Day by day, the gun becomes more appealing. Lately I’ve been ready to shoot. I’ve picked it up very infrequently up until now. Though recently, my hand has had it gently grasped, ready to pull that trigger and kill that figure once and for all. I still don’t want to, but the figure keeps getting closer, making threats, stabbing at my heart, coming close to ripping it out. It would be much simpler to just end its existence, because that seems to be what the figure wants these days. At first I thought the figure wanted to simply provoke a reaction to finally be noticed and re-acknowledged, but since then things have changed with the figure. Assisted suicide. That’s what it wants. Or is it? I’m not quite sure…
Nobody knows. It would take attention. Intuition. A moment of not focusing on oneself. There’s beauty in this world, but there’s also an area of darkness that remains inconspicuous to most. No one notices it within others very often. It’s all internal. It’s all in our heads. Well that’s the most dangerous thing for one’s sanity. For their mental health. For their happiness. To continue going on through life, caring about others, wanting to connect to them, needing to connect to them, but not feeling the same care reciprocated. It’s like you’re that cashier that continuously asks distracted customers how they are, and wishing their ungrateful ass a good day when you finish giving them what they bought. You’re left feeling alone, while standing surrounded in a crowded room. You’re never alone in the literal sense, but you’re always alone in reality. Depth doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Intimacy is a rarity. No one knows how to connect anymore… Actually, that’s not true. No one cares. There is a lack of interest. “Focus on someone but myself? Make someone feel valued? Have genuine interest in someone? Pshh that’s too much work, I’ll just let people treat me like some amazing discovery while I remain indifferent towards them.”
The other day, I looked in my mirror, and in the reflection, I saw a stranger. She looked at me with wide eyes, begging to be noticed, but I avoided eye contact. She made weird faces, bugging out her eyes, sticking out her tongue, forcing a smile, finally shedding tears in defeat. None of it worked. I looked at her, but not directly at her. I was scared, and she was sad. I had forgotten her in the mirror. Every time I step in front of that mirror, I look right past her. I don’t look, because I don’t recognize her anymore. I’m afraid that if I look too long, it will all become to real. I’ll finally take notice that I’ve heartlessly abandoned her for all these days. The fear that I’ll remember her. Who she was, her vibrancy, her enthusiasm for life, how I felt whole when I saw her in the mirror and could tell you her name. Every second she’s trapped in that mirror, I hear her cry. It’s quiet in efforts to not disturb anyone, yet I hear it all the time and it keeps me awake at night. She knows I hear her. I feel her presence beside me wherever I go. She and I used to be one, but now we’re two entirely different entities. She’s drowning in her tears, and I’m numb. She screams at me, in order to bring me back to reality. She makes a mess in every area of my life in order for me to see the destruction to bring me back, to make me aware. Yet I’ve lost all touch with reality. She knows that. That’s why she continues this seemingly pointless effort.
She’s the only one who knows, and she’s the only one who can bring me back.
Lately you may have noticed, that even though I’m posting more frequently than I have in the past, the posts aren’t long, and the content is very vague and random. Truly, there is an underlying theme, and if you deciphered hard enough, I’m sure you’d find it, but for the time being, I have to remain vague. Lately I’ve been keeping to myself about a lot of things. So by nature, I feel compelled to write it out since otherwise I would feel like a shaken up soda can ready to burst. You see, in a way, those of you who read my blog are given more insights into what’s going on in my life, and you don’t even know the half of it. Imagine those that I don’t even show a single sentence of these posts to. They are informed of even less. Originally I planned to keep this blog completely anonymous, but as of now, I have about 5 people I know in person who have access to my posts. At first I was glad to finally be able to just mutter “read my blog” to save myself the effort of reiterating a thought or idea. Though now, it’s not as nice. The moment you’re going through an unpleasant moment in your life is when anonymity appears the most appealing it ever has. I wish I could write as freely as I once did, but given the fact that it’s no longer anonymous, I can’t do that. So I will continue admitting every unfiltered detail of my thoughts and feelings, but for now, they’ll be expressed through metaphors, or vaguely described from a detached observer (referring to my post written in second person, titled: “Why They Leave”).
I finally found the word to describe how you move. It’s menacing. As you saunter toward a determined destination, your weight shifts back and forth between legs, your shoulders swaying. It looks like you’re drunk, but also appears to be your natural stage. Maybe life’s gotten you drunk. Not the good kind of drunk, but rather, the kind that leaves you feeling sick in the morning. You’ve had too much. This is the state of drunkenness where you begin to be painfully reminded by your mind as to the things going on around you. There’s a point where all of those memories are drowned out, this is the point where it’s all laid in front of you. You think about those who don’t speak to you anymore because you fucked up badly. You think about those who left you cause they didn’t have any use for you any longer. You think to those you want who will never want you. You think about your ever present loneliness. You’ve found yourself walking up and down these streets, back and forth, seeing the same scenery, waiting for someone to request your presence. Waiting for someone to want your presence. Though that never comes. You continue to pace back and forth on that same stretch of land in the cold, with your headphones in, trying to drown out reality. Maybe loneliness will always be your reality, you think to yourself. You try to think on the bright side, but your optimism is unfounded. That would require you not screwing up. Oh but how much you love to screw up. Make others feel like shit and then find yourself confused when they leave you alone. It will take a large shift in perspective and approach to win them back. It will take true repentance, not just the kind you utter when you’re trying to ‘apologize’. So many times these days, all of us apologize when we’re not truly sorry. The fault with that is that we’ve messed up on truly understanding where we went wrong if we can’t seem to find the reason as to why we should feel guilty. So then we continue to act in that same unsatisfactory manner, continuously wearing away at our ties between one another. You are met with frustration time after time, yet you still don’t get it. It’s not apologizing for it this time, or the next, or the time after that, it’s finally understanding what you’ve done.
Warning: this post may come off as insensitive. It is merely meant to air frustrations. I am open to hearing your opinions on every part of my position if you are offended”
It has recently come to my attention that as a result of the controversy of pronouns, my professor* always refers to each individual as “they.” Now it is all fine and logical to me to refer to a group as they, but eh hem, it is damn obvious that that girl over there is a she, and that guy in the back.. yeah.. umm I’m pretty sure he is a he. I get it, we have people who don’t identify as a he or a she. Though, I believe if one prefers to be referred to as a he, a she, a star, an other, a they, they’ll let you know if you are addressing them in an offensive manner in relation to their preferences.
Let me give you an example of how my professor* uses the word they though… My professor* will ask a question to the class, get a response that may be too quiet for the class to hear, and as the professor* looks at this girl with make up on and long hair, the professor* says “if you didn’t all hear, they said ‘blah blah blah'” In a way, it removes the credit given to the person who has commented. It also distances this professor from us as a class, but also as individuals. I realize that we must respect other’s pronoun sensitivities, but the road goes both ways. What about those who identify to the standard pronouns? Do they have room to be offended that you aren’t addressing them how they would like to be addressed? Oh but you’re making it so that everyone is included in the pronoun you have generalized and chosen to use to address every single one of us in the room. Well to inform you, I identify as she, not they. I am not a group of people, I am one individual who would appreciate that at the very least, you address me by the gender I identify with, to show me you are giving me a small bit of acknowledgement as an individual.
Perhaps at this point in my rant, you all are saying to yourselves “you are all offended as a person who conforms to a gender many ignorantly will assume you are. You are primarily accepted by the pronoun you associate with. So don’t you see how those who prefer to be addressed by a different pronoun feel when addressed incorrectly?”
I get it, it is frustrating. It is also frustrating that we have gone from including one demographic’s opinions into consideration. Then completely shifting over to a new demographic’s opinions in order to be less ignorant towards the issue. When we have just forgotten the previous demographic all together.
I nearly feel compelled to request that this professor call me she. I feel as though those who identify with non-conforming pronouns should feel the same freedom. So then I must ask, if we are so concerned about being socially correct that we generalize an entire group and address every individual and they, why can’t we simply ask EVERY SINGLE PERSON what they damn well desire to be addressed as. Well that would take too much time… So it is really in an effort to save time? What about the effort to respect the wishes of those sensitive to how you address them? Or are you not concerned with that? Is it simply because remembering what everyone prefers to be addressed by, or remembering the names is too time consuming? Or in a way, do you also feel like it is not important. You are the main star of the show, we listen to you for a great portion of the class, so why is it important to know who we are.
Through all of this sarcasm and frustration, I am merely trying to allow those who address EVERYONE by ‘they’, to see that ‘they’ are still offending and frustrating those who don’t identify as a ‘they.’ If you really want to be socially correct, remember a name or two…
Quote in reference to being addressed as ‘they’: “yeah, it wasn’t me who said it, it was a group of us: me, myself, and I”
*pronoun omitted and replaced by professor in order to respect the professor’s possible unstated pronoun preference
“Ma’am I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The woman follows the orders of the officer and leaves the property. Behind her she hears whispers, “she is just senile. She walked straight onto this property like it was actually her bird!” the cop laughs, at her expense. “Well she should just go back to the nursing home where she came from, I’m sure they’d bring birds in for the amusement of the elderly from time to time if she put in a request.”
I knew it was you, you haven’t changed since I saw you last. I knew you had plans to fly away for a while, but I hadn’t expected to find you in the possession of someone else the next time I saw you. Remember when you flew to the courtyard of the home I’ve been staying in? For a moment I had a glimmer of hope inside of me that you had come back. That you’d be mine again. Unfortunately I was just a fool to think such a preposterous thing. Everyone in the home laughs at me, they mock me for escaping today to go searching for you. When I noticed you were in the backyard of one house, my heart became full again at the sight of your perfectly colored feathers. When I broke in the gate and you began talking to me like old times, my mind reverted back to simpler days when people didn’t think I was crazy or unstable for loving you. You were mine.
“Everyone, we have an announcement! Thanks to a very special request, we have brought in some birds for your amusement.” An old man named Landit instantly shook his head and wheeled out of the main hail back to his room. Yeminda came in at her usual slow pace, and approached the birds with enthusiasm. A close friend of the old woman who was responsible for this whole scene commented “you should have just ignored the dreams about that damn bird being around somewhere close by. And you broke in! What in the hell made you think that was a good idea?! All for a damn bird…” he looked at the birds and a look of distaste spread over his face. He promptly turned around and relied on his cane to aide him on his walk to the activity room.
They truly think I’m crazy. Hell, maybe I am crazy. I know your wings have been clipped and you’re unable to fly back to me at your own free will, but to everyone around me, I appear pathetic and crazy to continue breaking in… Oh but the songs you sing with your perfect chirp! And all the happiness you provide me when I hear you speak. Though I’m beginning to feel as though I need to replace you with another bird, for you are now in the possession of another. Yet, as I look at the birds they have brought in today, none of their feathers exude such a brilliant color as yours do. All these birds sound the same. They all say the same phrases. I know they are just doing what is expected of them, and surely if I had never encountered a bird like you, I’d find their little phrases quite amusing. Though in comparison, these birds’ presence just overwhelms me. There is so much quantity in what we have been presented with today, yet so little quality.