It was so bloody quiet. Too much of it. Too much silence and all I needed was to be in someone’s arms. I needed it. I needed to hear someone’s voice. Anyone. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I knew better. Or not. I knew not to be too trusting. I new not to be so open. I knew it would be better if I kept it to myself. It’s not selfish. Don’t call it that. You couldn’t have handled it…not well and not at all. That would’ve hurt more.
This one is personal. It’s what happens when you pile anxiety and disappointment, on top of your chest. In the back of your mind.
Damn it. I needed someone.
But I know better.
How often can someone deal with your shit? How often will they…?
I don’t know what to write. This sadness is inexplicable and wrapped with all sorts of other warped feelings. Well, I’m not sure if they’re warped. I went home a failure on Tuesday. I went to the mall first, sat in a bathroom stall and cried a little, for some time. I’d never really failed at anything, and I wasn’t going to cry on-site so I chose a bathroom stall in the corner of the ladies in a mall. I just needed to let it out. That feeling. God I hate that feeling.
My heart was stuttering. Half beats and some full ones. A heavy empty feeling.
Damn it. Damn it! DAMN IT!
You helped though. We weren’t meant to talk and you called by chance and thank God you did or I would’ve stayed there for hours. You got me out of that negative place and talked me into letting go of at least one negative thought. You helped. In 9 minutes you had me out of the stall and washing my face. You’re always so sweet. Always.
Though you got me to calm down the flutters would still come back and that emptiness…how can emptiness be so crushing?
More negative self talk. More negative self talk! MORE NEGATIVE SELF TALK!
Pathetic. Pathetic! PATHETIC!
When I’m down I’ll curl up into ball and beat myself up for not getting back up fast enough. With all of that noise all I need is some sweetness. Some TLC. Trust me, whichever speech anyone has prepared, I’ve probably already given myself the more ruthless version.
Tell me it’s okay. Hold me! TELL ME THAT EVERYTHING isn’t as bad as it seems…
You don’t. You refuse to. You want to be there for me on your terms. You want to do it your way…or you won’t be there at all.
It’s fine. I’ll find comfort elsewhere.
At least someone is always there to help me find my way. To help me get out of the bathroom stall and to the sink to wash my face.
Enthusiastic and passionate. As often as I could pull it off. As often as I could create and carry it…hold onto it. The month of January was themed with these virtues. I had to embody them. Learn to find them, when they seemed so…gone. And that’s how it felt. Like they were gone. On some days they came so easily. On others, I fought to find them. And on a few…I wasn’t able to create them.
I felt like a pretender most days. Like I had to be happy. I hated having to choose happiness. It felt unnatural. However, I was looking at it wrong. Passion and enthusiasm create happiness…not vice versa. Well…that’s how it works for me. Now I ask…how do I find that passion? How do I find that drive? How do I find that enthusiasm?
I’ve been volunteering at a children’s home. Those smiles…that’s where the enthusiasm came from and with it came a passion. A fire I cannot explain. I love all of them. Each and every one of those beautiful faces and hearts have me.
However not every day is one in a situation like that. Not everyday allows me to bring meaning into another persons life…but why can’t it? Why can’t all I do be something that brings meaning and goodness back into the world. That is what drives me.
And on bad days. On bad days I know…that all bleeding must stop (yes, more greys anatomy). It will stop and the pain will go. The sorrow will go. The lacklustre and lack of motivation will go. All bleeding will stop. I may not be enthusiastic and passionate today…but it doesn’t matter what’s going on because in the end…all bleeding…it will stop. It must.
This February the virtues are: Tenacity and Diligence.
You’ve broken it. I’m crying on my bed and feeling all sorts of pathetic. Feeling all sorts of sad. Feeling. I don’t know what to call it. However, I’m more than certain that you’ve broken it. I know now, that no matter what I do, I will never really be enough for you. You say you don’t want perfection and that you don’t feel my efforts. But I try. I try so hard. Maybe I’m not good at this, but damn it I try. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what you need. I do know, that there is a strong chance, that I can’t give it to you. I just don’t have it. Not now.
"Do you know who you are?
Do you know what's happened to you?
Do you want to live this way?"
- Cristina Yang, Greys Anatomy
I write. Not just blog posts or the few bits of poetry I put up here. I write. I am writing a comic with friends, putting together a book of poetry and work on a few short stories. I write. It keeps me together. I feel whole. With it, I can breathe. Lungs open. Eyes open. Free.
However, there is a constant factor. A distraction. A frustration. You already know what it is…it’s the bloody title! Trying to be original. It makes or breaks my work. Steers me further from or closer to beautiful and interesting words. I want to be different. I want to write something that no one has read before. Describe a feeling, with words so unknown yet so familiar to your soul. I want my work to provide a blissful rarity.
This problem. The ‘originality’ problem. Drifts and dips into life. People trying to be original. Trying to be different. Trying so hard to be the new, authentic…original….something or someone. Irony is: it takes you further away from that which they desire. You follow what appears to be interesting and eclectic. Everything mainstream is unwanted. All that is popular is deemed not worth your time. You, are original. You hop skip and jump from one image to another. All more different.
If that is just who you are, that’s completely alright. However to all those trying to acquire originality, beware, originality is not always created when trying to escape being ordinary.
It is a strange thing, knowing that you are on the edge of greatness. That you are in a position to become someone brilliant. Someone amazing. I see brilliant people, who waste their brilliance. I see brilliant people, who harness their brilliance and turn it into greatness. I see average people, who create their own brilliance. I see the underdogs mould everything they have into greatness. We are capable of wonderful things. Whether or not you know it now, we are all on the edge of greatness.