I got the kind of news on thanksgiving day that you keep thinking you’re going to wake up to find it was just a bad dream. Mostly. I knew the possibility of it all. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but when it happens to someone you love very dearly, someone who affects so much of your life, it’s hard to get out of that denial.
Now it colors every aspect of my thoughts and I’m not sure what to write about.
If this was just a diary I would write any drivel that seeps across my addled brain. I’m kind of glad I have an audience…however small. It discourages me from wallowing in my own self pity. It still makes interesting topics difficult however.
So the answer is…write. That’s always the answer. No matter what. Write.
I’m playing a crusader. I had a cool post about but internet crashed. So…crusaders cool, even though I prefer ranged magic, because the wizard is a self absorbed twat. And doing the same thing every time sucks. Have a nice night.
I’m sitting here listening to comedians. I cry 2 or 3 times a day…for no reason really. My heart feels like a vice grip is wrapped around it. My stomach has stones resting inside. I shake occasionally. The knot in my throat never quite goes away even when give in and cry.
There’s no point.
I want to give myself a gold star when I get out of bed, but really that is something I should be doing. I’m so much more than this.
And I’m nothing.
Depression sucks. I don’t have it because I’m still functioning right? But shit I don’t want to. No wait…I don’t think I can. I am side lined in my own fucking life screaming….STOP IT! Why am I even trying? It’s all going to happen again. It doesn’t matter what you do ultimately you will fail. The world will become numb to you or you to it….you’ll fade away. Stop.
Or is that the voice that lies?
When you’re depressed you can’t tell. All the rational, logical, factual sentences in the world can’t make what you feel seem less real. At first it does. Right now I can tell myself it’s going to end. It’s going to get better. If I cry and throw a fit it will be a five year old child acting out for absolutely nothing. It’s the nothing that sticks. No wonder I’m scared of things I can’t control: black holes, tidal waves, massive earth quakes. I know what’s coming and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. But I should be able to because it’s my own fucking head. I don’t get it. I wonder if this will be the one that ends me. I wonder when I’m supposed to call uncle. When am I supposed to admit I’m actually a weak useless person?
Which one is the lie?
I’m sure you can answer that question, but take a gander through my head and see just how sure you are on the other side.
She held her pieces in her hands
The way that only broken can
Looking up with pleading eyes
“Help me make it through the night”
When the last one broke her tether
She put herself back together
Looking in with beauty bold
She painted in the cracks with gold
Learning not to be afraid
Understanding what life has made
She holds herself in her hands
And no one needs to understand
The more broken the pieces
The smaller the moments
In which you live
It will one day end
Won’t remember when I’m dead
Things the lost girl says
I can write a Haiku a day. I should be able to sit here and ponder something for 30mins or less. I need to do more or I’m going to be stuck in my stupid day job forever. Little things though.
It tugs at the fray
Unraveling my edges
Leaving me naked
There’s a thing you do not see
This hurricane inside of me
The few that have been close enough
Have known the angry swirl above
That’s just the edge, just the tip
Of the rage’s will to rip
But that’s not the final piece
That’s not what’s inside the beast
What scares me most takes another form
It is the calm inside the storm
Still, there is a curiosity
To know this thing inside of me…
This heart made of glass
With every beat it shatters
Can’t you hear the cracks