Most of the time, when I come to the page , I have some direction. Some sort of non fiction to twist into a meaning or build relevancy to where I'm at and what I'm dealing with . Today is different. I have nothing . Absolutely nothing . No metaphors or pretty language or anything.
Today I feel like giving up. That's about it. I feel like I need to express this somehow and being that I've surrounded myself with people who don't see that I'm drowning or are drowning themselves, maybe the page can be my band aid.
I have nothing going right. Still. Not one thing. I am ashamed that this has become my theme song. Which would then be followed by a womp womp and a down scale on a trombone and me with a single tear drop on my cheek. Funny or not, Im starting to think this is true. And I just dont get it. I try so fucking hard to just be and go and do and work and process and at the end of it all , Im still broken. How can shit pile up so fast? Just last week I was feeling good about things. Maybe I was coming down from all the praises from my birthday. Maybe I was just bein more optimistic. Whatever the case , I hate now. This very moment, I hate it. I hate feeling unheard. I hate feeling lonely. I hate feeling unaccomplished and stuck. I hate being looked past. Or over. Sometimes I just hate being looked at at all. The fuck you looking at anyway? I hate being full of hate. I hate not being good enough. I hate my fucking job. I hate my love life or what I would call one. I hate empty beds. I hate jealousy. I hate excuses. I hate gossip. I hate country music. I hate pt cruisers. I hate math.
But mostly I hate myself. And I hate saying that.
Lately, I've been having this feeling that's almost indescribable. The closest comparison would be to that feeling you get when you stand up too fast mixed in with the feeling of hitting someone's dog with your car . I feel like I've done something really horrible. And I don't know what but its scary. I've woke up sweating and in tears the last few days and every time, I come up with some radical conclusion. Yesterday, I decided I was going to buy a one way ticket. Today was a vow of silence . Both ways scream that I'm desprite. I'm grabbing at air. And it's then, right then that I feel the worst part of it all. It feels like something snaps. Like I don't know what to do but this isn't it and I can't be here any more but I am. For lack of a better way to say it, I feel like I'm going to jump out of my skin and I can't and I'm trapped and my heads spinning and my breathing gets tighter. It's troubling. It's tormenting. I feel like admitting myself ...
I haven't figured out if I'm staying or leaving. Time will tell. All I know right now is I need a hug. No words. No nothing . Just an embrace so I can break a little and then I don't want to speak of it ever again. Just let me lay in your lap and feel loved for one second. That's all. That's all I want.
I know that's a lot to ask for. I wish love was free.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Vinager
Sometimes I wonder if I'm crazy. If there's more than the normal few screws loose and if I'm seriously missing something here. I have a feeling that I'm not too out of the ordinary for feeling this way, but after being institutionalized, botching bad suicide attempts and drug addiction, I stumble upon this thought quite frequently. Go figure I guess.
A few weeks back, I decided I would organize the dinning room. Unfortunately, since my mothers passing, this room has just become a clutter haven. It's sad. All the 18th century china is masked behind boxes of Kellogg products and dust and home canning utensils and bottles of vinager and just useless shit that leaves a good third of this house unusable. After getting under 100 some scattered family pictures and a few empty Rice Crispy boxes, my dad came downstairs and asked if I wanted to go golfing with him. He said it was to raise money for a local high school and being that I was already sick of that dirty fucking room, I said yes and went along.
On the ride home, my father remembered that he needed to grab some things for canning and figured wed stop at the store. For some reason or another, over the past couple years, my dad has decided to start up a garden in the back yard. Romaine tomatoes, basil, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes. Just a lot of shit. Including a bush of raspberries. He does all of this, every year, simply to crop it and turn it into salsa or make pickles or jam and store it all. It's a cool hobby; I won't knock it really. It's just really fucking random. Anyway, he had told me that he needed to stop and grab some stuff for the cucumbers and so we did. As we walked up and down the isles, he began to run over the list with me. I figured I'd go get stuff while he was to cut down time.
" Okay, I need garlic, basil ... I need horse radish, vinager, and probably a few green peppers. I'll grab the garlic."
When we got back to the car, I began to fester on this thought of insanity. I took a deep breath and decided to start a conversation with someone who needed it as much as I did.
" So dad, do you ever question your memory at all? Like do you ever have days or moments, like recent, that you just have nothing on? No memory, no nothing?"
" Hm... No. I don't have those problems. Why?"
" I don't know I mean I don't feel like my memory is that bad but sometimes, people will tell me things I did or said or whatever and i'll literally have no clue what their talking about. I'm kind of afraid that Xanax broke my brain."
" Well that's not good. You never know with that stuff. It could probably do that."
It got silent for a second. I was beginning to realize that I wasnt going to get much reassurance out of this conversation and so I paused and thought if I should even bother saying more.
" ... Well , what about grandma? Doesn't that scare you at all?"
" What happened to grandma was a a crazy chance. Same to mom. And me really. Neither one of her or my side of the family had history of cancer and nothing on grandmas side said anything about dementia. As far as biology goes, who knows if anyone of any of us will get that or if you'll get cancer or anything because it wasn't there before."
We got home and brought the groceries in. I went over to the pantry and turned the light on. As I put away some jar lids, I looked over into the dinning room. There, underneath the table lay 5 half used gallons of vinager. I turned the light off and went upstairs.
They say the second you start questioning your own sanity, others will too . Maybe that's why my dad chooses to ignore it. But I can't really. Already in my short 24 years here, I've ran into crazy situations with cops and spitting and jail cels wearing bam bam gowns and suicide wards with What About Bob playing on 24 hour loops next to someone in sleeves covering up the stitches from what the steak knife did and more spitting and acid. Lots of acid. It's been really confusing and every once and a while I land on this notion that maybe, I've lost it. Long ago. That maybe I'm watering down my reality with trying to accept where I'm at and my vices and what I'm working on when, on the outside, I seem way out of control. Like I'm in denial or spiralling down the same path I always have and I just don't see it because I'm proud and arrogant and stubborn or whatever. I can't help but consider that sometimes.
We all walk around in life with some sense of control. Some sense of knowing. And lately, I've felt like I have none. Almost every other day I feel like I'm crashing into something I have no control over and I'm losing hope. I can't control my habits. I can't control my needs. I can't control my bank account or my dogs aging or my god damn heart. I have no say over how many people decide to give up on me or think of me as an issue. I just feel like I've been on auto pilot, watching all this dumb bull shit happen and by the time I catch up with where I'm at, I'm really pissed and lost and wonder why I didn't say this or do that ... And then I'm back to auto pilot. Wash, rinse, repeat. Over and over. It's stupid. And it doesn't make sense and it feels like I'm stopping at the grocery store to pick up vinager when I already have 5 gallons at home.
I hope I'm wrong. Really. With the little hope left in me, I'm using it on my sanity. Maybe someday I'll find strength in this space but right now, my guard is down. Ive been getting hit for too long. I'm defeated. I'm tired. I always feel in the midst of want but can't figure out what. I'm done. With this too, fuck a good ending.
A few weeks back, I decided I would organize the dinning room. Unfortunately, since my mothers passing, this room has just become a clutter haven. It's sad. All the 18th century china is masked behind boxes of Kellogg products and dust and home canning utensils and bottles of vinager and just useless shit that leaves a good third of this house unusable. After getting under 100 some scattered family pictures and a few empty Rice Crispy boxes, my dad came downstairs and asked if I wanted to go golfing with him. He said it was to raise money for a local high school and being that I was already sick of that dirty fucking room, I said yes and went along.
On the ride home, my father remembered that he needed to grab some things for canning and figured wed stop at the store. For some reason or another, over the past couple years, my dad has decided to start up a garden in the back yard. Romaine tomatoes, basil, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes. Just a lot of shit. Including a bush of raspberries. He does all of this, every year, simply to crop it and turn it into salsa or make pickles or jam and store it all. It's a cool hobby; I won't knock it really. It's just really fucking random. Anyway, he had told me that he needed to stop and grab some stuff for the cucumbers and so we did. As we walked up and down the isles, he began to run over the list with me. I figured I'd go get stuff while he was to cut down time.
" Okay, I need garlic, basil ... I need horse radish, vinager, and probably a few green peppers. I'll grab the garlic."
When we got back to the car, I began to fester on this thought of insanity. I took a deep breath and decided to start a conversation with someone who needed it as much as I did.
" So dad, do you ever question your memory at all? Like do you ever have days or moments, like recent, that you just have nothing on? No memory, no nothing?"
" Hm... No. I don't have those problems. Why?"
" I don't know I mean I don't feel like my memory is that bad but sometimes, people will tell me things I did or said or whatever and i'll literally have no clue what their talking about. I'm kind of afraid that Xanax broke my brain."
" Well that's not good. You never know with that stuff. It could probably do that."
It got silent for a second. I was beginning to realize that I wasnt going to get much reassurance out of this conversation and so I paused and thought if I should even bother saying more.
" ... Well , what about grandma? Doesn't that scare you at all?"
" What happened to grandma was a a crazy chance. Same to mom. And me really. Neither one of her or my side of the family had history of cancer and nothing on grandmas side said anything about dementia. As far as biology goes, who knows if anyone of any of us will get that or if you'll get cancer or anything because it wasn't there before."
We got home and brought the groceries in. I went over to the pantry and turned the light on. As I put away some jar lids, I looked over into the dinning room. There, underneath the table lay 5 half used gallons of vinager. I turned the light off and went upstairs.
They say the second you start questioning your own sanity, others will too . Maybe that's why my dad chooses to ignore it. But I can't really. Already in my short 24 years here, I've ran into crazy situations with cops and spitting and jail cels wearing bam bam gowns and suicide wards with What About Bob playing on 24 hour loops next to someone in sleeves covering up the stitches from what the steak knife did and more spitting and acid. Lots of acid. It's been really confusing and every once and a while I land on this notion that maybe, I've lost it. Long ago. That maybe I'm watering down my reality with trying to accept where I'm at and my vices and what I'm working on when, on the outside, I seem way out of control. Like I'm in denial or spiralling down the same path I always have and I just don't see it because I'm proud and arrogant and stubborn or whatever. I can't help but consider that sometimes.
We all walk around in life with some sense of control. Some sense of knowing. And lately, I've felt like I have none. Almost every other day I feel like I'm crashing into something I have no control over and I'm losing hope. I can't control my habits. I can't control my needs. I can't control my bank account or my dogs aging or my god damn heart. I have no say over how many people decide to give up on me or think of me as an issue. I just feel like I've been on auto pilot, watching all this dumb bull shit happen and by the time I catch up with where I'm at, I'm really pissed and lost and wonder why I didn't say this or do that ... And then I'm back to auto pilot. Wash, rinse, repeat. Over and over. It's stupid. And it doesn't make sense and it feels like I'm stopping at the grocery store to pick up vinager when I already have 5 gallons at home.
I hope I'm wrong. Really. With the little hope left in me, I'm using it on my sanity. Maybe someday I'll find strength in this space but right now, my guard is down. Ive been getting hit for too long. I'm defeated. I'm tired. I always feel in the midst of want but can't figure out what. I'm done. With this too, fuck a good ending.
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