(no subject)
I gradually feel more and more that my lives are fragmented. I used to think I had one or two lives; internal and exterior; but i now feel like it's more like 5 or 6. I feel like I'm somebody different with everybody I know, and while I used to know the threads that connected the disparate themes of my life together, I feel like my life is a serious of random vignettes, featuring different people moving through a landscape that's constantly changing.
My life feels increasingly empty of things of definitive meaning. I know so few things to trust as true. December surrounds me with all its mystery and all its torture. December confuses me, leaves me cold, inside and out, the joy I felt once at Advent, my season, the season of waiting, has been replaced with a cold hard certainty that what is coming is something to be afraid of. I don't know who I am, what I value. Different people living inside my skin calling themselves me have different desires, values, needs: survival. justice. family. a challenge. keeping the peace.
The urge to survive is so overbearingly strong it I can hardly hear anything outside of the urge to start running. Run -- it doesn't matter where. Just run. They're watching, they're waiting, they're going to catch up to you if you don't move, if you don't move now. I'm waiting, waiting for the wind and tide to swing against me, feeling it moving around me, ever so slowly, like I'm stuck in mud, watching the water gradually shifting the viscosity of the mess, slowly sucking me down, centimeters at a time.
Whenever I'm alone, an absence seems to swallow every sense. December, terrifying, cold, full of memories, wraps around me like the silver fingers of rain, and the tense, anxious waiting overtakes me. I can't stand to be alone, with myself or anyone else, I try not to listen, not to think, I just want to bury myself in a wave of dark sleep, at least in my dreams I can deal with my demons, even if it means looking them in the eye.
Fragments of thoughts cascade through my head, belonging to different lives, different songs:
I sing of times trans-shifting
The canary and the king
I sing for your freedom
Life is pain, highness
I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more
I'm lost to release you
Do you love him?
Remember, remember, remember December
I must be cruel, only to be kind
These are the times that try men's souls
Men know well enough what monsters you make of them
The future is now
Do you trust me?
To take up arms against a sea of trouble
In the shape of things to come, too much poison, come undone
You know me, how troubled I can be
Nobody said love was easy
My heart lies broken in my hand
War... war never changes
Everybody's a liar, but you do it without thinking
Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen?
It's sink or swim... or is it drown or fly?
If only we could really be together
One day you will take me into your arms and say you love me -- I've seen it
Will you look into the mirror?
All of this has happened before, all of this shall happen again.
My life feels increasingly empty of things of definitive meaning. I know so few things to trust as true. December surrounds me with all its mystery and all its torture. December confuses me, leaves me cold, inside and out, the joy I felt once at Advent, my season, the season of waiting, has been replaced with a cold hard certainty that what is coming is something to be afraid of. I don't know who I am, what I value. Different people living inside my skin calling themselves me have different desires, values, needs: survival. justice. family. a challenge. keeping the peace.
The urge to survive is so overbearingly strong it I can hardly hear anything outside of the urge to start running. Run -- it doesn't matter where. Just run. They're watching, they're waiting, they're going to catch up to you if you don't move, if you don't move now. I'm waiting, waiting for the wind and tide to swing against me, feeling it moving around me, ever so slowly, like I'm stuck in mud, watching the water gradually shifting the viscosity of the mess, slowly sucking me down, centimeters at a time.
Whenever I'm alone, an absence seems to swallow every sense. December, terrifying, cold, full of memories, wraps around me like the silver fingers of rain, and the tense, anxious waiting overtakes me. I can't stand to be alone, with myself or anyone else, I try not to listen, not to think, I just want to bury myself in a wave of dark sleep, at least in my dreams I can deal with my demons, even if it means looking them in the eye.
Fragments of thoughts cascade through my head, belonging to different lives, different songs:
I sing of times trans-shifting
The canary and the king
I sing for your freedom
Life is pain, highness
I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more
I'm lost to release you
Do you love him?
Remember, remember, remember December
I must be cruel, only to be kind
These are the times that try men's souls
Men know well enough what monsters you make of them
The future is now
Do you trust me?
To take up arms against a sea of trouble
In the shape of things to come, too much poison, come undone
You know me, how troubled I can be
Nobody said love was easy
My heart lies broken in my hand
War... war never changes
Everybody's a liar, but you do it without thinking
Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen?
It's sink or swim... or is it drown or fly?
If only we could really be together
One day you will take me into your arms and say you love me -- I've seen it
Will you look into the mirror?
All of this has happened before, all of this shall happen again.