“Nothing” doesn’t suit me well.

I remember what it felt like for the roots to pull out of the ground. I remember what it effectively meant when someones face lit up for the first time. I know how important it becomes to trust in an idea that you hope and live with daily. That there is reason to any kind of fleeting whirlwind of behavior. But really there is not. It becomes rogue. And even though you may scribble notes to keep in your pocket as a reminder of what you are walking from – it’s just not ever enough. I grieve often enough for things that happened ten years ago, just as much as I grieve for something that struck two days ago. In my projection its really all the same. The same rewritten monologue rebooted for your new-found ambitions, and willingness to try again. You smirk, you fall off, and shy away darling – but be sure and check the liner notes to the soundtrack you play in your head. You’ll find it. It makes the run fast, and forces that run far.

I’ve seen faces turn from familiar, to people I have never even seen before. Shrug it away easy while everyone’s watching (because everyone in that town is), watching in the toxic, abhorrent, behavior they wear. It makes me sick to see and touch the back side of your painting – because it isn’t you at all. Maybe you just never had time to finish it, even if you could. It’s all broken, and I just don’t feel like I am capable of falling anymore. I am broken too.

Nothing is real, nothing is ever what you think it is to be. All eyes in that place are just holes in a dead skin suit that people walk around in. Even as I see you root for it, I see you root yourself into a well. And the people in that well, have tricked themselves into thinking that’s what everyone wants, even as it’s dry. Like tieing rocks to your ankles and reminding yourself that you have to swim.

Its deaf, sickening and dark – and five years from now you will find something that actually made it out, and then finally understand the clarity in the coals. Because I see it, it’s penetrating, and fierce. And you were always worth more than that to me. More than that place, and every type that broods there. But hey, what do I know…

 

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I rarely run from red.

Note 1304
It makes me smile to be surprised with the good words. Even though we occasionally map out what we think our heads want to hear. I’m glad to feel the electricity when it’s on. I crave it when it’s not. I hate the walls and gaps and long stretches of pummeling that just happen. That’s just how it goes. Grief challenges you to not only hold your breath during the storm, but also to fall softly.

Note 1299
Anxiety is the fucking beast and doesn’t have any rules, often charging forward at his on pace. The reins tangle and before you know it you are lip biting your own decisions. If only we were so perfect to prevent that.

Note 1302
Sometimes your own heart has to do the punching.

Tell me what you see.

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Notes somewhere around (1280-1285)
I look and wonder where your head will be in ten years. Whether you will say “I’m glad I jumped”, or “I wish that I had”. I spend day after day wrecking myself with how things could be, but we know that nothing ever works that way. It’s as if we are both built like asymmetrical cogs that have teeth that sometimes make contact, and other times spin free. And it’s the momentum of that wheel that carries on the spin until we hope they connect again.

I’ve spun a lot in the last few weeks. I have had some warm nights, and days. And I always understand what connection can feel like. I also know well what its absence creates. And you tend to contemplate what the ‘dips’ are telling you. Their bombardment over and over again. Your head devours what the chemical feeds, while it soon becomes the physical that needs.

I am very tired today. In my brain and on my feet. Maybe someone will punch me on the way home. Or tell me they would “like to grow old with me”. Either would make me feel a hell of a lot better.

 

“You know, I can feel the fear that you carry around and I wish there was… something I could do to help you let go of it because if you could, I don’t think you’d feel so alone anymore.” – Samantha, Her

“I’m like miles of gold and silver” they said.

I find myself in the absolute worst places around 5am. And thus minds completely wonder why people who perform all the time take their own lives when piles after piles of things begin to fall and stagger. It’s a wavering cost right in front of your face, and it pulls at you from the direct underbelly of the weight that cements itself to you all at once. The frailty of falling, over and over again – and the magnitude of wires that you wrap around your face just so that you can feel something else for a fraction of a moment. You let it take you somewhere, and then you let it be a prelude to any type of resolution that you just fucking may be able to grab a hold of. Just for one god damn minute.

Sometimes I can barely breathe. For whatever it is out there, the bulleting vulnerability that it feeds. It is a reckoning, harsh place that forces you to bury your elbows into gravel as you are being dragged backwards into what becomes the futility of not throwing yourself through a welcomed clouded window pane.

And to be trapped between walls. May as well be trapped inside of them. At least then you could press your hands tightly into the supports so they may give you some, or ‘any’ type of founded lead. Instead you just yell at yourself. Distract. Watch that meter fill up and drain right out since all of the holes are still just sitting there. I guess it’s easier for some, maybe you don’t feel it. Maybe you are programmed to remind yourself that “this is how things are suppose to be”. I get it. I just don’t buy it. And I refuse to start now.

I honestly don’t blame anyone, or anything. I detest a shit ton of human behavior mostly. But we are all aware of that, and only sometimes people are willing to demand more from it. Don’t demand it, just lay there and have it all sewn up inside of you so that it becomes your norm, and your new ‘happy’ narrative – “hey I’m all fixed, right?”. Let it guide you on to finding whatever it is that devoured you before, because it knows “how” to feed you anyway. It sure the fuck does. Always.

And I’m here. And I sure as fuck do not like today. And I probably won’t like tomorrow. And I will feel everything ten times more than everyone else, since its how I’m wired. And some just don’t get it, or maybe they just don’t find the necessity of “getting it”. And that’s fine.

Just go fucking ahead and smile. And please, please, fucking mean it for once.

Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don’t kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive. When somebody dies after a long illness, people are apt to say, with a note of approval, “He fought so hard.” And they are inclined to think, about a suicide, that no fight was involved, that somebody simply gave up. This is quite wrong. Shoot the Damn Dog: A Memoir of Depression

You say you’re ‘depressed’ – all i see is resilience. You are allowed to feel messed up and inside out. It doesn’t mean you’re defective – it just means you’re human. – Cloud Atlas

Just filling the gaps.

Note 1271
Just not having it today.

Note 1272
Long weekend, shitty weather. Some shitty thoughts. You wonder how much it can bend you, and how much will set in. The ebbs are nothing to scream about, and they never make up for any of the gaps. You just pour out whats left in your cup, and kind of look into the bottom. Struggle with it, drown it.

Note 1273
Too much at once, the flood of it all. It’s the most frightening thing I know.

Exorcism Fanatica

Ghosting is a shit way to deal with ending relationships. I have first hand been on both sides of them as to why this issue makes me want to pound glass into my knees every time I have to deal with it. In addition to it being emotionally abusive, malignant and shallow – It’s THE weak fucking way to back out of something that maybe didn’t go your way, or maybe was more than you could handle at the time. Either way it’s wrong, and here are MY fucking opinionated reasons why.

That Trust
What you just did was throw out a huge majority of tangible trust that the person will ever hand you again. Because who knows what life is going to throw at you or them next, you have already wrote down that if things get “unmanageable” – your behavior may prove unreliable and could possibly lead to disappearing again without fucking warning.

That Shattering
This behavior is directly abusive, especially to people who are very empathetic. The leaving without a word being said is emotionally damaging similar to people dealing with death. The immediate absence with no resolution is selfish and cowardly and shows that you had no business being in a relationship in the first god damned place.

That Reasoning
Everyone deserves an explanation (excluding physical abuse obviously). When you agree to be in a relationship with someone you most definitely are responsible for your reasons to end (and ending) of said relationship. Just because the city is not your shade of red doesn’t mean you can wipe it all clean when you still have the paint brush in your hand. BOTH parties owe each other ONE direct chance to explain themselves.

That Going On
The other person has a fucking life. And they have no reason to spend weeks or months waiting to see “why you left”, or “why you fucked a co-worker”. People need the resolution to move on with things, and your ghosting can send them into an ‘infinite loop’ of trying to figure out and resolve what they did wrong. The sooner you tell them, the sooner the healing starts. Just because you DON’T HURT and moved on quickly doesn’t mean the other party is immune. They are entitled to that resolution, YOU OWE THEM THAT.

That Respect
If you can sit for weeks after ghosting a long-term relationship without any resolution then you obviously never respected the person long enough to even commit to them. This is abhorrent behavior when there are still inbound feelings. I can’t even describe the amount of damage this does. There is no guarantee in love ever, but as one side fails the other side falls. This lack of integrity reflects upon your character, and other people in future relationships will see that.

That It’s Fucking Over
You could just say that. It may sound harsh but I would rather of heard that 100% of the time, every time. At least then you know. And although blunt hurts, blunt is definite. And sometimes you need to hear that. Put on your fucking adult pants and handle your shit. Life goes on, people get over shit. The fact that you remain to ‘be weak’ and trail it on into some fucking nightmare ‘go between’ is ridiculous. Own your actions so that you BOTH can move on.

And fuck shit. I hate this post. It’s one I’ve written and deleted twice. But I guess coming back to writing it again shows the validity in that I need to leave this here. This type of treatment just really vividly pisses me the fuck off.

 

A room keyed for everyone, but you.

Note 1176
I yelled through the glass until everything began to drive in slow motion. I have no idea how that story crept upon me, but it closed off every crevice that I attempted to retreat into. People change on a whim while outside forces chisel away with a constant showering of mental debris that ultimately becomes what you thought were stepping-stones in directions that might cling unto stronger merits. It adheres like wet sand, and weighs down the attempts to find any reason, any footnote that could foretell some point of direction that you were headed. You will never know that magnitude. It sews my insides into a thousand knots, each one a pulsing reminder of how it feels to be kept outside of a crowded room. A room keyed for everyone, but you.

And then it all comes spinning down, the awards will be handed out two-fold. For someone who really won’t survive half as long as you did. It will be hollow and transparent. The cardboard walls will dampen and be flung to and fro. It won’t matter, and it will draw all to gray. People will look for you in them, and they will feel lost. Then and only then, will the spiderwebbing synapses of thoughts play out and write the story that you would “want to believe” was going to happen. The one that had already happened, you were just too entangled into believing how you wished people wouldn’t see it for what it was, and only being succumbed to what was really streaming right in front of you. It was real. More tangible then you’ll ever feel. And it slips away just as easy.

It’s written above your head, only you can’t see it. It’s tattooed under your skin, only you can’t feel it. It makes the timbering of your heart rattle when you breathe, leaving you shaken, and tired, and empty. And you will allow it to drag you behind the curtain one more time, until it spins you disarrayed back through piles of your own curtailed decisions. Decisions that now become an undertow over and over, spray painted upon the very direction that you walk. And those new stones will shoulder you repeatedly until your bruises all begin to bleed.

It’s gutting. Like meaty ropes growing out of your sides. Stumbling, with feeble ankles rallying across the grain of the floor. It’s hoping that you find that hearth, in something – anything. It’s being lost, surrounded by arms and you being blind to the touch. I leave it, pulling at my head. I lay there letting the minutes bullet across my face. They stitch me to the floor as I talk the rain into just drowning me out. Drowning me out loudly so that I can crawl under the covering of sleep, again.

 

“You own everything that has happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” -Anne Lamont