Nothing is in Place

Jan 03, 2006 00:00

I’m at a crossroads in my life again. I have to make some very important decisions. I have to stop putting things that are important to me off. I wish that I were free. I wish that it was not up to man to live and fail. To love and cry. To hope and regret.

But it is. These feelings are inescapable and tragically, they are the largest factors that separate life from mere existence. I feel like I have been existing for most of my life. I haven’t been living because I am cautious. And not just cautious, I’m afraid.

I want to be courageous. Fearless. I want to feel that I am the equal to no man because I am intrinsically superior. Right down to my sinews. Every fiber that makes me, every cell that lives in my body, it should have a greater purpose. I should have a greater purpose.

So much of my life is hiding, fear, guilt, and regret. I’m tired of it. I’m nineteen and I act as if I am going into my darker days. As if the world’s edges are hoary and fraying and there is no longer a reason to hold tight for life.

I live most of my day in a video game. That holds out the pain. I eat more than I should because for a brief second I don’t have to think about the difference that I pretend to celebrate. The beautiful things that set me apart. I want those things to be buried. I want those things to never return.

To be the same.
That’s the goal of an American life-perhaps any life. To be the same. Don’t cause trouble. Don’t make waves. And when you cry, do it privately, dignified, in a corner… alone.

No one can see you feel. Besides, there is nothing to see anyway. Nothing magical or truly marvelous can come out of a body trapped and confined. I know that I should just admit it and move on with my life but it is so hard to leap.

It’s easy for a bird to sit in a tree preen its feathers and pride it’s plumage. It’s easy for that bird to hum a song that has been put in its heart.

It is traumatic for that bird to leap over the edge. To see the city lights rush at it at full speed, the angry ground surging forth to seize it. It’s hard to open blocked lungs and breathe loud enough to sing in the silence. I want to sing in the silence. I want to soar. But I am afraid. I’m reduced. Why am I so comfortable being reduced?

Why do I settle for not having the body I want? Why do I settle for not writing the papers I want to right? Why do I settle for not having the perfect locks or the perfect mate? Why do I just… let it go. I tell people to let things go all the time. I tell people that they should be responsible to try to prevent things from happening but in the end they should know things will WORK THEMSELVES OUT.

That’s nice. That’s safe.

But what if I don’t want to wait? I mean I write this over and over again in every journal. I want to change. And I never do. I’m just not committed. I look to my past failures and accept them. Actually, I’ve never accepted a failure. That might be why I don’t succeed. I just pretend like they never happened and that’s why I don’t learn from them.

Sometimes when I’m doing poorly in life I try to think of the things that have defined me. I feel like most of my defining moments in life have been failures and embarrassments.

I never will forget when I didn’t know what to say at my Aunt’s funeral and I said the flower arrangements were cheap. My cousin (her daughter) looked at me and said that she and her sister and brother picked them out, and then swan dived into the coffin to cry. I felt miserable. I really believe that I disappeared then. I didn’t realize that it is not always good to fill a silence. Sometimes silence precedes sound and sometimes there is no need for sound at all. I meant no harm but I was… wounded.

It surprised me so much that anyone could feel so strongly. The way she yelled at me… she was wrecked. I’d never felt that much grief. I don’t know how to grieve. I’ve never cried at a funeral and I worry that I may be a sociopath. I think I don’t cry because LaToya cried more tears that day than I think I’ll be able to. If someone I loves dies will I be able to quip that cheesy, “They’re in a better place” stuff or talk about how “death is a part of life”? I doubt I’ll be so collected then. I bet I’d just go insane. I think about that occasionally. Would I lose my mind if I showed some emotion? I feel like I hurt more because I never want to be vulnerable so I’m constantly hurting.

Today my friend of nine years called to tell me she no longer wanted to be my roommate. Well that’s great. Selfish. Disloyal. Impetuous.

I feel like I’ve been betrayed. I feel like… I’m being abandoned. I know that I have abandonment issues. I worry when I don’t know where I’m going or being taken. I worry when I am alone. I suppose I think we will never arrive or that no one will ever come back for me.

Well, Jessica will never come back for me, this I know. She’s going to flit off like Vanessa and be gone with her new friends until… whenever.

She may return but that is if she’s hurt. Leaving would be like her going to the club. She wouldn’t come back unless she was shot or shot at.

Why would she leave me? I looked to her for so much support. She doesn’t need me. Perhaps I need her. She means something to me because she was someone I felt I could really count on. I guess it’s true that you can only count on God. But if that’s the case what are friends for anyway? A distraction?

This lets me know that nothing lasts. So I officially don’t believe in love. Add friendship to the list.

I am sad. I don’t want to not believe but what can I do?

That’s as simply as I can put it. I’m terribly, miserably, eternally sad.

I can never get a boy to pay attention to me. I can’t accept affection from a girl. I can’t approach anyone and I do not understand the art of courtship or conversation. I can’t dance or sing. I can’t even be honest with myself.

People who hide thing often believe everyone around them can see right through them. I agree with that sentiment. Everyone can see through me and no one. No one knows anything about me until I tell them. No one sees my pain because I don’t have it on hand.

I’m afraid to be honest with people because I’m afraid they will leave me.
Now I see that they will leave me anyway.
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