Friday, December 10, 2004
let's be optimistic.
It is getting to be the time of year where people typically take a step back and survey the past year. They contemplate what they have done, what they've accomplished, how far they've come, and how much further they have to go.
I am in a different place than I was this time last year, and in more than one way. I've finally escaped my hometown, a profession I could never relate to, and I finally feel like I'm working towards something instead of just stagnating.
Yes, I still get depressed. That will go on for the rest of my life. Yes, I still am doubtful -- about many things. I don't know if I'll be going to college any time soon. If I do, it's not going to be for art; I'd rather go into something relating to non-profits. Though frustrating, the things I've been doing the past five months have been some of the most rewarding time I've spent in an "occupation."
I don't think I could do anything corporate or for-profit after this and still feel alright with myself.
This is the closest I've ever felt to being me. I'm coming to terms with a lot of things. It's like putting together a jigsaw puzzle in slow motion. Gradually the picture is forming.
I can't wait to see how it all turns out.
09:26 p.m.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
this is.
If I could do it over again, I'd start from the beginning and teach myself to trust my better judgement. I'd learn from my mistakes and take comfort in my talents. I wouldn't let anyone make me feel like any less than what I am and I would be sure to cultivate activity in the things I enjoy rather than in what other people think I should do. I wouldn't let the desires of others get in the way of following my own path. I wouldn't care about the opinions of others, and I would be truly assertive.
If I could do it over again, I would be a different person. I never would have had to go on anti-depressants and I would not have wasted most of my highschool years on the guy that I did. I would be less apathetic and take an interest in politics and the world around me. I would do more than just feel empathy; I would put it into practice.
If I could do it all over again, the outcome would be so different there is no way I could even be conceived as being the person I have become. I would have found a better way to feel wanted. I would not have waited so long to step away. But would things be better now, if I had made the choices I would choose now?
Maybe this is for the best anyway. Even if it isn't, it's all I have to work with. Sometimes all you can do is move on.
07:20 p.m.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
previously unrecorded
When I was nineteen or twenty, not long after my mom moved out of the house, my dad bought a gun.
My mom's best friend found out and called and told me she thought my dad was suicidal. I got angry and told her to stop snooping around for my mom. I yelled. I ranted. I haven't ever apologised, but I think I should have.
I think she was right.
My dad kept the gun in a metal box in his dresser. He said it was for security, even though we lived in a farm in the middle of nowhere and had never had any problems with anyone breaking in. Neither had our distant neighbours.
Was he going to kill himself? Would he have been so selfish to do that, leaving his body for me to find and damage me even more? I'd like to think he didn't do it for my sake, but I know it was more like he wasn't strong enough to pull the trigger. Suicide, as cowardly as it is, still requires a burst of energy and resolve.
In retrospect, looking over the past twenty-three years, I can't figure out when my dad was telling me the truth and when he wasn't. I can pinpoint all the times he withheld information, and all the times he should have said more, and so many instances he could have come clean with me. He chose not to. I wonder how many times he outrightly lied to me about things he didn't need to lie about. Looking back, I wonder about a lot of things my father said, or didn't say, to me.
Things would have been so much easier, so much better, if he'd just been honest.
10:30 a.m.
Friday, July 23, 2004
Over metaphor much?
Sometimes when I start thinking about the past, I get the mental image of myself plummeting backwards, down from a great height, until I am impaled on a spike through the heart.
Yes, this is very true-count-draculaesque, but it is my own mental image regardless. It is that feeling of free fall, followed by a sharp jab in the chest. Elation then pain. A long fall then a sudden, jarring stop.
I am waiting for the day when I can grow wings and just leave it all behind. To be at peace with one's past is a long, arduous hike. I have been trying for years, all the while accumulating more things to struggle with. I have hope for the future though. I believe I can overcome this and soar into the sky.
10:42 a.m.
Friday, February 13, 2004
call it hate, call it love, call it anything but "just a feeling"
I will never be here again.
It feels like the sun will never rise. This night will never end, and my dreams will never come. I am stuck eternally in this feeling, eternally in exquisite pain, eternally without ability of expression.
Everytime a change comes, it feels like I am dying. There is no way time can pass with the knowledge I have of myself and my surroundings. But it does, it passes, and it continues by so swiftly I feel like I'm falling off just by watching the scenery change.
I am dying, everyone is dying, and I hate that pessimism.
My memories spread around me like photographs. In the middle I sit on bended knees, trying to make sense of a life of something that is not quite chaos. Something always made out to be more than what it has been. A story that can never be fully told.
Oh and I have been waiting for the ending that will never come. A moral ending that will serve as an ironic punchline; a lesson to serve others. Do not do what I have done, or do what I did then. I can't tell anymore if I'm one of the good guys, or one of the bad ones. It's always been a matter of perspective anyway.
Just like everything.
There is no common thread to my life except that it is mine. No matter how many photographs I pick up or stories I read, this will never make sense. That is the cruellest lesson of all.
And time will continue with me. And I will continue on and on, until time sees fit to toss me aside as it has done so many. I had my chance and missed it.
Much to my regret.
Much to my content.
11:40 p.m.
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
no sense no more.
I used to be very big on closure. Lately though, it seems that it's impossible to find, except in dreams.
I have these wonderful dreams, where I confront ex-boyfriends (Owen specifically comes to mind) or my father, where we yell or talk or hug, and I wake up feeling better.
But it isn't real, it's just my head trying to make sense of things that have no answers. You cannot explain emotions, or the mind. These are things that just are, painful as they may be.
It's nearing the four year anniversary of the thing I won't name. It's amazing I've never dreamt about that. It's incredible that I've not had hospital flahsbacks-- just memories embarassing with their innocence and honesty. It's incredible what four years can bring.
There are things I should be now that I'm not. The paths our lives take are inexplicable, like so many other things. Like closure, like hurting people you love, like continuing on without a word, like ignoring your emotions for the sake of comfort.
I'm learning the hard way how to move on.
01:01 a.m.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
fellow musings
There's a woman at the local college whom I think I will become. She's got short hair and a bad ass attitude, but fits right among the big guys and fuckheads in the upper management. Doesn't fit in, just among. She's the inside person who wants to shave her head again and be with the students at their vigils. Hold the signs and say the words - but she can't now. She's got to be the insider who gets the info to the kids.
To us.
Someday I think I'll be that person. As much as I'd like to end up being a 40 year old with a mohawk, I know instead I'll just be that vague eccentric who makes her coworkers slightly nervous with her off-beat ideals. Yet they'll like me anyway, for reasons they can't quite finger.
I'll be that young person in an old body. Like now.
Ever since I started living, I've found it so hard to go back to apathy.
09:58 p.m.
Sunday, April 6, 2003
following my own advice.
It's amazing how easy things become when you do what you've told yourself to do.
Spirals become lines and mountains melt back into molehills.
I guess love helps too.
And family.
10:47 a.m.
Friday, January 31, 2003
circular stupidity.
My body is preparing itself for shut down. It's begun changing my sleep patterns, altering my moods, and basically just making me a miserable human being. It's ridiculous. I feel like a fucked-up teenager again, which is really the last thing I'd like to be at this point and time.
A well-adjusted adult with endearing child-like qualities was more my goal.
It seems that my mind constantly searches for that which will bring me down. For a while I was floating high, just taking the little shit as it was. Now it seems that isn't enough and I have to create drama to keep myself crap ridden. This is foolish.
This is regression.
So tonight I'll go to bed early and wake up before noon. I'll get up by nine and fold my laundry, make myself brunch, and face the day without this excrement-laced mind set I seem to have lately adopted.
Maybe I should get out more.
08:44 p.m.
Thursday, November 21, 2002
nostalgia.
and it's like dust - sticks in your throat, overwhelms your mucus, mixes in with everything. thickens, distorts, covers, intrudes. you can't get rid of it, no matter how hard you try. pictures, poems, notebooks, birthday cards, letters, so many things. so many memories.
I can't keep them all anymore.
my mind is faulty, I can't keep those memories. I need to make space for the future. I have limited area to store all those objects - I need to stay open for new things. mentally and physically, I have become piled high with all this baggage.
I need to just let go.
away from everything, away from that particular bothering aspect, I can see this. just as when I am away from chris's house, I can see solutions to the problems I face there. everywhere, solutions to places where I am not. I get tired of it.
so many things, so much stuff, so little space for everything. I'm sure a different person now. why try to hold on to who I'm not, and who I particularly didn't like, anyway?
yet, I worry for my possessions. I worry they will be gone. I worry to throw them away, because I may want them later.
everything so ephemeral. why can't I just let go?
10:19 p.m.
Tuesday, August 6, 2002
unheard of.
there are a lot of people I haven't been keeping in touch with.
You see, I've been waiting until I have good news before I update anyone on my life. Unfortunately, good news has been severely lacking.
I might see my mom this weekend though, and my sister. That will be good.
I wish I had something good to tell them.
12:07 a.m.
Wednesday, July 3, 2002
the reason.
There are things that still won't leave me.
I still dream about the only person I've ever considered myself to be in love with. Dreams of reconciliation, with months of nothing in between. I once dreamt of him every night for two weeks straight.
The reason it stays with me is because of the death involved in loving him. Killing parts of myself, killing my eyes, numbing myself to some of the things he said. It was punishment, loving him. It was an exercise in futility. Destined to end, destined to be destiny.
I tried so hard to make myself think we were meant for each other. I succeeded too beautifully.
So beautifully. I don't think I could ever convince myself of anything as solidly as I convinced myself of that. Self-deceit was an art I'd begun to perfect in regards to him.
I can't believe I still write about it.
01:29 a.m.
Monday, June 3, 2002
I'm tired.
New job, new game.
Sometimes everything feels crazy, almost as crazy as I start feeling. Chris and I are having fun with our conflicting schedules. He feels lonely and I'm never home. I've been working eleven hour shifts and he's not been eating.
I knew there was a reason I existed.
Now he laments about having no friends. I, on the other hand, can't keep up with all mine. I want to keep in touch with so many that I lose track and end up neglecting them all. Or when I call them they aren't home. Sometimes that occurs four times in one sitting.
And my endurance, my will to continue, never ceases to amaze me. Despite all obstacles, I persevere.
Go me.
01:58 a.m.
