Fear

Not many will know the feeling of watching one you love so much hurt themselves in a way that makes you feel like you’re suffocating. You see them suffering and you beg for the answer, the fix to all the problems. They scream, saying you are what keeps them alive. Without you, their heart doesn’t beat. You beg them to find something other than you to live for. You cry “having that much weighing on another is too much, its unsustainable,” but they don’t hear you. They become deaf to your pleas, your words are no longer enough. They’re drowning as you watch. You dive in the water just as you see them lose consciousness. You bring them to the surface, conduct CPR. Only those who have experienced it will know how much your body shakes in fear of watching a life slip away at your hands. It wasn’t your fault. “But I could have saved them.” It wasn’t your job to protect their heart. Despite the long believed thought, we are all alone on this earth. I love you, you love me, but eventually you will be gone, as will I. No matter how much you love a soul on this earth, to hold onto them as your life line is like floating in a life saver in the middle of a broad sea with no boat nearby. It supports you, but its not its job to help you swim the rest of the way to the shore.

I run into your room afraid of what I might find. I watch your eyes fluttering and your body shaking. I feel numb from the sight. I shake you, I scream, I cry, and then I whisper, pleading “please, please wake up, don’t leave like this.” You stir awake, dazed and confused. I ask you if you took the pills. You nod. Tears began streaming down my face even faster. You mumble and say you’re tired. The thought of you sleeping terrifies me because I am sure you won’t wake up. I drag you up. I get you seated on the bed and tell you to wait there. I walk to the door and then realize that I can’t leave you like that even to get you water. “Come with me.”

“I am tired, it’s hard to move my body.” I pull you against your will so that I don’t lose you in the process of trying to save you. I sit you back on the bed and order you to chug the water. You take a sip. I cry harder and you look at me with sadness and defeat and ask me what’s wrong. You knew what was wrong. I tell you to keep drinking. You say you’re not thirsty. Gulp after gulp you take a break and your eyes begin drifting away again. It scares me to death as I am slapping your legs, kneeling by the bed, looking up at you begging you to keep staying with me and keep drinking that water. The first round hits you; it’s been enough and you throw a bit up. I won’t let you stop though, so I make you drink, you throw up, you drink again. I can’t be sure that It’s over until I don’t see you drifting away. After a few good rounds of throwing up and chugging so much water, you’re done. We sit on your bed and wait. You ask to lay down, I beg you not to. I couldn’t be sure that it was over. That there was not still a chance of losing you. That night I laid with you afraid to fall asleep, afraid of what I might wake up to find.

I never thought you’d do it…

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Fear

I’m sacred that I’ll convince myself once more that I am wholeheartedly over you. I’m afraid I’ll fall into that abyss of denial and will never find my way back to you. I’m quick to guard my heart, which means if you tell me I’m single, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll share the most meaningless exchanges and inject as much meaning as I can for the other person. I’ll gain their affections, hoping their piqued interest will someway invigorate my attraction to them. Currently I’m playing this little game, I already have my first play in motion, and I’m afraid it is working all too easily. You see I’ve never really had trouble in this game, I just chose to never play it, cause it didn’t suit my style. Instead I played the waiting game. I’d observe the players that walked by, and if any looked particularly unique, then I’d prepare to play. They’d take note, and the games would begin. The only reason I ever participated is because when I waited, I had the opportunity to play an entirely different game altogether. I found that when you play with the best, you always have the most fun. I miss playing with the professionals, the rookies aren’t just cutting it. They don’t know how to make my heart skip a beat, or give me those nervous butterflies. Though maybe it is due to the fact that my heart’s just not in the game anymore. My body is, but even it wants to retract and discontinue what I’ve started. I have many options, but you’re the only one I love. 

My Funeral

Today has been an interesting day for me. There haven’t been many ground breaking interactions or events, it is just that a lot has raced through my mind today. Today I feel antsy and energized, one may even call it restless. It isn’t a different feeling for me necessarily, but it is heightened because I made the poor choice of drinking half of an energy drink this evening. One could say I am quite hyped…. I am actually kind of sad too. I am in an odd reflective, energetic mood, so a lot of random thoughts will be voiced throughout this post.

The first thing I would like to start off with is that today I was thinking about my funeral. No, I am not dead yet, nor am I planning it in anticipation, nor am I writing this from the dead. A vision popped into my mind though about how I would like my funeral to be. I want my favorite musician’s (The Weeknd) music to be played throughout the funeral. EVERY SONG HE HAS EVER SUNG. So however long that takes, would be the duration of my funeral. It is not because I want to torment my family and friends with music that I already play constantly, it is simply based on the fact that there is something about his music that feeds my soul. My body reacts to it in such a different way than it does towards other music. It isn’t necessarily the lyrics, but sometimes it is. However, the song I would have played at the end of my funeral would be about just that: the lyrics. It is titled “Angel,” and is by far one of his saddest songs (in my opinion). In this song, he sings the verse “I hope you find somebody to love” many times, and every other utterance eats away at my heart. It is because he doesn’t say that to mean exactly that, he sings it in a mournful way towards what he and the girl he is singing about once shared. This song would be played at the end with the sole purpose of speaking to the guy I love one last time. I want the overall event to be joyous and cathartic, but I definitely feel that every funeral has a sad note to it, and depressingly enough, I would like for mine to end on a sad, reflective note.

Throughout my funeral, while the songs play, I want people to dance, talk, and interact without a care in the world, not worrying about how others are perceiving them for their poor dancing skills. I want my guests to be weird, eccentric, and most importantly, fully immersed in all senses. If someone cries, I want them to not feel any need to hold it in, or be quiet, I don’t want them or anyone else to feel awkward about it. I want it to be a mess of emotions, a fully raw experience, whether they be sad about my death or not. I want it to be an opportunity for them to look at life differently. It wouldn’t necessarily matter that I’m gone, I don’t even care if they shed one tear for me, but I do have one condition. I want people to begin living life differently. No, not change themselves. Live and love like you’re taking your last breath. Dance like everybody is watching and don’t give a rip. Lastly, stop feeling self conscious with new people or any people for that matter. We all are human, we get quiet, stumble on our words, and make fools out of ourselves. So stop letting silly things like self-consciousness get in the way of you living your life. One more thing, stop thinking so hard about being “normal.” Be you and do you, that’s all I ask.

To end this, I would like to bring up one last thing. I am frustrated at the world around me, which is partly why I wrote this post. Right now I feel the urge to contact each and every person I feel like contacting and say exactly what is on my mind (not necessarily the same thing to every person, cause I have different topics flowing through my mind currently) without having to think about what was last said and feel as though I need to “stay on topic” whatever that means… (it means humans are notoriously boring in conversation due to this obsession). I want to know that other people share the sentiment that life is precious and we should start living like every moment is our last. Everything around me is so stagnant, and people are so hesitant, all in efforts to not step on anyone’s toes. Yet there comes a time when you just need to LIVE YOUR FREAKING LIFE. That is all. Goodnight.

 

Trigger Happy

The gun has a mind of its own these days. It urges the question “why not shoot? what are we waiting for?” Because it does not know the specifics of the situation, it only knows that it is loaded and ready. I attempt to silence that recurring discussion because it is missing parts of the story, but truly, what is it missing on its end… It knows its purpose, it sees that the figure’s demise should have been long ago, so why don’t I shoot? Why don’t I end the life of that looming figure for good, why do I continue to let it ruminate in silence, not giving an answer for its presence. It is because the result of shooting the figure and choosing to use the gun’s power is not worth it. The figure provides pain, but it also provides bliss, comfort, satisfaction. It sits in those shadows of my life, drawing me back to the darkness. Though that is also where I feel my most alive, when I am with it. When I take the pleasure with the pain. When I have the markings of my mistakes into the next week to remind me of what I’ve done.

If the gun knew those feelings about the figure, it would question why I ever picked it up in the first place. Why I place it down ever so often, only to oblige the urge to pick it up the very next day with the promise to shoot, only to set it down for the night once again. I know I confuse the gun terribly, but it has never been my intention to shoot, no matter how much I humor the desire, it will never happen. For even though I hate that figure with a passion and cringe at the soul numbing thoughts it brings about, I will never give up on it, though I will never admit that to its face. So I will pick up that gun every so often and wave it in its face, but it should not worry about its life, because it will never cease to exist. If I murdered the figure a part of me would die along with it, and that is simply something I cannot face.

Unfounded Disdain

     You stare contemptuously, letting the hate eat away at what remains of your character. All that lies before you is filthy, ridiculous, and unloveable. Unfortunately, that is an incorrect conclusion. What lies before you is the perfect example of care, humanity, and kindness. All that has been exemplified by that form in front of you is nothing but pure humanity, and you view it with the utmost disgust.

    That’s where we falter. We see all the flaws immediately, sometimes never acknowledging those qualities that embody true perfection, true admirability. It perpetuates a vicious cycle of hate and creates an absence of appreciation. It is one thing to let these negative thoughts and comments silently ruminate in one’s mind, it’s another to continuously voice them aloud to taint the current rapport.

     The most unexpected things occur when one spreads love rather than hate. One receives love back, the world becomes a better place to live in. It’s miraculous to see the results and watch happiness and love spark from every action, setting the world ablaze to create a bonfire of positivity. Soon all the flaws are unique features we’ve never seen. Those actions of ridiculousness, imperfection, lack of attention that causes us to stumble, are the pieces of humanity that spill out of us to signify to others that no one is perfect. While simultaneously discovering that it is this same quality of imperfection that leads one to claim that the one they love is perfect.

That Damn Gun

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…

Alone

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.”