This is something that I have wanted to discuss for quite some time but have not felt comfortable approaching the subject. With a little Chopin and the resolve to change my life, I feel like it is something I now would like to talk about.
It’s a certain season and time of day that leads me to have unwholesome thoughts, and it is my car that gives validation to my impulsivity. Alone I fall victim to my thoughts, my only company apart the music – and sometimes not even that. Were it not for practicality doing its best to ground me, I would travel without end and with no destination in mind.
You see, it’s not a consequence of any consideration or planning, but rather an arrow on a brilliant sign set high above a highway on ramp that makes empty promises.
“Pick me – pick me!” screams the silent metal, horrendously loud, ringing in my ears.
Perhaps I have spoken about this topic before – I can’t recall – but I will again. And you can’t stop me. I mean, I suppose you could just click past my post, but then that wouldn’t be very nice now would it, hm?
When I was a child, I always thought I was most beautiful when I cried. I mean, yes, there is nothing like a child’s smile (I can see that now), but there is also something so beautifully compelling about a melancholic femme who so obviously bares the weight of many sorrows. At least to me, that is the sort of person whom I would like to get to know more about, to understand, and to analyze.
There’s nothing intriguing
about a cheerleader;
Now, I’m not insinuating that I had a bad childhood – actually, quite the contrary. The life that I was privy to was marvelous – don’t get me wrong. But inside of me there was always something wrong. I was always different. At a much younger age than my peers I thought about love, about mysterious adventure, about many things that a youngster should not comprehend.
I cannot recall
ever being innocent;
Depression is a funny creature. Just when you think you are in the clear, She sneaks up behind you and pulls you back in.
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot
Recently I have been experiencing major anxiety over my relationships and interactions with my female friends. As I posted some days ago, I seem to have taken on the role of therapist among them. This would be okay if just one or another needed advice or a shoulder to cry on at any given time, but it has begun to eat up my whole life. As a friend of mine put it, they’ve become
Ok, so I might be exaggerating by calling myself a superhero, however I have had to deal with learning to control my superpower since I was a kid. And, as wonderful as it is at times, it has also been difficult for me. No, I’m not talking about being able to fly, become invisible, or even being particularly proficient at martial arts – at least not in the literal sense.
Another sleepless night. Another night where what I thought I knew I didn’t, and what I wished I didn’t, unfortunately, I do.
Another night when I thought everything was one way, or rather, dreamed it, I realized it was just what I was afraid of.
And again I am lost. I was so tired, my eyes heavy, my head sinking into the pillow. I even drifted off to another blissful world for a short time.
But here I am now, returned to this confusing, waking world, my soul so tired but my head no closer to sleep. All I want is to sleep and feel safe, but instead I lay mostly half-awake in my bed, the anxiety crawling under my skin like bugs. I fear sleep.
And I can’t deal with this sheet shifting off the bed leaving me breathing in itchy mattress.
Sorry for the psychobabble. It’s late, and I’ve already slept for the night.