Loud enough, is never loud enough. 

I look back over the seven years of writing here, feeling through the thundering and the hailstorms, and what they leave behind. The absolute fingerprints that tattoo themselves to the insides of your ribs because that’s where we cover things up the easiest. I can’t explain enough detail of how incising the fast forwarding and rewinding that goes on within any sessions of  panic, anxiety and disorder. I could cut and paste pretty much any number of things here and I still feel that it is inadequate in conveying what exactly is going on – when in essence, inside you feel like you are drowning.

One day it will just eventually shut down. You think you’ve heard it all well guess what, you will get a surprise as long as you keep letting things in that have no business being ‘in’. Changing people is a joke, don’t even mess with that one. We’re programmed and patterned with so many things that as long as we ‘keep getting by’ – we’ll keep doing the same things, continue following the same ‘click bait’, regurgitating the same lines and writing the same rules down over and over until you are blue in the chest. It’s taxing, malignant and the bark you choke on will ‘be your own’.

I refuse to blame anyone. We are responsible for what we make, what we cultivate and what ‘we choose’ to grow. No one will ever say “this is yours to keep, this will make you be the best person you can be”. You eat and swallow what you want, you sleep with the same things at night that you wake up with. You attract what you think you want – when we never know, or even care to grab hold of what we need.

Years of seeing this in closed circles, either through it or beside it, or past it – hearing it, it just dissolves me from the inside.

Caring enough, is never caring enough.

Loud enough, is never loud enough.

 

“I always wanted to be the exception to my own rules, I told myself that if I screamed loud enough – it would be heard. That if I raged long enough, it would make a difference. I guess yelling down an empty hall that yields only to a voided room, it really doesn’t matter what you are saying, or how you are saying it – it is destined to fail.”

Water Those Seeds With Alcohol // 2011

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It means not having to think.

I told myself today that if I have learned anything in thirty years of dealing with relationships it is that one day there will eventually come a happening that will spin you off your rails and decisively change you forever. It’s something that will shake your walls hard enough that every future decision you make, will pivot off of this one event. In most situations I have rallied through, it’s hard for me to believe that someone really understands the concept of loving until they have honestly ruined it themselves. Like how can I know how something works unless I tear it all apart and dissect it, to learn whats inside. It’s until you realize, and have this conversation with yourself – looking back, and saying out loud “what the fuck was I thinking?” and “what the fuck I have done?“. It’s really until you feel the ramifications and finality of your decisions spiderweb on, to digest that sense of losing a vital part of what had become of your life, I’m not so sure I trust so easily in hearing anyone say “I love you“. I’m not saying someone can’t ‘love’ someone at all. I’m saying that in time, the meaning of that word will change for them. It’s the person on the other end of that ‘love’, the receiving vessel, that I choose to challenge and warn.

Loving someone just doesn’t mean caring, understanding, and being able to bathe in a sense of well-being. It means being able to be kind, caring and understanding even when you don’t feel good. It’s un selfishness. It’s compassion and being able to feel grief in someone elses voice, it’s positively supporting the bonds when you know someone could fall apart. It’s being a mess and feeling deathly vulnerable, it’s to feel safe even when you are feeling ugly and destroyed. It’s you being there in their face even when maybe you “don’t understand”.

It’s hard, it’s all very tiring in my head. It’s like every day you are adding soft clay to a binding wire structure. Pieces fall off, some crumble and just wont stick. Some get twisted in overlapping fingerprints. Some never get smooth. Somedays you just have to chop off an entire fucking side because things are not shaping into what you want them to be. And that one piece of copper wire just keeps finding its way through, no matter how much medium you press against it. Days of piling shit on and grabbing clay everyday and pulling pieces off over and over again until one day you wake up and realize what? That you no longer have any more god damned clay to add-on when you need to just get by. Because one side of the relationship did what? They stopped. Because one side chose to no longer be there. Or maybe they walked off. Or didn’t answer the phone that day, or maybe they just woke up and something changed in them. Good or bad or whatever. When that clay is not there, all of that (your) support dissolves. Because you know for fucks sake every day needs you to be a part of that clay and what it holds together. If you want anything real, anything worth waking up to, anything just worth a second of your fucking time in the world – then you need that substance to be there.

Love or not, I just don’t bend like I use to – I know loss well enough. If you’ve lost it then ‘know why’. If you’ve never lost it then I say ‘prepare yourself’. And if you want to hold on to it – I say ‘make your choices smart’, smart like maybe that love that feels fantastic right now, might not be there tomorrow.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you” often translates into : “I don’t want to hurt you and then for you to find out about it”.

Insert reign here.

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Note 1311
The air is thick this month. As usual it’s a flood of everything at once. Like film going in fast forward then slowing down at half speed. It’s the grain along the sides of the frame that remind you again of things that slip like razors underneath your skin. They are just there. I miss the cold beach.

Note 1314
I’m okay with a quiet, dark, arctic rest of the year. I’m tired of the waves. Consistency is king when you are tying the sutures. It’s the keystone of the arch. And we all know that, so let’s just keep our feet in the water. Ok.

Note 1320
Just give me a year of no spinning disasters. And a photo of that. Thanks.

“The thing with broken clocks is you can always tell exactly when they stopped ticking. With people, it isn’t so easy and sometimes you can’t even tell they’re broken.” – Anonymous

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.

Throw me into the ocean please.

We get sucked into the shit storm, it crashes headstrong across your face until you choke on it. I stumble and reel and try to make sense as I feel the six degrees of every mother fucking disaster I’ve sat through echo over and over and fucking over again. It really makes me want to hurl things off bridges. I imagine how good it must feel to plummet twelve feet under water and understand that the only thing you can really hear is your fucking heart, and the total silence that it becomes.

And I get sad when you and I are apart for too long. The fear of us both being in the dip at the same time. I’m not a super hero. I can’t snap and make the world change like I wish I could for you. It’s not fair, and life really does not care. And who gives a rats ass about “well life’s trying to tell you something by making you suffer”. I don’t buy that shit. I’ve sat through piles of soap opera catastrophes, suffer is something I know well. I’ve lost every dear person to me that I have ever cared about in some fucking horror storyesque misadventure that I only wish was a fucking fairy tale.

You sit still while the clock ticks, and plunge your hand directly into an open face fan blade just to god damn feel something else than what you are feeling at this very moment. Because at least it’s something.

My chest is tired. I feel the air waves shake. I wish that you understood that, really I do.

Sleeping with scissors.

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Note 1297
Change is vital. Direction is essential. And our desire is the fuel for both of these. If we ever drift from what is healthy to the psyche – you will either find the momentum to parade your sentiments hard enough on through the razor wire, or you will find the barbs that ultimately rip, tear, and bind you back unto the floor.

It’s these restraints at 3am that inevitably tourniquet your limbs until they become blue, and then release briefly – just so that you remember you are still alive.

 

“Be with someone that requires you to grow, makes you forget your problems, holds your hand, likes to kiss, appreciates art, and adores you.” – Unknown

“Ten years from now, make sure you can say that you chose your life, you didn’t settle for it.”  – Mandy Hale