tired

I feel like I've been underwater for the past month and I'm finally trying to catch a breath but instead of relief I just feel

tired.

A Series of Non Sequiturial Thoughts: pt. II

There have been so many things that I've been wanting to, needing to, write about, but I just haven't quite been able to do it, and everything is now bubbling, bubbling under the surface and slowly leaking in and out of my mind and I can't stop dwelling on so many different thoughts and feelings and so here it now leads to another series of non sequiturial thoughts.

I'm so torn about who I am and what I believe and how I feel; there are so many contradictions and inconsistencies and paradoxes swirling inside of me, I can't make sense of anything. I am so confident yet so insecure at the same time, I feel so worthy and worthless in the same breath, I feel so hopeful and hopeless all at once, I'm running out of breath just running around in my own head.

I'm still wondering if non sequiturial is even a word and finding it strange that we can convince ourselves that a word is a word by repeating it over and over again until the very idea of it not being a word becomes absurd, just as it is the same with all of the other delusions in our lives that we convince ourselves are reality -- repetition remains key, to perfection and likewise to destruction.

I went a little delirious last weekend and I'm glad that I have a fever to blame it on because I look back at that broken, crying mess and think, "Who is that?" I don't recognize that girl who laid in bed crying over a disillusioned view of a boy, but I guess that was me and I guess I have to come to terms with it sooner or later.

Coming back to work was rough after a week and half of time off but I unknowingly gave myself an attitude check and came to the realization that there was much too much pride in my mind and I thought, "Wow, I need to really humble myself right now." And I did and instantly - my day was turned around and I've spent the past three days in the best mental mindset that I've experienced at work in the past six months.

I'm still just trying to be a good person and I just want someone as good as you to see something good in me, but I won't let you turn loving me into your own personal martyrdom.

I keep feeling like I'm drowning, momentarily, here and there, but I'm able to come up for air just enough to not drift away, but it's so exhausting that I just want to feel like I have someone on my team, something looking after me and leading me along.

I can't even imagine what this coming year will bring but I'm doing my best, I'm doing my very best to be my very best and so I'm keeping my eyes and my heart open wide and I just hope that you'll be with me, alongside me to talk me through it and maybe we can go through it together and maybe, maybe I'll soon be able to stop rambling and just -- breathe.

Faith

Faith is better understood as a verb than as a noun, as a process than as a possession. It is on-again-off-again rather than once-and-for-all. Faith is not being sure where you're going, but going anyway. A journey without maps. Tillich said that doubt isn't the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith.

- Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC

I'm Not Sorry

I'm done apologizing for what I want and what I need. Never again will I utter a "sorry" after texting you, again, after I've been drinking because I stop myself when I'm sober. When I'm sober I rationalize and tell myself, "No, there's no need to bother him; he's busy, he'll talk to me when he has time." But those rationalizations don't overcome my desire to know that I am present and on your mind. I am done apologizing for wanting to know that just because I'm out of sight, doesn't mean I'm out of mind; I am done with waiting on you to grace me with your attention; I am done with hanging on to your every word. I want affirmation, and this does not make me "clingy" or "needy." (The audacity, wanting to know that I am appreciated and loved...) This is what I want, this is what I need, and for that, never again, will I be sorry.

Words pt. II

As the road to hell is paved with good intentions, so are the words stemming from your lips. You'd wish to shower your affections on the cracks in my mind and my heart in hopes of allowing flowers to spud and to bloom from within, to nourish my life and make it rosy but you can't -- you can't. I won't let you because your words are so sweet, I would breathe them in and swallow them whole but I can't -- I can't. Because your words are lathered with honey and are whispered with the best of intentions but that's where it ends. That's where it ends.

Words

Words are empty, so bite your tongue. If your plans do not include your actions succeeding your words, keep them to yourself. Bite your tongue, your words are useless to me.

Overly

Overly expressive, overly expectant.

Never have I felt so pathetic.

Love

"I don't want your love unless you know I am repulsive, and love me even as you know it."

- Georges Bataille, My Mother

Friend

It's really hard when someone is sitting next to you, telling you that they're lonely and that they have no one. Every part of your being then screams out, "I'M here, I'm listening, I'm here for whatever you need," but your voice stays silent. You just nod and agree, that it's hard, silently feeling your heart break because you love them, you do, but they just don't quite see the extent of your love. And what can you do. You don't want to shove it down their throat. So you just stay by the sidelines, making small gestures of love and support, listening, and just waiting. Waiting for them to realize that you really are a friend.

Backdrop

"You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say 'Wow, isn't he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?' You think I'll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I'll swallow you whole."

- Warsan Shire

22 February - Blurbs

I don't know where I am.

I'm taking risks, saying things I'd never say with a sober mind.

I haven't spoken to you in weeks, but know that I love you -- always.

I equally want you to remember me as much as I want you to forget me, as much as I want to forget and to remember you.

I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.

Find me. Forget me. Lose me.

Will You Still Love Me On Sunday?

It’s so easy to be head-over-heels under the loud music and the overfull glasses of Saturday night. Everyone loves each other, everyone wants to be best friends. Everyone sees only the best in everyone else. And there is a certain magic in Saturday night, as though you’re so far inside the weekend — so buffered on each side from the unforgiving reality of the weekdays — that everything is possible and real if you want it to be. You say things you might not mean on Monday morning, because for the moment in between the sixth and seventh drink on Saturday, it’s all you can think about.

------

But when you wake up on Sunday morning, when your head hurts so badly you feel as though it will never return to normal, when everything that was beautiful and mysterious the night before has been rendered harsh and unflattering in the relentless daylight — will you still want to turn over to me? Will you still be interested in all of the things I have to say, all of the coincidences we took as divine intervention last night when we were only so happy to tell each other how we feel? If the facilitators of alcohol and dim lights and a group of laughing around us are no longer part of the equation, do you still want to hold my hand?

------

I will love you on Sunday. If I told you all of these beautiful things when we were standing under the red light of the bar, peeling the label off a beer bottle, it’s because I want you to remember them the next day. I want to pounce on my momentary lack of inhibitions to say all of the things I’ll later want to sweep under the rug, but which I truly mean. I am telling you these things on Saturday because I won’t be able to on Sunday, but I’ll want you to know that I mean them. And I hope you know me well enough to know that I never say anything I don’t mean — even if they’re a bit embarrassing to remember in the morning.

Will You Still Love Me On Sunday? | Thought Catalog

Kisses

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated time and time again, kissing her fists, her scars, her fingers, her wrists, her hands, her knuckles, her palms. Thoughts, feelings, words, hopes and fears swirled in her mind, and her mouth opened - silent. Instead of release, instead of letting her go, they grasped at her throat, clawing, and choked her from the inside out. Her head swayed slightly, side to side, and she tensed fleetingly, unable to bring her exhausted, diffident eyes to the eager, desperate ones that were fixed on her, a mere face-lengths away. Again, she opened her mouth; again, she closed it - silent. "But I love you."

Words of a Stranger

"It's always difficult for me to speak and express my innermost thoughts in person. I prefer to write. When I sit down and write, words grow very docile, they come and feed out of my hand like little birds, and I can do almost what I want with them; whereas when I try to marshal them in the open air, they fly away from me."

- Philippe Claudel, Brodeck


The words of strangers fare so well in describing my very thoughts and sentiments, so much better than my own.

Wants

I just want to be done with this semester, but I don't want my time here to end. I just want to know what you're thinking, but I don't want to tell you my thoughts. I just want you to forget about me, but I equally want to be remembered. I just want to be stubbornly strong, but I'm a lot weaker than I care to admit. I just want to go somewhere and think, but here there's nowhere to be alone. I just want to laugh it off, but it's much more annoying than humorous. I just want to cry a little, but tears never did any good. I just want to ignore you so that you can get a taste of your own medicine, but I always cave. I just want to be able to sleep, but something is keeping me up.

Conversations

"How did you remember that, when I even didn't till just now?"
"Because I love you."
"He'll get over it."
"I just had a really uncomfortable conversation with my parents about Coachella..."
"What did you even see in him?"
"Aw you have a conscience, that's cute."
"Be happier!"
"The real slim shady?"
"You can be really cold sometimes."
"Summer time is like boot camp for my liver."
"You alive?"
"I just wanted to remind you that I love you a whole lot."
"Isn't it your job to make me feel better?"
"HOLY SHIT my mind is fucking blown right now - I'm a cat!"
"In between flashing each other and talking shit, we have some pretty deep moments."
"Boys...even when they're not a problem, they're a problem."
"Our talks keep me sane."
"I just feel so surrounded and suffocated but so alone at the same time."
"If I bake you cookies, will you love me forever?"
"You upset me."
"I upset myself."
"You're quite beautiful. It's silly to think you won't measure up."
"We're sneaky little bitches."
"Because it means being vulnerable. And I can't stand that. I've taught myself to be strong and not let anything get to me, so wiping that defense away is terrifying."

Ataraxia

Ataraxia: (literary, Greek philosophy) a pleasure that comes when the mind is at rest.

Lacrimae Rerum

Lacrimae rerum: (Latin) the tears of things; the inherent tragedy of existence.

Kind of beautiful, isn't it.

safe

Your words, they sounds so sweet
telling me terrible tales of truth
inviting me to believe, to partake
and I do.

Oh your honey-stricken words,
I could get lost in their smooth sounding songs, in your sighs

speak to me stranger, lover, friend -
I'm hanging on to every breath you breathe.
Take me, move me with your tales

even if they're not true
especially if they're not true

spin me those soft soothing whispers, surrender your mind and your musings
and don't fret darling
they're safe with me, beside me
we're safe here.