Ho ho hoe down!

I have a pile of papers on my desk to sort through. My 'finances'. Basically I was really strict with myself about writing down all of my credits and debits each month. I would calculate the savings earnt and see if it matched my budget. But then I stopped caring. I decided I was too uptight about everything. Oh lordy. I think I got sick of being the responsible studious, savings, proper, hardworking person who is waiting for that distant moment in the future.

Right now I'm listening to the lemonheads I'm discovering a lot of new music lately. I feel like I've been trapped in a classical/romantic period bubble. It was a nice bubble but now I feel like the times are changing. I like the kooks too. Gosh I feel so worldly !

I love lindt chocolate no matter what anyone says about it.

Lately I've been feeling really bummed. I've been trying to make myself wake up and just be feliz (happy) but I can't seem to be able to.

Music really helps and old friends. Those people make me glow with love.

Yes, I am procrastinating.

anicpay

Feeling panicked again. I'm not sure what's wrong. I have no clue why all of a sudden everything seems to be slapping me in the face. I need a friend.

the garden dress

the garden dress was not a garden dress at all. it wasn't the sort of thing you would wear whilst crawling on soft, moist fertiliser or to brush the sweat from your brow. it was beautiful. beautiful material, beautifully cut, beautifully fitting. i wished you could have seen me in it and loved me. but then i scolded myself. it should not be like that at all.

i wish i knew best, and i wish i could make the right choices. well, perhaps not even 'right' or 'wrong' just the better alternative. tonight i don't feel angry at myself. i feel frustrated with time, with others, with fear, with social politics. especially the latter. i feel ancient, like my skin is becoming coarse and my lips thinner. I feel like my hairline is receding and my eye lashes thinning. i feel as if weight is slowly becoming a terrible lover that is clinging to every inch of my body. i feel my back is arching as i begin to cocoon and cradle the small foetus that i will become. but i'm not angry at myself. i don't hate myself. i just feel scared. scared that slowly yet surely i will be less and less wanted. i feel that slowly but surely my time of being noticed and special and certain has passed. i'm disappointed that i spent that time fretting and not embracing. now, i'm trying so desperately hard to embrace everything because the directors that drive my mind in the hard times are far too domineering. my mum says that i'm beautiful and that i look much younger and fresher these days. but she's my mother and although i want to trust her, i know that she too has her own selfish agendas of protection and control. the more i stay here and seek comfort it what is, the more i want to run away. whatever happened to our meeting at the airport? whatever happened to falling in love with strangers? it was real for me. i don't want to be rational and logical and intelligent if it means i cannot and should not believe in the authenticity and innocence of people. perhaps it is because i feel broken or because i was missed my grandest opportunities. i feel like i'm getting sick and maybe it is because i shared a drink with you. i feel afraid. i should probably go to sleep and wake up to the new day. then i should drag myself to leave the covers and go for a run. then i should photocopy the book to put the songs in a book for my friend. then i should go to the post office and buy more stamps. i lost my stamps. i had so many too. i need to write to another friend. but i am utterly insane. it was better off this way. i've let things go now, you can't hold on to things.

whatever happened to carpe diem. why are we so afraid? we complain of institutionalism and yet we are the ones who set the constructs in our lives. there's a reason why i prefer romantic to classical and jazz to pop.

sometimes we just need to take one day at a time. i still just want to wear black and tie my hair and cover my face. i just feel like it is better that way. what if you could make their day? i know it would make mine. maybe there's a new philosophy coming into play. i'll let you know once i figure it out for myself. there's no need to ask for your approval. you would say no anyway.

it may be you, or perhaps my new dress

it may be you, or perhaps my new dress,

perhaps the feeling of summer on my skin, maybe the music

either the way tonight is a good night. These don't come often so I figured I should document it to remind myself that happiness is possible.

i really think i may have some personality disorder or perhaps I'm just emotionally handicapped because my lows are seriously debilitating but the highs are so damn beautiful.

yes, yes, yes, I have a lot of love right now!

so... what's happening?

I don't like watching movies for the afterwards. I can get so shaken for so long and absorbed in some fictional character's life and emotions. I made soup today. Mushroom soup. It was really nice. I can't wait until the holidays. Not even Poulenc is quirky to me right now. I'm starting to panic about a lot of things. Ever read the Raw Shark Texts? I never finished it. But if you ever do, it talks about 'live' texts or something to that effect. That's how I feel all the time. It's a little bit scary and makes you overly precarious.

I'm at my happiest when I'm surrounded by plants, when I'm planting, when I'm in a park. I feel a sense of guilt and depression to see wilted flowers in supermarkets.

I'm at my happiest when I'm composing or totally absorbed in a piece of music that I love.

I'm at my happiest when I'm hugging someone that I really care about.

I've realised that things need to change in the now. I make plans because I'm not happy in the present. I've found that a lot of the reasons that I'm unhappy have to do with conclusions I've come to in my head, but cannot repeat, for fear that they're false and I wouldn't want to lie to you. I make up happy endings in my head. The endings are always happy when they lead me away from here.

I am at my happiest when I can be myself.

I am at my happiest when no one expects anything from me. I hate people knowing about anything that I've achieved or done because most people will treat me differently. I hate that. So I suppose you study all the time. BULL SHIT. I don't like that at all. I like trying things and giving things a go. No one ever asks me about my favourite song. It's always what's your BEST song or the HARDEST song that I've ever had to play. I don't understand why.

Yet things are never good enough. I was never enough. And I guess I'm afraid that I never will be. I wish I had someone who could completely understand me and just laugh at my moments of bipolar mood swings. Don't be silly Anna - it's all just chemical. I try to tell myself that. But it's hard to believe when tears won't stop coming out of your eyes and you will as if you are about to be sick.

I'm hoping for a better time. I'm hoping for a change. I'm trying so hard to be the change I want to see in my world. I'm terribly lost and confused about so many things. I won't tell anyone the whole truth. Because nothing's wrong. In some way it's easier that way. With my mum it is anyway. I just have to smile (but not too much) and reassert that everything is fine and that I am following the average path of every other ordinary person my age. But that's not true. That's a lie. I don't like lies. I don't like it when people pretend.

I'm learning the hard way that perhaps I was right not to have faith in others. Yet, in the same neuron transmission of thought I feel that now is perhaps the time when I need most of my faith.

I'm so awfully sorry. For everything. Really, I am. And I wish things could have been different. And yet, I know they never will, because if I were you and she was her, I would have run a long time ago.

come fly with me

next year. Between June 27 to July 27. Greece. Italy.

Please?

complaint

Just something I wanted to voice:

I could smell cigarette smoke at random intervals all night during the CANCER COUNCIL Relay for Life Event. I wanted to smack those people over the head. grrr.

brain explosion

I've had this feeling for a long time. It's the feeling that I am well and truly insane. I don't think I am. I know I usually blame it on hormones, but I checked my calendar and I wasn't supposed to be so hormonal until another week or so. I feel really scared and I don't even know of what. My head really hurts. Maybe it's just one of those days.

the road to byron bay

today was a good day.

there are some friends who I really miss and I just don't understand why I haven't done anything sooner.

it's one of those silly things that we put off because we're afraid? or ignorant? or maybe just purely self-absorbed. I think I'm all those things at once. or atleast I think I was before.

why do we always keep waiting? why do we never tell that girl how beautiful she looks even though every time we see her we're taken aback by it? why do we never tell that boy who stood by us through our tantrums and played chinese whispers with in the middle of the night how much those moments meant? what if it would make their day?

I'm trying to make things change. put the wheel in motion. first step was to make many little thank you cards. now, it is time to write letters.

there was a boy in officeworks the other day (a few weeks ago) who truly made my day. we didn't talk that much but he really was a bundle of light. he didn't walk - it was a sort of skip. by the way: by 'boy', i mean he was probably my age or more. he wasn't a child.

just some thoughts:

things I like:

chocolate fixes

the boy at the pharmacist

porridge + honey

walking

the weather - all sorts

putting flowers in my hair (especially those chains of flowers)

rearranging my room

travelling

emily - you have the most beautiful lips. yes, I stare at your lips.

more thoughts:

I will be driving to byron bay this year. I am yet to gather troops and work out where i will be staying. but I definitely want to go. and as they say... where there's a will, there's a way.

hmm... I think I will write a song or a poem or something of the nature and title it 'the road to byron bay'. I will be come a hippy for a few days and then bring back additional piercings and a thread dread - not actually sure what they're called. I will wear baggy clothes and no bra (not that I really need one). I will learn to play the harmonica and bongos. Then, we shall have a hippy party here where we smoke only our fish.

today I think I reasserted that I'm not that bad. sometimes i forget it and cut my hair and break my nails and scratch my face. i don't scratch my face to hurt myself. I just get really itchy when I'm a bit overemotional. I think its pms. I always get horribly possessed around this time. today I feel that I've come out of it though. nevertheless my skin has been extra oily I have developed two symmetrical pimples on either side of the midline of my face. it's truly amazing. as if they communicated. i was hating myself for a while. not just for this. but using this as an excuse to be annoyed at myself. but then i rediscovered chocolate and endorphins and just told myself that all these feelings were hormonal. and somehow. knowing that this was just a part of some biological chemistry that no one really knows how to fix - well, it made me feel a heck of a lot better.

have a nice night - dream with the angels

A little thought

A person who never made a mistake, never tried anything new.

Einstein

My rambles are in shambles!

I wrote this a while ago:

I feel that there is a misconception by many people that I have a picture perfect idea of what I want and what my plans are. I don’t have a perfect idea. In fact, I only have the smallest tickle of a concept that float about in my mind. To be honest, I’m scared. Of a lot of silly things I suppose. But I’m scared nonetheless. And, since I’m not scared of a lot of other things, I’m going to use the ‘scareds’ that I’m entitled to on this. I’ve never really known what I wanted to do and I still don’t. I don’t really want to do medicine. I don’t want to do teaching. I don’t want to go to university. But then, I don’t want anything to be any other way either. I’m tired of trying to never make mistakes and of people believing that I do my assignments weeks in advance. I do a lot of things ‘just in case’. So, I see trying to finish things on time and do well in studies as another ‘just in case’. The main thing that got me through high school was thinking ‘if I do well now then I can get a good job and move out’. During school, I hated being at home. I would stay back longer at school, go to libraries, go to friend’s houses. When I was at home I’d go to bed before everyone else got home so I wouldn’t see them and then get up early while the house was still quietly mine. I was being silly of course. I should have tried harder right? To talk to others, sort out problems. I did try. Don’t think that I didn’t. But at the time, it was easiest to not feel caught up. I’m not particularly clever really or athletic or artistic. I really don’t think I am.

I wrote this today:

Despite much denial, I realise now I do not trust many of the people that I suppose I should and least of all myself. I don't believe anything I think. I don't believe my own opinion, what I hear, feel or think that I understand. I hope my tone isn't one of spite or anger because I really don't mean it that way. I'm sad, and scared and confused. I feel terribly alone. I want to believe in someone whole heartedly. I want to believe that everything they say is true. I've never felt more frightened in my life. I'm too scared to hold on to any thoughts. I was scared to even form an opinion in this blog, to express my 'perspective'.

I'm so sorry for the way I was and probably still am. I am so so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you all deserved. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you all wanted. I'm sorry I still have no clue what I want. I'm sorry I don't function within what you expect. I'm sorry for saying sorry, then I guess I'm not really sorry.

I wish things were different. I hate having to wait although I know I probably should learn to wait. Don't tell me that.

Sometimes I wish I had someone to fall back on who would make me feel like they completely understood and just agreed with me even if I was raving on about something ridiculous. I wish I could then trust them enough to tell me when it was enough. I really need help.

love, paranoia and finding God

I was reading blogs today - just as one normally does when procrastinating assessments - when I came upon something so simply obvious that I just sat there and thought:

"Oh.?"

"Oh."

"Wow."

So many write about cyclical patterns. This made me think of Rondo form (ABACA) and then Beethoven and then a story I wrote in school. Does this mean that I've been chasing my tail all my life? If so, I feel even less like an intelligent lifeform and more like a yoyo or merry-go-round or like someone who is sitting on a broken merry-go-round for half an hour and still has not realised that it isn't working. I think that thus far, if I were to summarise my life under categories or into themes they would be: love, paranoia and finding God. And I guess, if my life really is like one big circle, then it is difficult to know where the start was or end is...or if there even is a start or an end.

For the purpose of this blog I'm beginning with paranoia, because love is difficult to talk about without feeling strange and God is too personal to talk about until the end of the blog when I am feeling more comfortable with my computer and blog readers.

My paranoia is: suffocating, necessary, deliberate, unintentional, uncontrollable, controlling, non-discriminatory and psychotic. Sometimes I cannot even function with the voices and images spinning through my head. I see things all the time, shadows, faces, people, animals. I dismiss them superficially and tell myself that the corner of my eye is seeing things or that its just the play of the light or that I'm probably still half asleep. I wake up and see a man standing by my door. He disappears and in a flash is at the end of my bed, and then just a hand span away from my face. My heart pounds in my ears, I close my eyes, pretend I'm asleep or dead or somewhere else. I tell myself that if I believe it enough, that he'll believe it too. I'm scared stiff and can't switch on the light. But this is just my paranoia. When I was overseas I saw a little figure, or a girl? perhaps? sitting on my mother's bed next to mine. I tried to get someone else to see, but they couldn't. I woke them up so they could see. But they couldn't. I didn't want to sleep, or cry, or breathe, or speak. I felt silly. But besides the many moments of hallucinations or dreams or shadows or just imagination, paranoia isn't just for the vague and potentially supernatural. I'm scared of people a lot of the time, although it may not seem that way. I'm scared most of all of myself, of what I will do, of what I will think of myself. I'm paranoid that people will get the wrong idea, and leave me or judge me or just quite simply forget. But now I realise that everyone has these thoughts, that I was being selfish and untrue and that everyone else deserves so much more.

Love. I love love. I love to love. And of course, we love to be loved. I think for the first time in my entire life, I've finally worked it out instead of just convincing myself that I knew all along. Love is caring for someone as if they're your child, your sister, your mother, father, brother, friend. No one is a stranger when you learn to love. Hah. I will probably change my mind, but who knows. Love should come before work, time. We shouldn't wait to tell someone that we love them. Why? Death has a funny way of getting us to realise what is important and to actually live the life we've been given.

In my saddest, darkest, depressive moments. The thing that makes me feel better is seeing God as the hands which cradle my fragile mind and body and loves me regardless of my lack and mistakes.

This hasn't turned out at all the way in which I was hoping. I intended a sort of apology.

Just sharing

Projects

I'm a project person.

I think that if one day I ran out of ideas for projects I would most probably go insane.

These holidays I have the idea of buying a really good camera, or video camera (usually nowadays they come in one anyway).

I've always been one to take many photos and record videos in the past, but I've always had to borrow the equipment. I like the idea of preserving moments and people and concepts and colours. I know that I wish I had more photos and information about my family and my mum. They didn't have the technology back then to capture a lot, but we have it now.. so why not do it?

I want to meet up with old friends and re-get-to-know-them.

I feel like renovating lately.

I'm planning a musical family performance day where I can get family members who have long been a part together for the purpose of sharing our music. A lot of us to play instruments or sing so I think it would be fun.

I have to be off to start dindin.

Have a good night,

A

flowers in the winter time

We're not serious and yet he's proposed
that he's positively sure that we're the greatest combination of all things that could be combined
we're invincible in a most fragile way, I took a great big bite out of him and spat it on the floor, only to have him apologise for not being sweeter than he is now
is a funny time just between then and later, I try not to forget about now although I did before I must confess
that I want you to know and everyone else, that this is so real and that I am not sure if this is forever
I hope to remember all the little things he does, like tucking me in late at night, staying awake with me through 24 hour last minute assignmenting, writing my bibliographies (of which he gave such scrupulous integrity to the rest of my assignments!), for listening to my hormonal rants each and every month, for supplying me with chocolate during hormonal and nonhormonal occasions, for stroking my hair and sitting with me when I'm sick, for loving me in my trackpants and old t shirts, for listening to my dreams and inspiring me to believe in not just myself, but in others and the world, that I never realised existed and for all the time
to change the topic a little and let me tell you what he's done for you
are my friend(s) depending on how many personalities you have within your mind. I cherish you - truly- although I am a drifter who tends to drift ever so quietly along borders. He told me to believe in you, in all of you, and made me believe in everything and more. but maybe it was too late? maybe I'm too late? he thinks that you are all wonderful and I hope that you will read this. it's hard to feel human when we're afraid, it's hard for others to trust us when we find gaps between our self concept and reality.

This brings me to another thought. I have an exam tomorrow. It is on a psychology based subject. It is interesting for the most part because all the text books always give examples and it's easy to make up your own examples to every day life.

Carl Rodgers has a humanist perspective on people. He believes we can all become "full functioning persons" but that a lot of us don't because we find gaps between our self concept and reality. He believes that we can cope with this gap by 1. distortion or 2. denial. In 1. distortion, we attempt to change our perception of reality so that it is in tune with our self concept and with 2. denial, we deny that reality has any part of our self concept.

He also talks about this idea "unconditional self regard". this is where a person knows and feels that they can act whichever way that they so wish, wish the knowledge and comfort that they will be loved no matter what.

I like that idea. I believe he was on to something.

Hopefully they'll ('they' being whoever wrote the exam) will ask something about carl rodgers. i've become quite well acquainted with this chap.

Goodnight sweet peas.

Use your brain

Random thought:

By the time a person reaches the age of 80, the brain weights about 7% less than it did in young adulthood.

The number of synaptic contacts decrease. Thus your brains capacity to process information also decreases.

That is so.

I like to swim, and fly through my clear medium. I like the chill of being renewed. I like the lightness of the wispy air as droplets run down my standing legs. I don't move fast at all sometimes. Sometimes I like to lay on my back and stare at the stars. On cold nights I can see my breath dance about the warmed air of the water. I like the way the water traces the curves of my nose and eyes as a light wave topples over my face. I like the silence of down below; where my ears feel tight and the world above just blurred aliens. I like all these things and that is so.

Morning fresh and crisp like fine crystal snow, early enough to bid farewell the night. Music to the newborn ear, untainted by the sound of angry machines. Perhaps a walk in the garden or bath in the sea. That is the way I like my mornings, no computer, no television and that is so.

Midday sun will come and go, a nice cool place beneath a vine, food to share with a trusted friend, and shadows with which to play hide and seek.

Autumn leaves, and a colourful ballet - my black and white gown of mimes and grace; that is my ideal afternoon. The evening to follow would have lindt chocolate, a hugging warm shower, soft pjs and a fireplace. That would be my perfect day; believe me sir, as this is so.

I like smiling and telling stories. I like listening more I think. Listening is good with old friends because you don't need to try and raise your brows or crinkle your forehead at all the cues. I can listen simply and not have to worry about whether or not to blink or stare.

I like music and dancing with composers. I like shouting their arguments and crying their tears. I like their bouyoncy and delightful cleverness. I like being clever too.

I like to love and care and live. But most of all I like being with you.

So this is to liking and loving and loving some more, for it's who I am and that is so.

On Sunday morn'

Show me the order of the world,
the hard-edge light of this-is-so
prior to all experience
and common to both world and thought,
no model, but the truth itself.

Language is not a perfect game,
and if it were, how could we play?
The world's more than the sum of things
like moon, sky, centre, body, bed,
as all the singing masters know.

Picture two lovers side by side
who sleep and dream and wake to hold
the real and imagined world
body by body, word by word
in the wild halo of their thought.




Harwood

Becoming a Nurse

"I have not succeeded in answering my problem. The answers I have found only serve to raise a whole new set of questions. In some ways I feel that I am as confused as ever, but I believe I am confused at a higher level, and about more important things."(Singer, 1993)

Does God only judge?

I feel like a child in a store in which everything is made of the most fragile glass.


Am I judging you?


On the window sill there is an envelope. It's red like the red of Christmas. You gave it to me a while ago, once when you believed in me.


My spine breaks with the dawn of a new day. The colours fly passed my mind's eye in a beautiful allegretto.


It hurts me to hear that you believe I'm like that.


That this would go to my head.


That here I am judging you.


That I'm convinced of finality.


I'm not.


But maybe I am? I don't know. I didn't intend on it. But you would know better (outsiders perspective and all..) so perhaps I did afterall steal the cookie from the cookie jar?


Sometimes..


I propose ideas. I propose reason. I propose argument. I place the world on the edge of orbit, let it pull into the gravity of the sun and then?


let go.



and wait.



Is this some sort of experiment? The lab is not well ventilated. I did not put on my gloves. I did not clean that spill. I did not put on my smile.


I found your envelope in my hands today. I'm not sure how its brilliant red arrived there. It just was. It still felt crisp and new and somehow unloved. I see love in tatters, in creases, in the smell of lingering perfume. That is love. That is presence.


You are free.


You are. Truly. My thoughts, their thoughts and even your thoughts are irrelevant. I don't expect anything from you at all. I hope for time. I hope for exchange. But I'm scared too.


I feel scared sometimes when I feel unsure. It takes away my control and stability. It takes away all logic and reason. It takes away everything I have. Or atleast everything I've learnt to have.


I don't think I have problems. I don't think I went and bought a little box of them to keep on my shelf for a day of boredom. I think I make them sometimes, well crafted creations, because it is better than silence. That should be made. As in past tense.


A lot has changed if you can't tell.


I feel happy reflecting. I feel happy just being. I feel happy when I can play music without being afraid of what it all means.


I love thinking of ideas. I have lots and lots of ideas. In this shop of small glass delicates I see a ballet of glass animals. I hear the symphonies play in my head. I love ideas. I loves surprises. I love making other people happy.


Bleak existence? I don't know why those words scare me. Is it because deep down I think you're right? Or is it because deep down I feel it is a grave error?


Happiness is always in the simple things. I love finding little things. No, I'm not just saying that. It's what I spend most of my time doing. I tend to think constantly and overwhelmingly.


We probably all think constantly. Just some of us listen a little more than others.


You got me thinking. Maybe I'm still not better yet.


I don't know anything more than just being.


It's all a request and not a demand.


I wish I could swallow a bubble and then float up to the sky.

Helena

We haven't spoken in a while. Two years? Longer?


What did we used to talk about when we would go to the park together after school?


I don't remember.


Do you?


Do you think we spoke about important things?


Sometimes it still makes me sad. I'm not sure where you went, or if it was me instead who left. I don't know why I'm writing this.


I believed you.


I believe in a lot of people.


Maybe that's wrong.


I think I pretend to be strong and to be independent and fine. Because I don't feel it.


I live so happily in my thoughts for a while. Each little thought gets me through the day. I've tried to step out of them and get in touch with reality but that doesn't always work. I think it is safer that I live in a land far away. No one can get me while I'm there and I can't do anything I'll regret.


I wish there was a restart button. A button that I could press and then start the day, the conversation, those few steps in passing again. I wish I could take so much back.


I know this will happen, but I don't listen to the smart side of my brain. I just choose to stay aloft in a sugar coated place where all my hope is in vain.


I'm sorry things fell out, I know they can never be the same. And I'll miss you.

dancing with raindrops

Dearest Lumesia,


Sorry for the late replies, I've been quite unbusy in my busy life. You know what it is like. I am also sorry for forgetting who you were for a while. Yes, I know - it is bad to get lost in your own.


Everything seems to be on a little bit of a standstill. I'm still trying to live up to everything; don't you worry! But sometimes those petty little things in life gang up like marching ants and consume you entirely.


What do you suppose I should do about the situation? No, not that one. The other situation. The permanent one. I should forget it, shouldn't I? If I did so, then it would no longer be a situation.


I remember you once told me that you cannot trust anyone else until you trust yourself. Well, I must be either really overly trusting in myself or just gullible to the first kind heart. I should have paid more attention to you.


I need to speak less, and smile more.


What's the weather like? It is as it is as usual. Ever temporal just like everything else. Am I so predictable?


I feel like I don't even need to write anymore because you know what will be coming next.


If you do, then could you please write to me soon and let me know? You seem to know me better than I know myself. For now, I'll rest in silence.


I hope to hear from you soon,


A.

fotos

Speaking Quietly

How do you measure sound?


in bars?


in phrases?


in rhythm?


How do you measure hope?


in expectancy?


in longing?


in prayers?


How do you measure love?


in hugs?


in words?


in fights?




Across the sky he painted clouds filled with colour. And when it rained deep crimson drops would seep from their soft cheeks. Turn you face dear sun.

lights

sickness

I feel like I might be sick.


I'd cover my mouth, but my hand smells of something bitter.


I want to run until the skin on my feet tears.


I want to tie myself beneath the water, I want to hold my breath until I let out a sigh - and gasp - the liquid cools.


I want to lay on the road and wait for a miracle.


I want to go sleep and wake up dead.


I want you to answer.


I want you to leave me.


I miss you so.


But I hate myself.


I blame you. Why? Because it's easy.


It's easier to be angry at you then to accept that this is my fault.


Please answer.


I miss you.


I want someone to listen.


Anyone.


Where are you?


This room is too warm.


Where are you?














I'm home.

Run little birds

Argentina

if you hear me

Heavy Hearts

So here I sit: stumped.


Stumped about life.


No.


That's a lie.


I'm not sure I'm even ready to think about 'life'. It's an excuse.


If I believe that I am stumped about 'life', than it gives me reason. It gives me reason to be strong, to strive, to cry, to make excuses, to lie.


And it is okay, because it is my truth.


Well, perhaps it is not exactly my truth as in something so universal and whole that every waking moment I am alive some grand and wholesome phenomenon; but, it is my ideal truth.


Ideally I love my mother, I don't get hurt by the things she says, I don't crave friendship, I'm in a completely happy relationship, I'm good friends with my brother, I feel comfortable around my friends, I miss school, I believe anorexia is an eating disorder, I don't even remember the things you've said, it was never my fault, I have a mental illness, he touched me in places he should not have, I have control; of my feelings, my life, my past - I do not fear the future, I have it all worked out, I don't care if no one reads this, I don't care if I have no one to talk to, I don't care if I know that all of those things that happened, happened because I let them. No I don't care about the whispers, I don't care if I never am able to perform.


Ideally, it's not my fault.


The only problem with this lie is that I've never been able to convince myself.