There’s a woman I briefly “knew” through online interactions, and she had one of the biggest ego’s I’ve come across in my life. She often would complain that people treated her a certain way because of how attractive, cute, or pretty she is, when in reality I knew after a short time that it was because she was a total narcissistic bitch and a snob. In fact, I never once thought “Wow she sure is pretty” though I don’t think she’s not pretty…she’s just your average down and out person who obviously lives in poverty, and I know this not only because she openly discloses such personal information online, but because of how she dresses and the photos of her home and children. I often would marvel at the filthy blankets hanging where curtains or blinds should be, because the amount of money she would spend on other non essentials could be used in a thrift store to make her home just that little bit nicer. Am I judging? Maybe sort of, but don’t complain to me about your poverty and lack of curtains when I know for a fact you can buy curtains for 2 bucks down at the thrift store instead of going to Starbucks for a 6 dollar drink.
Lately I’ve been writing a memoir. Some parts are easy to recall while others are just sort of a blur.
I’m editing two short stories to submit as well…one is beautiful when I read it as it was a really interesting time in my life and the other is just sort of blah.
Is art for others to decide if it is good or bad or is it up to the creator?
I find myself in this new place. I rarely stand still, always moving. This unsettled feeling starting to slowly settle inside of me.
It’s dark in the early morning, light barely beginning to creep in around me. I think of all who have been here before me, all who will come after.
I feel compelled to nurture those I love, yet also, without these moments of quiet solitude, I could never love another human being again.
Perhaps I’ve been wrong, more wrong than I could ever admit. The past moments I reflect upon look so different to me now.
My depression held me prisoner, my anxieties led me astray. Yet I’m here now, still, again, today.
I survive because I have to, it’s what I know to do. I thrive because I’ve learned to put my energies into creating…
Those who claim boredom baffle me. Read a book I say. Draw, paint, sew, walk, garden, grow…
What it means to love
To adore and admire another
or perhaps to simply abhor things about their sister or brother
What it means to love
Like a swelling, a telling of what’s to come
It’s like a waiting, a waiting that never fully comes to an end
Sitting with baited breath
Perhaps a coy look on ones face…
Thoughts that can’t be fully expressed or placed
A moment sought and found
The prize at the end of a long hard race.
Who can define or describe love? Not I
For to me it is like knowing everything and nothing both at the same time
To find comfort in another
A sprinkling of truth on a life full of lies
I can feel it now
All the moments of my life melting into me
All the moments of my life,
Truths that burn and set me free.
I live in the perpetual lie
In the sauce
For me a dream is a dream
And a conscious stream is a conscious stream
You want to become your dream
You want to follow it
I want awareness
And the real
And I do not follow dreams like you do
I find dreams untrue
My ego is not just bigger than your ego
My ego is bigger than you
I’m always in love with someone or something new. Last week I was in love with an idea, this week I’m in love with an old love… someone I haven’t seen in years, who I may never see ever again. There’s this soft spot in my heart reserved just for him. How I waited so long to find that one person just for me, and then suddenly there he was. I don’t know what makes a love last or fall apart. Throw some depression and grief and anxiety and maybe some bipolar schizoid shit into the mix, maybe even a bit of autism and adhd, who the hell knows with all the different things I’ve been diagnosed with at this point, and you get a shitstorm. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t totally loving him though. Not even close. I was just trying to find my way through my own darkness, one my friends and family will never fully understand. (Some of them do though, the ones who have experienced mental illness and/or other chronic health problems.
Fuck, I wish I knew where you were now. I wish we could just go somewhere and grab a coffee, go for a long walk and sit near the ocean waves and talk about our current passions/loves. I wish we could sit silently for a time, maybe hold hands or look into each others eyes and remember why we once loved one another. I wish, but what is a wish?
I haven’t been so inspired to create as I was by that one love. I was more inspired then than any other time in my life. Now I live with chronic pain, and it’s a pain nobody seems able to understand or explain.
What choices did I have but to move on when you left? What would I have been if I hadn’t been who I am? A liar? A fraud? I became everything you despise, and I could never understand why. Maybe the universe was against us from the start, plotting the demise of our love before it even fully bloomed. Miscarried much too soon. Yet still, I know I once loved and always will love you. Just you. Not someone else, you.