sense and sensibilities

I haven't written freely for a while now, for many reasons - most of which boil down to fear. Sometimes I succumb to the fear that I've run out of useful or interesting things to say; sometimes the only thing in my heart is hurt and I fear that expressing this may upset, bore or frustrate anyone who comes to read it. Other times I simply have nothing to say; then there are days when I just can't seem to find the words - because I fear I'm not intelligent-experienced-important enough to put a title and a label on a paragraph that measly ol' me made up. On the extensive play list that is the jukebox of my internal monologue "who am I?" and "what am I doing?" are on frequent rotation, and I pretty much always come up blank. I suppose this means I'm at a point where I need to reexamine why I started in the first place. Like Anne Frank, I just wanted to get the inside stuff onto the outside, let it fall into a protected place where I might learn to examine it from a safe distance - to understand it, and maybe as a bonus along the way, be understood.

The longer I ponder on these things, the more I realise no one can really understand you better than yourself. I guess that's why all those people have written that airy-fairy crap about 'being your own best friend' and 'learning to love yourself'. It's sentimental and dripping with self-help ejaculations, but I suspect it's also kind of true. I'm not very good at this.

I thought recently about giving away the writers' group - I can't seem to connect to it the way I had hoped. I want to write about real stuff, or learn real things - but these people just want to write about smashed fucking vases, clowns in car parks and cats. But maybe that's just me, trying to arrive at the destination before even really starting the journey.

I admit it, completely and wholeheartedly, I'm about as lost as they come. I'm alone in the desert - I've broken down without any preparation, I abandoned my vehicle days ago and am now wandering aimlessly in circles, chasing mirages and my own footprints.

Spending all this time at home, feeling ugly and petty and removed from life has made me think more about the kind of things I wish for. Like an occupation that absorbs me, that takes all that I am but pushes me forward still to achieve something special - something completely and totally me. I'm not just talking about a paid gig - but a real life-long pursuit. I don't know what this could be; strangely seek.com are all out of jobs of the 'inspiring' variety. Sometimes I get so scared that I will never find anything that makes my heart soar - that I missed my chance somewhere along the way. I figure I was probably hiding my head beneath a cushion at the time my car drove past that sign post - either that, or I was too absorbed looking behind me, missing that fateful junction.

I suppose it doesn't help that I have seemingly adopted vampire habits. Sleep eludes me while the remainder of the world is resting and dreaming - instead during the day, as the sun climbs higher in the sky, my eyes grow heavy and I all but crash my body to the nearest soft spot.

I don't know what I'm going to do, but I hope to begin to figure it out really soon. If a time comes when I don't have the minutes, or inclination to write here anymore, I hope it will mean that I have moved on to a comfortable place where self-reflection and therapeutic rants are no longer necessary for the sustainability of my mental health. Until then, I'm here, maybe alone - perhaps delusional - documenting the journey. 

Peace. Out.

I'm not miserable, I'm just not like them

There are a few talents that I declare must play me, in the event that my existence makes it to a tele-movie. 

Janeane Garofalo - 'cause she's just kick-ass awesome.

Daria - you know, it could be animated?

Catherine Tate - in case it's a BBC production.

 

SB

Fool me twice...

You used to be the one on my secret pedestal, sitting casually, swinging your legs to the beat of your own drum. I thought you were going to be the one to change my life, make it right somehow. I used to think that I would do anything to climb up that pedestal, to earn my right to sit alongside you. Now I have pushed you off, or maybe you jumped off? It doesn't matter, because at least you are gone. And that wobbly pedestal, with its splinters and awkward size - now I like to watch it burn, because I realise a house is no place for a single towering pedestal, and neither is the mind.

To me you were once a man-shaped heart; a world of possibility - with eyes of the ocean and your body, a place to make a home. Now, I see those eyes, still beautiful - but empty and cold, like a well, hidden in the shade. You are blood and bone - just a man - filled with fear, guilt and maybe pain - you are so full, but so empty.

I have been foolish - to hurt my heart, to offer it as sacrifice to someone who never asked for it, who never cared to know it was there. Someone wiser than me, tells me this is an human experience, that I shouldn't be ashamed - part of me is though, for being so silly for so long. Shame on you for tricking people with your charm, but shame on me for taking the bait - again, and again.

Like the lyric says "if failure don't hurt, then failure don't work".  Oh, it worked, and it hurt - so I guess it was a successful failure. I won't lose the lessons though. I dare say you haven't even begun to scratch the surface of these cold truths yet. Pity you.

That wise person also tells me that I wasn't wrong in the choosing, but perhaps just wrong in the choice. Next time I choose, I'll make sure he is willing... and worthy. Because I say now, without a shred of doubt, that you, are not worthy.

SB xx

when i die

So, I've been thinking for a while, about talking to my family - my parents, to tell them that I want to be an organ donor. But to be honest, I'm not too sure how they would take it. I mean, in my mind I know that if I tell them, and then I die suddenly, at least they know what my wishes would've been - so it's not a difficult decision for them. But then, bringing it up in conversation is a little weird - and I kind of feel like I might curse myself or something. Perhaps I'll just register and then it's out there and done. I'm 26 and I don't want to think too much about my mortality.

I remember a long time ago when I was little - maybe 9 years old - the subject came up and someone said that my dad could donate his organs - even his eyes and at that point, I was devastated - I started bawling, because I couldn't imagine someone cutting out my dads crystal blue eyes and them not being his anymore. I guess thoughts like that are kind of disturbing - but I guess if you're finished with your body, it may as well go to good use and hopefully save someone in need.

I am certain however, that I WILL NOT be donating my body to some university science lab - I've seen and met some of those student bastards - no friggen way!