with ourselves and there is no other medium with those above the age of 10.
I know, if I put an effort I can work that creative muscle and probably impress you all with the things that run through my head and yet I somehow have this infatuation with sharing with you all the thoughts in my head that have been kicked around long enough to form an odd argument. Perhaps this is a place I’m most comfortable with sharing, having a need to have both space and time altered to have a monolog with you. And that is what it is, a monolog that I finally have the comfort and safety of a distant time and place had where you are able to read this while I sit in a place safe from….well…..you. Not exactly you, but you. Savy? It’s not exactly you, Johnny Doe of Somewhere Elseberg at least 15 time zones away, but the idea of having this conversation with you here is as close as I can have it “live”
Did I mention in a past life I wanted to be an actor? I was even told I was good at it. A great sense of blah blah blah…..*replace blah with self-congratulatory bullshit*. And yet, my greatest moments were also monologs. I adored them. I used to ingest them by the lbs and even written my own stuff, yet life has a way of grabbing you by the throat and simply dragging you away from what you love as it laid in distant view in a glorious blaze of lost potential. So...yea….that.
And yet, I still love the idea of a monolog. I can see it’s value and need, especially in my situation where I have the hardest time trying to connect with people while defenses are not up and running. In this safe place of my choosing, I’m able to share with you a moment to time had that does not exist. I’m able to share with you the things that I somehow find worth, much like any pack rat attempting to bring value to the garbage laid askew about them.
There is a bit of sadness if you think about it. There may just never be a moment in life where I feel safe enough to bare this while among you. A moment where I am not protected, strong, and not looking after your needs. So while among you, you are my focus. You are my world and reason to have a conversation. Me….nah….not worth, but one day we shall have drinks and perhaps, mayhaps I shall think about sharing with you what I am not comfortable with….
And if you believe that I have many things to offer such a brilliant sucker you are.
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know why I can not share this with you. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I’m willing to sit in a room with someone who I take every attempt to remain vulnerable as we find what causes me to remove myself from you. I’m not going to being to say I’m not broken. I’ll even agree with you with the thought that I do not and probably will not see myself as a priority. Too much there to even attempt to change the subject when you can just say, “yes” and move along.
Looking at the clock on the wall, I know my time is almost up here. I have to go in soon and I can feel the anxiety slowly building knowing that this moment will also be lost. I will soon go inside and hour close to an hour tear myself apart and attempt to pull myself together untilI can function once more until that time comes in again. We’re losing this moment together. A moment we never had together and yet, I feel the sadness. This is all I have. This is all I have to give and I know very well that it’s not even crumbs to offer the smallest mouths.
These are the moments where I know I have nothing to give and the option of offering you anything is extremely limited. We have these moments and that is all. And yet, I try to give these as if they have any worth. I give them because it’s all I can give and I sit in the room in hopes for a little more to give.
*puts on Bowie’s Starman*
My music was a bit too….dismal at the moment and I need to at least try, no? I have to, even if I don’t think it will help, these are often the moments where I break through and ….life gets better. I gain an inch of progress and I’m rallied to push more. To try more and put myself in the positions where I am weak and broken rather than incredibly intangible.
Someone else just walked in. Soon four more people will pop up before I go in. When I leave it will be crowded and all I want is the elevator down and outside. Not really a great place for reflection. Everyone who leaves has that look, that pained look that begs for privacy and time to collect. Some people are on their phones. Some stretch and breath deeply. Others have rituals that I can never comprehend past outside of knowing they need them as I need mine. Distant strangers being distant and strange…...that’s a title. That’s a gem of one. Have to use it.
*plays A Little Bit of Soul*
Bowie didn’t last long, so this. I can do this…..I don’t have a choice. I have this. I have this and I can do this…...yay…...nothing at all that I can do to prepare for this…..YAY! That’s what kills me, I can’t prep for this...I can’t stack the deck or even prepare myself for the
….oops…..have to go…...bye…...
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