Can You Hear Me?

When did I stop feeling? Is that why I stopped reading? Because it makes me feel real emotions again? I thought I’d stopped because life took over and I got busy. But not really, you know? I just procrastinate in different ways now. Dumb ways. Mind numbing ways. Movies never touched me anyway. When did I become that girl? That’s not me, always looking to not have to think. Or feel.

I thought Jase happened forever ago. I thought Jase died a long time ago, with my dreams. You keep coming back to me, every time I feel something, every time I think I’m okay now. Every time I open my heart, and the hurt comes pouring back in, hot, blinding pain, flashing before my eyes, searing through my entire being, burning under my skin until it’s bubbling over and fighting to rip me apart, tear me up and escape, but it only escapes to the outside surface where it can consume me whole. At first it was just the nightmares, and I could wake up, shake it off, wipe the sweat from my icy forehead, and try and go back to sleep, and hope and pray I was dead to the night.

But what happens when your every waking hour is a struggle, a marathon along the ocean floor, always against the currents, when your living minutes twist and turn inside you like slow poison, like a particularly wilful blunt knife that isn’t in a hurry to go anywhere? And having your  eyes open and being awake, being conscious is terrifying, because being awake is now the nightmare, and it won’t let you go in your dreams either, that icy stranglehold is all that remains, and you have to grit your teeth and smile through it, because you have someone on the other side of the world who thinks you’re normal, and you’re okay now, and who tells you everyday how much they love you. But they don’t know.

You hide behind the glamour of your pearly whites and an invisible happy mask stretched tight against your face, covering your default grimace. Because what kind of monster would unleash their real selves on another human being, much less a loved one? The scars in your soul run deep as gorges, endless, bottomless, all consuming, they take take take, until you leave people a husk of their former selves, incapable of any more love, until they have nothing more for you. Hell, they have nothing more for themselves. You bled them dry. And you have nothing to show for it, because those scars are as fresh as ever, bleeding over that sort of unicorn-pure love. And who knows if I’m really me or if I’m actually that third person in my head, sagely watching the ongoings in my stage life, privy to the contents of that toxic venom that’s brewing? That third person watching, waiting for it all to blow up in your face and leave you with another scar, another new face, is that who I am? One strike is all it takes.

Hey stranger. Do you want to dance with me? Do you want to swim with me, naked, in the moonlight, that precious naked mask that hides my soul? Can you see the dark storm brewing under my skin when you hold my hand and kiss me in the rain? Can you see that lone tear escaping down my face when I’m dancing on the bar table with a beer in my hand, and everybody’s cheering? Do you see the fog rolling in my eyes, hiding from you the twisted paths I walk alone? Isn’t this flame the prettiest purple hue?

Hey lover. Do you adore me? Because I love you soul deep, oh yes I do. Which mask of mine did you fall in love with? Do you not realize that this is why I always ask you why you love me? Because what do I know about myself anyway? How many layers deep did you have to get? Because we could keep going, and it’d never end. Do you see right through me and stay with me anyway? Don’t stare into my eyes so long. The depth and clarity in yours scares me. Is there a point of no return? Are we there yet? Or have we crossed it already? Have we been free falling all this while? Don’t peel back any more. We don’t deserve that kind of pain, you and I. It’s too late now to know what could be under the very last layer. Perhaps everything. And perhaps nothing. But perhaps, something worse.

Hey there, J. What are you still doing here? Didn’t you hear me say I’m in love with a boy now? You should go. You and I, we died together that night. That me is not here anymore. I’m someone else. Someone you don’t know, and someone you never will. With my luck, someone I’ll never know either. Perhaps it’s better this way. Sleep now, my monster. Take these demons with you, and go back to sleep. I need a minute now. I need a second to breathe, before the darkness closes in on me again.

I’ll be seeing you.

At Three AM

That peace of mind I seek at the bottom of the bottle eludes me, ever so seductive, like a mirage deceiving you at every twist and turn of the road under the extreme desert sun beating down on your head. You look for the next one, and the next, and it’s right there, you can always see it, so tantalisingly close, almost within your grasp, and just as you begin to approach it and it seems real, it disappears once again, leaving you drowning and empty handed, still no peace, never a respite, a never ending search for a reality that doesn’t exist.

I Could Totally Be A Health Freak

I like the idea of breakfast. I truly believe it could be the best meal of the day. I just have a problem with it’s timings. Around noon would be nice. I’m night owl enough that even eating feels like a chore before then. I should just replace one of the other meals with traditional breakfast foods.

#CerealForDinner  #BaconAllDay

Disney Rant

I’m like a Disney loony. Every time I’m out with someone and they accidentally meet someone they know on the street, and one of them says “it’s a small world” the tune from the Disneyland ride starts playing in my head like a creepy turn-the-key-for-music doll house thing you see in horror movies. And through all this, I’m just standing there with a vacant expression staring at this overzealous exchange of “I’m so excited to see you!” shit like a less social version of Luna Lovegood. I probably come off as the oddball kid at whom those conservative small-town housewives point from the side, covering their mouth and whispering, “Oh she’s not very well, you know.” *Stage whisper* “Mentally.”

P.S- This exchange thing never happens with me because I’m too much of an introvert to network enough to know anybody passing by me on the street. I’m out.

And can I just say for the record that those creepy doll house things are usually the scariest part of a horror movie. It’s probably some psychological crap about how kids play with those and are also connected to unnatural things (which admittedly I don’t understand, and have never tried reading up on). Man. As if I don’t have enough reasons to not want a child, those movies just give me another. What’s the deal with children & horror movies anyway?

Money Matters

That rich feel tho
This isn’t even the largest denomination. I sent this picture to a friend when I was in Budapest last year. He thought it was 10k Euro and treated me like royalty for an hour, until he looked closer. Really, it’s worth about €32 or $37.  That rich feel tho’

Wordplay is Foreplay.

Needless to say, I love wordplay. It delights me. Even if it’s corny. Cause you know there’s some thought behind it. Inkelligence is sexy. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I like sketching and writing. That’s going to be the name for my pen work art blog. I don’t really have anything else to add here. Except maybe to apologise for that attention grabbing title which doesn’t entirely make sense. Kthanksbye.

#sorrynotsorry #plsdontjudgeme

Those Damn Personality Tests

Contrary to what they say, I’m really bad at this comforting people stuff, you guys. Every one of those tests I’ve ever taken has told me I’m a kindhearted person with a knack for consoling people and being the shoulder they lean on in times of trouble. And I know I mean well in general, so I believed that. Also because I was really good at it when I was younger.

I spent the entire day with a very close friend today, and we had a really good time. Beer, nachos and gossip. I hadn’t left the house in three weeks, and I came home today feeling inexplicably good about my rather mundane life. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Now this said friend has a tendency to get a little emotional with some alcohol in her. So I got a call from her a couple hours after I got home, and she was weeping uncontrollably. She’d had a fight with a loved one. Some words were exchanged, feelings hurt, and she seemed to be quite broken. I had about 5 minutes worth comfort in all to give her, and she refuted each point while still sobbing through it, and I had nothing to offer her after that. At all. I was speechless. I mean, what now? She waited a minute for me to say something and then she said she needed to go be by herself. And I knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t stop her because I couldn’t help her anyway. I couldn’t give her what she’d come to me for.

My words failed me, my stupid heart of stone failed me, and I spent the rest of the evening wondering if I was really that incapable of being empathetic. I analyzed it a little bit more and came to the conclusion that not only do I feel empathy, I possibly feel too much of it. I really, truly put myself in the other person’s position to try and understand them, so much so, that I start feeling helpless myself and am absolutely useless in terms of offering any support whatsoever.

It’s like a revelation. In a bad way. You know what they say about too much of a good thing. What is wrong with me?