I like that you’re broken

Broken like me. Maybe that makes me a fool. I like that you’re lonely, lonely like me. I could be lonely with you.

It is not an easy thing for me to open up and tell people how I feel and what I want out of life, relationships, friendships, or anything, really.  I have been trying lately.  I have been failing lately.  I have been trying so hard to be honest with people about how I feel so that I am not hiding who I am and what I feel, but it bites me in the ass every time.  Love bites you in the ass every time.  Why bother loving when it hurts so much?  I think because of the good, it outweighs the bad?  But does it?  I mean, DOES it?  I feel so broken all of the time. I just can do no right and make no one happy.  I feel like I should just give up trying.  The more I try, the worse I make things.

Life is not a love song that we like. We’re all broken pieces floating by.  Life is not a love song. We can try to fix our broken pieces one at a time.

When do you give up on people? I gave up on a life that I had and left everything behind.  Part of me regrets it and always will. Part of me is happy that I did it.  Part of me is terrified. Part of me is just numb.  I have no idea which part of me is the larger piece of the pie.  I have had a few people tell me I am an idiot for my choices and a few who say I did the right thing.  Loving someone who is dying from something they just will not get help for is depressing and painful.  I just have no idea how to deal with it.  My heart and my brain cannot come to a solid agreement.  I know what I want, and that will never change.  I just can only take being told to go away and not come back so many times.  Each time my heart breaks another little piece that cannot be glued back in place.

There’s something tragic, but almost pure. Think I could love you, but I’m not sure. There’s something wholesome, there’s something sweet. Tucked in your eyes that I’d love to meet.

To be honest, I’d probably tell me to go away, too.  I would not want to deal with me trying to help, trying to push.  I fell fast and hard, but I tend to do that.  I know what I want and I take it.  I guess I rush into life.  I think that is my problem.  Life was never meant to be taken so fast.  It was meant to go slow and steady.  Rushing just makes mistakes that I find myself so often making.  Do I think this is a mistake? Not at all.  Do I think I am?  … Yes. I feel like everything is my fault.  After all, it is, right?



I got nothin

I just… Have nothing to say because there’s nothing there. I feel empty. No music in my head, nothing. A bad empty. I didn’t sleep.  Long drive ahead. I’m moving. But a bad, dark brain, drive.

Oh well, right?

Play That Role

The one you made.  Long nights, and the worst days.  Lived it all, but I didn’t break.

Every day that I wake up I have to give myself another reason to not give up.  But I do.  I give myself that reason.  I think hard, and close my eyes.  Squeeze them tight and scream inside.  I hate that I have to do it.  I hate that I want to give up.  I hate that I am like this.  I would give nearly everything to be normal.  Normal.  I zone out sometimes thinking about that. Just see people smiling and laughing and wonder if they are faking it, like I try to do, or if they are genuinely happy.  Then I realize that they are undoubtedly happy.  I could be wrong. Everyone has worries, concerns, fears, frustrations, but for the most part, they are normal.  They are a part of that societal baseline.

Hubcaps and ashtrays.  I was born but I wasn’t raised.  The big wheel, the black space.  Tried my best but wasn’t praised.

Is it wrong that I have a good day and I want to shout it to the world that “Holy shit, today was a good day!” But then I realize that no one cares about my day, and they would assume I was lying anyway.  So I just keep it tucked inside.  I try every day to be better at this and that.  I want to not care what people think.  I want to not feel things.  I try to shut it off.  I try to shut all of it off.  I want the good, the bad, the anger, the happy to all go away.  Yes, yes I would.  I really would give up the good to get rid of the bad.  My bad is too far off the tracks that the train gets pulled so close to derailing. It has come so close so many times.  What happens when it does.  There would be a crash. But would there be screaming? Would there be blood and tears and crying and screeching and smoke?  Would anyone see the fire?  No, I imagine not.  I genuinely feel it would crash in a remote area of the back woods that no one would see it until far after.

My whole life they said I’d be nothing. Well I’m something.  And I would rather be the stray, than be nothing to no one at all.

But that is not really the point, right?  I guess the important point is that I have fought it every day for the past however many years that it has shoved its way through my brain, clawing and digging and shredding.  I can do it.  It is always a challenge and it does not always feel like I can.  But I have. And I can.  I have friends who have no idea how this feels. And I have people who do.  And I have people who have told me to never talk about it again.  So… I don’t.  Not to them.  I shove it deep inside.  And I take it out on other things.  I take it out on pen and paper, and I scribble and draw.  I sing as loud as I dare, until my throat hurts.  I play video games.  And I have started going out for runs at night, just quick. And just enough to make my lungs feel like they are bleeding.  My body hurt, brain clear and the sky dark.  That is all I need.  It only takes a lap of the block and I am as good as I can get.

Hell is so close to heaven. Hold on, don’t look back.  You know we’re better, we’re better than that.  Lost and thrown away.  You know we’re better, we’re better than that.  Cause we are the strays.  We are the strays.

I feel like fitting in is a privilege.  I had friends that I fit in with.  I thought.  But I really was just a tag along. But the more I step back and stop talking about things, the more I seem to be able to figure out how to function with people.  I have some new friends that I find that I enjoy.  I think they enjoy my company.  They seem to.  But I just plain refuse to ask.  I would rather not find out if they don’t. So I tell myself that they do. It works for me. At least right now. And the nice thing about it is that it has been keeping my crazy in check.  I’ve had my ups and downs the past few weeks, but surprisingly it has been mostly ups.  My OCD has actually been fairly low key. And that has me mentally dancing to all of the music in my head.

When the tears come…

Streaming down your face… When you lose something you can’t replace… When you love someone but it goes to waste… Could it be worse?

Day in, day out, day in, day out.  I get up, shower, get dressed, go take my meds, I do my work, I get in Game. I talk to my friends–wait. No. I can’t say that.  I thought I did.  Tired, angry, sad.  … Hurt.  I think since I started writing here I have begun actually using the word hurt a little more.  I hate that word.  I hate admitting that I hurt.  I hate admitting that things make me feel physically ill when they emotionally affect me.  But they do. I feel my heart pounding in my ears and behind my eyes, my chest, and my hands get cold.  My hands shake, and it feels like trying to breathe in a sauna, my lungs not able to fully take in enough air.  I get this burning pain from the sides of my stomach in up under my ribs and through my diaphragm that shoots directly to my back and up.  And I start to shiver.  Then the watering. The eyes start to glaze in anger, and I fight the tears.  I hate crying.  And I hate crying in anger, because people always assume that I cry because I’m sad. I’m not. And all I want is to scream.  It feels deep inside that I need to scream. And the entire time, the nausea is building.  I wish I could turn it all off. I want so bad to be able to turn it off. I need to find a way to turn it off.

Tears stream down your face when you lose something you cannot replace…  Tears stream down your face.  And I… Tears stream down your face… I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes… 

I have friends that I used to spend a great deal of time with. We did things in our game together.  I went out of town recently and came back to be replaced.  It felt like I had been punched in the gut.  I was flat out told that I had been replaced.  Another member of the group swore up and down that was absolutely not true.  And then tonight they immediately began doing things with that new group.  And he is upset that it bothers me.  He doesn’t understand why it feels like it had been a lie.  Whether or not it was–I’m not saying that I disbelieve him, I’m sure he did not mean it to be–it still feels like one.  I am trying to not let it bother me.  I try so hard to not let things bother me. And to be normal. But it just doesn’t work.  I shouldn’t be here.  I never should have been here. Granted, I have no misunderstanding at how easily I am replaceable. And it in no way surprises me that I was replaced. Just, it caught me off guard, I guess. I just thought I had found a group of friends that would at least stick around for a while. But I should know better. I should always know better. I am not a friends-type person. People can only put up with me so long.  Hell, I can only put up with me so long.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed… When you get what you want but not what you need… When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep… Stuck in reverse…

I should not be here. I never should have been here.  Why am I still here? I can’t figure that part out.  I don’t want to be.  But every day. I get up. I shower. I get dressed. I take my meds. Rinse. Repeat.

Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones…

I want to give up.

I got nothin’

No music. No sound. Just an empty void. When one of our family members dies, we find ourselves distraught, angry, sad, in despair.  Sometimes we just shut down. Sometimes we lash out.  Numbness can take over. I think I do all of these. Sometimes we just turn off. I’ve done this, too.

I just lost someone SO important to me. And I keep swaying between devastated and numb. Shut down, just semi-non-responsive. One word, often fake, answers. I don’t want to get out of bed. I have, because I have to. But most certainly not because I want to.

I keep thinking over and over that there was something else I could have done. If I’d responded and acted sooner, or been more aware. I feel like I’m a bad person, a horrible person. Like it’s my fault. But isn’t it always?  Just this time it hurt too much. I can’t handle this.

Death doesn’t affect me a good chunk of the time, because it’s part of life. Part of the way things should be. We need death to give life meaning. But this one hit me hard. It’s weird to me. If it means that life has no meaning, then fine. I’m okay with that if she hadn’t died.

And while we’re on the subject of death.  Passing, moving on, crossing over. Come on. They died. DEAD. I never understood the purpose of trying to make it sound more special and eloquent. Is that how I mean it? I’m not really sure, to be honest. Eloquent. Hm. Maybe. But I DO mean that it’s more honest to say that they died. Call me crazy (no pun intended), but I feel it is more respectful to the dead to show that you know that they lived.

I just… for the first time in a very long time, there is no music in my head. No good music, no bad. No earworms, nothing on repeat. The radio is off, I have nothing to hum.  I may be depressed, but right now I simply feel like my heart is being eaten by maggots. A constant gnawing that constricts the blood flow to my lungs and makes them clench tight.

I just keep hoping I will wake up and it will all be a nightmare.

But I know I won’t.

Everything falls apart.

Even the people who never frown eventually break down.  The sacrifice of hiding in a lie.  Everything has to end. You’ll soon find we’re out of time left to watch it all unwind. The sacrifice is never knowing.

I push and pull and fight and cry. I go out of my way to try to NOT cause problems. So it is not often that I actually DO stand up and speak my mind. Yes, yes. I bitch and moan. That is not something I will ever pretend that I do not do. A good bit ago I stood up to a friend and told him WHY I was mad at him. WHY I was so angry and hurt by what he had done and said. And the over all extent to the damage he had done to our friendship and how. I was blunt, I was as succinct as I could be. I realize in retrospect that I was an idiot to think that I had any right to stand up and say my piece. More than one person told me I was wrong for speaking my mind. One of them claiming to be objective, but I know, as much as she may have tried, was skewed toward her friend. The older, better friend. Which, I understand. I will fervently defend my friends at all costs. I have. That is part of the issue with this entire situation. I was put in the middle and forced to choose a side.

I’ve tried, like you, to do everything you wanted to. This is the last time I’ll take the blame for the sake of being with you.

She spent an entire night making me feel like I was wrong for standing up and speaking my mind based upon information from a warped, angry, and hurt viewpoint that was just short of a lie. All without asking me for the truth. I didn’t even realize until several hours later, but by then it was too late. I had spent the entire night decimated. Fuck it hurt. It still hurts. I don’t want to be the “More Important Friend.”  That is not the point. I guess it’s more that I’m constantly being told to stand up and say no. Being told to speak my mind. And then when I do. It is wrong. I made a decision based on the fact that I was being forced to choose between sides. And I chose the side that was NOT making me choose. The side that was NOT making me feel like shit because of the other side. And I would make that decision again. And I was very clear about that. But, as I have said many times before, I am a horrible person. A horrible person who needs to keep her fucking mouth SHUT.

Why I never walked away. Why I played myself this way. Now I see your testing pushes me away.

So that’s that. Is what is. I have been going to bed around 7 or 8 in the morning at the earliest, and staying in bed past 2.  Usually I stay much later.  I just have no desire to get up right now. My crazy doctor is going to be angry. Annoyed anyway.  I have been missing my meds often lately. Quite often, actually. I remember them maybe once or twice a week. I keep getting hungry. I am most definitely not a fan. I don’t like being hungry and gaining weight. Though today I think I wasn’t. Hungry, that is. Coffee. Lots of coffee. I know I am not supposed to drink coffee with them, but I live on it. That is never going to change. If my brain has the chance of exploding if I keep drinking coffee, I will still drink it. I guess it is similar to smokers who know they will get cancer, but smoke anyway. Maybe they are just as crazy as I am.  I like the taste. I like the energy. I like the warmth.

We’re all out of time, this is how we find how it all unwinds. The sacrifice of hiding in a lie. 

I started doing push ups every day.  I think to try to help lose weight. Well, not lose weight. Doing push ups is going to do jack shit about my weight gain, but it might help with my back getting bad again. Core strength, eh?  I miss not being so weak.  I used to be able to a bunch. I never could do sit ups, but push ups were easy.  I can do… five.  Yes my dearies, FIVE.  I am a weakling. Pathetic. Occasionally I can do seven. I’m not sure why some times are different. You would think I could figure that out. Objectively notice the difference. But, I just have no inkling. I want to stop being so pathetic and do more. But I just wobble and fall. Yes, I can already hear you thinking, “You should do yoga!”  Right? But no. Classes are most definitely not cheap, and I just never seem to do it on my own.

When all you got is these four walls…

It’s not hard to feel so small, when all you got is these four walls. It’s not hard to feel so small. All she wanted was to be enough. All she wanted was to be enough. So what does it take? Maybe it’s not too late. Yeah no one heard her when she said…

There are good things and bad things in life. My life. I have good people. I have bad people. I have people I should get rid of, and people I should cling tighter to. I should make the effort to keep in touch with those I don’t, and stop talking to some.  I realized today that not only am I angry by today’s political issues that I’m fucking scared. Terrified. I got into an argument with someone who genuinely believed that “all men” think and say the things that the current president said and says about women. Re-read that. This man said that *ALL MEN THINK AND SAY THEY WANT TO SEXUALLY VIOLATE WOMEN*.

This lit a fuse and I went off. Oops. I honestly admit, if he had said it in my presence I probably would have swung. I could feel my face burning. It wasn’t embarrassment or horror. It was rage. How DARE he say that about all men. I KNOW men who are… not all men think this… Do they?  This put my brain in panic mode. Which angered me further. DO all men think about this? DO all men, at one point or another in their lives, think about sexually violating women? Do my male friends think this? About me? My female friends? Someone’s daughter? Sister? Mother?

She said she wants to end it all when she’s all alone in her room. She cries. The way she feels inside is too much for her. When all you got is these four walls, it’s not that hard to feel so small, or even exist at all. How come no one heard her when she said…

I’ve been stress eating again, so I’ve gained some weight. I hate this. It makes me feel ugly. I need to stop eating so much. Or exercise. I just don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything right now. The Benadryl is helping me sleep. I’ve added it to my nightly meds, I just don’t want to get up. And not because I’m groggy, I just don’t want to. The nightmares have been hard core, lately. Mostly something sitting on me and pounced, ready to attack.  I know if I open my eyes I’m screwed. I’ve been drinking more coffee than I even used to. Not sure exactly what that says. I don’t think I’m supposed to drink coffee with my medicine. I know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol. Occasionally I’ll add some rum or vanilla vodka to it because, tasty. But not often, and not much.  I know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol with my meds, but I like the flavor. Spiced rum in coffee is delish!

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful, cause no one’s ever told her so. And the demons that she hides, are all she knows. And maybe she can fall in love with someone in her life that she could trust, and tell her she’s enough. (Have someone tell her she’s enough!)
How come no one heard her when she said…

I think I’m getting crazier. But I think I say that every post, now don’t I?  By this point I should be so fucking crazy that my brain oozes from my nose and ears. Now THAT would be a sight. I guess I just feel that since the only thing I’m good at is driving people away, I must be a fucking nut case. Under job applications, “Best skills” I should put “Driving people away because I’m an asshole.”  But, alas, I think that might not be the best of ideas. My head’s been extra loud lately. Lots of guilt. Whether or not it’s deserved, (Isn’t it always?) it’s there. It eats at my brain. It eats at my soul. It nibbles at my fingers and toes at night.

Maybe I’m better off dead. If I was, would it finally be enough to shut out all those voices in my head? Maybe I’m better off dead.  Better off dead!  Did you hear a word, hear a word I said? This is not where I belong. You gonna miss me when I’m gone. Gone, gone. This is not where I belong. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone. Gone, gone. This is not where I belong. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.

While no, I don’t think about killing myself, I sometimes wonder whether or not all of the self-doubt, anger, hatred, and fear will go away when I realize I’m dying.  Whether it’s a split second before a car crash, or dying slowly from a cancer, or just plain old age. I just wonder. Will I die angry and feeling alone? I’ve always been that person who can be surrounded by so many people, friends even, and I feel so alone. I feel like I’m just so… isolated. I can’t explain what’s in my head, and how I feel, so it just makes me sad. There’s really no other way to explain it. There’s no way to express the heavy weight of trying to describe my thoughts and feelings and having someone tell me I’m wrong, or that I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s depressing for someone to tell me that I have no business being upset about something that I took wrong. Whether or not I took something wrong, or got upset because of something they said that they did or didn’t mean, does not invalidate my feelings.  … right?