And that I live in a hole.

Don’t we all? It’s so much easier to jam your head into a hole, much like an ostrich.

The problems are still looming above, unfortunately.

The only thing the pain has taught me is that it’s inevitable.

Now I’m twisting, and I’m turning.

And it’s not convincing.

My stomach churns and the storm continues to rage.

Or is it the waves?

Waves of acid, swishing and swirling.

Eating at the once-strong walls.

(Writing poetry about stomach ulcers is rather amusing, isn’t it?)

I am skiddish around new people. Almost in a paralyzing way. It’s not that I’m afraid of THEM; I’m afraid of making an ass of myself– saying the wrong thing.. or just looking like a total idiot. I don’t know exactly how this particular trait developed; but I am aware that it exists.

The haze sets in the moment my foot hits the pavement, I’m already very uptight. I had to forgo lunch due to the churning heat in my stomach. I’m wringing my hands and my head swims. My eyes are sore from them darting back and forth ALREADY. I haven’t even crossed the point of no return.

The point of no return doesn’t really exist; at least not in a tangible way. Today it’s all in the impressions I make on people. I think the behavior I exude would seem strange to people I’ve never met. I try to act human.

The fact of the matter is: I don’t feel human.

I feel like a wound up ball of black, sticky yarn. The aches and pains from raveling and unraveling have me all cranky. Untangling the fuckery proves to be a challenge; one I’m not up to attempting at the moment.

So for now I run with the discomfort. It’s like an alarm going off in your head. Have you ever had an adrenaline rush? It’s like that. I feel like that. Fight or Flight. Except I’m not fleeing. I’m still walking towards the building where my skin and soul will meet their ultimate demise.

If I didn’t have my good friend H by my side, there’s a good chance I’d bolt. She’s promised to stick by me as I endure a trial. You know a trial? Like a TEST? Whatever. I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know if the world really exists to be God’s school; where we are exposed to final exams and whatnot.

I don’t really know why I’m here at all.

Other than to eat chocolate.

When you think about it though, why do people bother to make people food taste like anything? Why is there such a huge variety of fruits and vegetables and etc? You really just need it for fuel. It doesn’t really matter WHAT it tastes like as you only chew it for MAYBE 30 seconds and swallow it. There are no taste buds in your stomach. WTF God.

(These are the fucked up tangents my mind gets stuck on for sometimes hours.)

I’m currently hating my nose. It sticks out so far. I mentally bring up a photo of my dad, who wasn’t really ever a dad to me and curse him. The guy never so much as made an impact on my life, yet the evidence of his genetics dominate my face. It really pisses me off.

I never thought of myself as that girl.. who needed the ‘daddy attention’.. Who was struggling for the approval of men by fucking them all one by one.

But apparently I was that girl. To the T.

It took me longer than most to realize it though.. which is another reason for the self-animosity: I’m kind of stupid.

(Still approaching the building by the way, feeling kind of sweaty, which I know is gross.. but hey.. I’m making progress.. Taking deeper and deeper breaths.. hoping to at least maintain consciousness lest the inevitable anxiety attack assume control.)

It’s been awhile since I had a panic attack, and I’m proud of myself for taking the reins early enough to prevent any kind of freak out. It fucking bothers me that other people might see me as weak because I have (at times, debilitating) anxiety.

On second thought, I think about things waaaay too much for a stupid person. Maybe I’m not really stupid. Just too introverted. I’m not really SHY though, as I mentioned before.. I’m just really skiddish around new people. I’m not too afraid to talk to them; I just don’t know what to say I guess.

I hate doing new things. Which is another things I hate about myself. I don’t like venturing into the unfamiliar. Most people love new things and change; I on the other hand: do not. I try to avoid new and different things at all costs.

If I force myself into doing something new, I usually end up enjoying it. So the heart pounding, clammy hands routine is worth it in the end.

Rationally, I know that if I never tried anything new I’d be the most boring and lame individual in history. If we only live once (I don’t necessarily believe that.. but I don’t really KNOW what I believe) then we should try to do everything in our power to experience new things. My reluctance to ‘step outside the box’ is probably unnatural.

I hate not being in control. I don’t like panic attacks because they make me feel disconnected from my body. THAT is a very uncomfortable feeling– I’ve had a fucking C section and I would consider an anxiety attack worse.

Sometimes I really hate that I can’t just relax and roll with the punches. My face tingles and my hands go numb. (Probably from clenching my fists so hard that my fingernails make indents in my palms) Anxiety makes me have to pee and sipping water is pretty much the only thing that calms me down till I can get a fucking grip.

It feels like I’m dying, but I just try to remind myself that it should be over soon. Ten-fifteen minutes of deep breathing and positive self talk should do the trick.

When I think about dying it really freaks me out… The idea of departing this consciousness and leaving behind those that I love– Thinking about that keeps me up nights… I find myself humming a song or purposely trying to remember some scenes from a story I’ve recently read just to get away from those thoughts.

I suppose if I DID die though.. The little pieces of my soul (if I have a soul) would surely be sifted like powdered sugar into the world.. At least I hope we all don’t just rot in a box. Religious thinking aside.. physically.. I hate to think that a human brain would continue functioning and being ‘aware’ of the inevitable claustrophobia that would occur from being trapped in a casket.

The clock in the lobby is ticking loudly… My appointment is at 10:40 am. It’s now 10:27 am. Every minute that passes is painful. I just want this to be over. H takes my hand in hers, I look down at it and say, “You know, your hands remind me of my grandma’s.” Her eyes widen and she flushes and looks away.I stutter, “I don’t mean that your hands look old or anything, I just.. it’s…” H stops me, “It’s okay M.” I still manage to feel slightly idiotic.

Now this wasn’t intended as an offensive statement, I’m not saying that her skin is wrinkly or whatever. Her hands are very small with very long fingernails and she wears rings, like my grandma. THAT is what I intended. To say that.  It’s very comforting that H is holding my hand. She’s anchoring me to this earth at the moment. The fact of the matter has not changed though: I am not tactful. (#12 or so on the things I hate about myself list)

I wish I took more time to think about the things I say before they come erupting from my mouth. It’s like I have no filter. I end up offending people or conveniently picking out the things they are the most insecure about and comment on them. It seems like I’m constantly distracted with disjointed thoughts; this is what leads to the verbal diarrhea.

So you may be getting idea that this self loathing is destructive (or at least not mentally healthy) but I consider it more like self-constructive criticism of sorts.

I suppose it’s good that I’m at least aware of my many many flaws…

I really love ellipsis– they are probably my favorite thing about writing. They allow you to leave an incomplete (or thought) sentence hanging… I think I’ve had several conversations, especially lately, that have ellipsis in them.

I think it would be really cool if conversations with people came with subtitles. I make a lot of weird sounds to describe things sometimes. People find this odd, yet I don’t really notice it until after I’ve already done it. This comes back to my lack of attention to detail or maybe just listening skills. Which brings me to memory.

It’s always been hard for me to remember things. Maybe it’s just that I’m forgetful. I think of my brain as an unsteady zipline– I’m forever stuck speeding back and forth. The trauma of hitting one of the sides causes memory loss. Perhaps it’s just that I’m in the habit of storing things in a haphazard manner. (As well as everything in my life… see: M’s closet). Oh the untidy closet-brain.

Besides being an all around disorganized person, I think I’ve tried to repress a lot of childhood memories. I think that has lead my brain to disregard certain events and emotions– thus they are scattered. I’ve said before that I wish my mind was a 90′s trapper keeper. I wish I could pull everything out and store it there– in a very fastidious manner.

Could I keep a journal? Probably. Could I write in one of those little calendar things to keep everything straight? Maybe. Will I ever actually do it? It’s unlikely. I’m too lazy. I’m angry about being lazy… well maybe not angry.. Angry seems like too strong of a word.

Am I crazy? Probably. Over thinker? Oh yes. I’m too aware of what’s going on INSIDE of my own head and it pisses me off.

I worry incessantly. This is probably the reason for the constant stomach pain. I worry about things I can’t control. I worry about things that I can’t predict. I worry that I worry too much. FML

So we’re in the lobby waiting now, my shoulders are twitching and the urge to ralph into the nearby plant is tempting. I’m looking at H, pleading with all my might, my blue eyes boring holes into her hazel ones. I know the pain is coming. Not just physical, but emotional. (The latter is worse in my opinion.)

Emotional pain is inescapable.

Maybe for awhile a person could act like an ostrich and bury their head in the sand will only protect part of their body from the affront of pain. Hiding forever is impossible.. as soon as they lift their head to check if the coast is clear… THWACK.. emotional guillotine.

Stupid heart crushing attachments. What forces you to “FEEL” things for people? What is that tie called? You would call it love probably, I have no idea what I would call it. I’m crazy remember?

It really pisses me off that I don’t trust him enough to love me the way I need to be loved. I don’t trust him enough to take care of me if I were sick or otherwise disabled. I pretty much bank on his dickheaded-ness.

The sighs resume and H and I are still slouched in the too-upright backed chairs of the lobby. Doesn’t it seem like they keep you here forever on purpose? Testing to see if you’re REALLY sick enough to be here. How messed up is that? I’m browsing brochures as if I’d really be interested in trying some random prescription drug.

If only they had medication for precisely the illness with which I’m afflicted. Ooooh yes… just what I need: some side effects to add to my already interesting life.

Someone once told me my eyes are ‘broken’… The way I look at myself is not accurate apparently. Doesn’t everyone look at themselves with a certain amount of “UGH”? “You are your own worst enemy” or some bullshit like that. Luckily, I don’t dwell on things for long. Most ideas and whims are fleeting and tip toe their way out of my head just as quickly as they made their way in.

I develop mildly irritating short lived obsessions. I guess you could say I’m really impulsive; reckless even. I’m hasty and I push for things I’m not sure if I really want. Which is another thing I hate about myself. Add it to the list. As well as paranoia about illness.. which leads to compulsive hand washing. (Which leads to dry, scaly gross hands) I hate being over-aware. I wish germs were visible.

Every time I make chicken I wish that it left some kind of color.. everything it touched would turn bright purple.. like that crazy sunblock that you rubbed on then disappeared after a bit.

I’m still twiddling my thumbs together sitting in the ‘sterile’ environment of the office. I’m regretfully sucking in each breath wishing I was wearing one of those bird flu masks. A pudgy, frizzy haired nurse peeks her head through the door. She’s calling a name, “M? M?” That’s me. I glance at H and she gives her classic ‘reassuring’ smirk. She nods towards the door where pudgy nurse lady is standing. I stand slowly, knees knocking together and take the last steps toward my decision.

I’m secretly grateful that H doesn’t have to see me struggle and possibly crumble beneath the waves of questions and even worse; answers.

Drowning seems like a really horrid and frightening way to die. (See above if you’ve forgotten my position on dying.) I mean, sucking water through your nose or mouth and it quickly filling your lungs has got to be the most painful experience in a person’s life. Your brain would probably be frantic for a few minutes while your chest splintered and heaved. Your body would fill with water and sink… or do drowning victims float?

Unbeknownst to me: the size of the shit storm coming my way had serious intent to drown me.

There is no reprieve from the water when you’re drowning on dry land.

I am a child of a broken home. (I realize that probably upward of 70% of you out there can relate… but the fact still remains… divorce is extremely hard on kids.) What it really comes down to though, is my dad cheated on my mom with some skank who worked for him. He ended up marrying this ‘other woman’ (who had two rugrats of her own) after leaving my mom.

My mom has a ‘red personality’. She was abusive and belittling for much of my childhood. It makes me wonder if she’s not half responsible for the fucked up ways my mind works.

In her defense, I think she lives with a lot of pain from the ultimate betrayal and heartbreak from her first love. As a result, I think she took it out on me a little. Being a single parent is hard as hell. I’ve seen it, but I didn’t realize ’till just today while I was doing the dishes (NO SHIT); how hard it REALLY must have been for her raising me all by herself. The pressure to raise a child who won’t be fucked up is huge. I don’t think parents ever mean to hurt their kids. She must have been so scared. My heart goes out to her now, as an adult, facing a similar experience.

When I was a teenager I hated my father for leaving me alone with her. She was a monster; her eyes almost explode when she’s angry. She was terrifying and abusive when on one of her bouts. I was actually afraid she would kill me and dispose of my body in the knoll of trees at the apartment complex we lived in. Picture a twelve year old girl crying herself to sleep at night after a recent attack smack or screaming. Her words were point little darts with feathers on the end. She was all too willing to make me the dart board.

Immediately following one of her berating fits of rage, she would grovel before me and beg for my forgiveness. I would always push the pain further and further into the glass bottle I kept in my chest.

……………………. more to come.

((Dictionary defines happy as: delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing.))

When people ask you if you’re happy.. what do you say?

I am not a dictionary so I say:::::

It’s not that I’m UNhappy.. I find myself only being able to describe the real emotions I face daily with the word: DISSATISFIED.. and well.. maybe disappointed. I really just have such high expectations of everything (and everyONE) that I feel let down a LOT. The solution you ask? To lower your standards. As depressing as that may be, I have to just enjoy what I CAN and just say ‘fuck it’ to the rest.

I have no control over the actions of people around me. I can only rely on myself for happiness. Say you’re in a relationship with someone and they let you down.. really the only thing YOU yourself can do is GET OVER IT. Sadly, most people rely too much on others for the stabilization of their emotions/feelings. When in reality it’s not safe or remotely RELIABLE to do so.

The shittiest part is that I’m selfish. I want to be treated a certain way.. I want to be loved and praised and bla bla bla.. And finding the right person for THAT job is damn near impossible. No one is perfect and I shouldn’t expect someone to CHANGE into that mold of this ideal person. It’s really fucked up that I would expect a guy to be a gentleman and to let me be me all the time and not want me to change… or is it?

Bat your eyes girl.
Be otherworldly.
Count your blessings.
Seduce a stranger.
What’s so wrong with being happy?
Kudos to those who see through sickness…yeah

Over and over and over and over………..

She woke in the morning.
She knew that her life had passed her by
She called out a warning.
Don’t ever let life pass you by.

I suggest we
Learn to love ourselves,
Before its made illegal
When will we learn, When will we change
Just in time to see it all come down

Those left standing will make millions
Writing books on the way it should have been

She woke in the morning.
She knew that her life had passed her by
She called out a warning.
Don’t ever let life pass you by.

Floating in this cosmic Jacuzzi
We are like frogs oblivious
Soon the water starting to boil,
Now I flinched and we all float face down

She woke in the morning.
She knew that her life had passed her by
She called out a warning.
Don’t ever let life pass you by.
Pass you by.

Eighteen is a crappy age to discover that life is passing you by. Maybe in my naive teenager-ness I never realized that maybe it was just adolescent depression. I was fixated on this song for so many years. Amongst many other Incubus lyrics. People may not appreciate their music per se, but the message those tunes carry; is heavy. The wisdom to ‘not let life pass you by’ but instead to jump in and fight for something; anything. My fight, was futile. Something had to change.

“Two weeks without my lover
I’m in this boat alone
Floating down a river named emotion
Will I make it back to shore?
Or drift into the unknown” -excerpt from “Aqueous Transmission (also by Incubus)

Inevitably floating. There was no shore for the rivers I was paddling. Self destructive; like I shoved off without oars, a life vest, or an intention to ever find safe harbor.

I think most people would prefer to focus on happy things whilst paddling through this experience in the world full of rivers with rivers named ‘emotion’. However, there are some of us who delve into the darkness and create a niche there. A quite comfortable one. Some would call it pessimism but I just call it realism. I’m not calling people who blindly stare at the sun and awake completely and blissfully happy everyday morons. Ignorance towards depravity: is bliss.

ANYWAY..I really want to figure out a way to make this blog more into a one-liner kind of “continuation” of my jumbled thoughts and very occasionally hilarious anecdotes. Sometimes I find myself getting on a roll where I can be quite clever.

It really disappoints me when I am over my twitter limit. Not only do I like tweeting and interacting with all the interesting people, I like to air out all the above mentioned “anecdote-ness”.

I would like to think that sometimes I can be entertaining. When I was younger, I was always the “funny girl”. The class clown.. or the good ‘friend’. I wasn’t ever really that gorgeous girl who was just pure eye candy. I tried to develop a magnetic personality instead, to compensate for not being beautiful.

But I think EVERYONE is beautiful in their own way. Even people I would think are otherwise hideous, have amusing and wonderful expressions which make them endearing.

“Be Yourself” by Audioslave <–  You may win or lose, But to be yourself, is all that you can do. <– God I love that. It really randomly popped across my Pandora. How appropriate for what I was JUST writing about.  I’m not a ginormous fan of Audioslave, but I like the lyrics  to many of their songs.

I was nonchalantly gazing around as if I had forgotten where I parked my car. After my momentary scouring, he was nowhere to be found within my line of sight. I could feel his pulse floating through the air and bouncing off of my skin. The ::slug slug slug:: of this heart was so loud my neck slid back and forth stealing glances at my fellow employees. They had to hear it right? Most had their heads down and were veering off in all directions.

“Night Sam, see you tomorrow”, one of them called. I was too distracted searching for my voyeur to notice. I was intrigued and completely freaked out all in the span of thirty seconds.

I shivered for the fourth time in ten seconds and started at a jog through the dimly lit parking lot towards my car. What could he possibly want from me? Why was he just watching at me? Did he know I could feel his pulse and hear his heart? Was he going to approach me? And if he did, would he hurt me?

I had reached my car when the sound of footsteps became audible. Quick paced and coming fast. Heart rate picking up, matching the ::slug slug:: in my head, I fumbled getting my keys in the car door, the locks finally clicked; the door handle was damp from an earlier drizzle. I glanced over my shoulder and saw no one. Holding my breath, I yanked the door open and tossed my purse into the passenger side seat. I pulled the door closed hard, shoved the locks down, and put the key in the ignition.  The engine whined to life and I surveyed the completely empty parking lot while driving towards the highway.  Was I going crazy?

People’s parents die in car accidents, or slowly deteriorate from cancer. The paralyzing blur ensues.. I sit here as the minutes and hours of MY LIFE tick by without meaning a single thing.

Does it HAVE to mean something? Who knows. What is the actual connection with your ‘soul’ and your body? What are these FEELINGS? Why do we feel? Why are we absorbed in our world? What if our bodies dissolved and all that was left was some little spark? Floating light that represented all of our thoughts ‘dreams’ and etc. Are all the media, movies, sports and religions a distraction from the REAL thing?

Which is glaring fact that yes, someday you will die. Whether it be tragically from a peanut you choked on or 70 years old in your sleep. You will die and leave all of this.. for WHAT? You will cease to exist, without leaving a single mark on the world as you know it. If you aren’t a celebrity of anykind or contributed MAJORLY to the global “struggle” no one will remember your name because you didn’t make an impact. Your funeral will not be televised for all the world to see. Most people; apart from your loved ones (if you had any) will not see your birthday approaching on the calendar and mourn the loss of another 365 days you could’ve shared with them.

What if when you die your body just deteriorates and your brain, merely soft tissue, all that you’ve known, travels or not.. movies you’ve watched, memories you have.. disappear into thin air. What if the moment your heart stops beating it’s just over. Was it enough? Did you live your live to it’s fullest? Are you going to hell? Heaven? Does either place exist? Are you going into your next life as a caterpillar? Do you think you’ll be joining your love ones on ‘the other side’?

Can all of these moments in your life, flashes if you will, of learning, experiences and etcetera REALLY mean anything? Is there a purpose for this life? And if so, what is it? Is it to have kids and grow old with ONE person that you’ve loved? Is it to just experience as much as you can while you can? What about work? What if you were to get hit by a car coming home from work.. What if all you’d been doing is working? An extreme workaholic.. that’s your life. Are we defined by the things we DO or the things we’ve experienced? Or the things we THINK? The only thing in this life that is ABSOLUTELY inevitable is that someday, you will take a final breath and who REALLY knows where you’re going.

Allowing a moment for the collective sigh and uncomfortable feeling to pass…will it ever?