Six Months Three Weeks
I'm still sober if anyone cares.
But you're all from a different world now. Only a few of you probably do. I'm just an anomoly. I feel that way at least. Or maybe it's just the way and wan and wax of my life.
It's strange. The ones I don't want always want me, and then they kill me with their obsessions and attentions. And the ones I do want never want me. You cannot pick or argue with who your heart chooses. It just chooses and the discussion is done. But mine is allied against me, it seems. I feel I will be alone, or lonely, forever. It's a state of being I'm accustomed to. I'm happy enough, though. I have purpose, every day, and know how to look with seeing eyes. I can help and be helped, and most importantly, ask for it. I can sleep if I want, and I don't have to throw up every time I eat. Or cut my flesh to feel or not feel. I cry when it's appropriate and laugh when it is also. My emotions flux accomodatingly. I am becoming human, to myself, and less sane to others.
Odd...I was more in control and sane to the world when I was at my worst emotionally, mentally, spiritually and physically, hiding my worst secrets and contemplating death. And now that they are all aired and I am struggling with them openly, learning to be one of instead of one apart. Learning to be a human being instead of a human becoming...I am hard to be around.
Isn't that always so.
No one can be around me, close to me, without wanting to change me. It seems I'll always have another step to take, another perfection to attain. I'm tired in the bottommost core of myself, and I know I will be for the rest of my life. And that's what the tiredness is, actually. The knowing that life is always carried by an exhaustion of knowing. That my prophecies are now all emotional ones. Absolute declarations of rationalities. And when told not to think in absolutes I can only cant my head and smile. Because this is and is not such a one. It is an absolute, but it is a truism. Because it is life.
Cognitive distortions. I've been an outsider, trying to become human and similar and one of for my whole waking life. Everyone has told me I just cannot be. That I am too this, too that, too much, too little. Too. So. Very.
I have enough adjectives in my head, thank you, to destroy myself. I need neither your compliments or curses. Just fucking walk beside me. Just hold my goddamn hand. Touch palm to palm and finger to finger. And teach me I'm not alone wordlessly. Take it away for a second. So many words for stranger, but the best one is myself.
I no longer believe in love. At least not for this moment. Me, the most adamant of her devotees, through even the trials by fire I endured for her worship. I do not. Just varying states of happiness and delusion. A desire not to be alone. A desire to have a hand to hold and wamrth to flit to. Like moths that happen to bump up against one another while circling the light, so too do we come to one another in this world. And we make love where the light is brightest. And we drown the light with our necessary, human, basic darkness. Would it not be better to avoid the entanglements of 'love', 'relationship', 'obligation', 'force', 'patience and tolerance', altogether, and just let the light filter through our wings? Let us continue to flit against one another, blessed night angels ever seeking light and not destruction - that which we always find. For in relationships arent we always undone? Don't we always become something else? Don't we always change for the other, our personalities, habits? We aren't what we were when we met. We dopplegangers...we legendary shape-changers and changelings are taken by love and the desire of God in this other that we give everything and force it all aside.
Or, maybe, I only do. And that is why I will always be alone. Because the point always comes when I am destroyed enough in the search for the light of the sublime in them, and they remain stable and same, and I tumble, singed, from the light and decay. Fall into the core of the emptiness that lies within me. And remember that everything is just in giving and never getting. That just as I am I am unlovable. That if you know who I really was you wouldn't bother. That all I am is a string of good deeds. That I'm a hideous monster, hiding inside a stolen girl's body, the marks of my passage along her skin. There are so many things I cannot do, places I cannot go, and likewise things I must do, places I must go, that we couldnt possibly be.
How could I ever be loved? I am too much. Too many stipulations for me to juggle all on my own, hiding them to make it easier for you to palatate me in my monstrousness, while pandering to your every need, my love of loves of lovely loves whoever my infatuation, friendship, relationshituationship might be.
What am I...
But you're all from a different world now. Only a few of you probably do. I'm just an anomoly. I feel that way at least. Or maybe it's just the way and wan and wax of my life.
It's strange. The ones I don't want always want me, and then they kill me with their obsessions and attentions. And the ones I do want never want me. You cannot pick or argue with who your heart chooses. It just chooses and the discussion is done. But mine is allied against me, it seems. I feel I will be alone, or lonely, forever. It's a state of being I'm accustomed to. I'm happy enough, though. I have purpose, every day, and know how to look with seeing eyes. I can help and be helped, and most importantly, ask for it. I can sleep if I want, and I don't have to throw up every time I eat. Or cut my flesh to feel or not feel. I cry when it's appropriate and laugh when it is also. My emotions flux accomodatingly. I am becoming human, to myself, and less sane to others.
Odd...I was more in control and sane to the world when I was at my worst emotionally, mentally, spiritually and physically, hiding my worst secrets and contemplating death. And now that they are all aired and I am struggling with them openly, learning to be one of instead of one apart. Learning to be a human being instead of a human becoming...I am hard to be around.
Isn't that always so.
No one can be around me, close to me, without wanting to change me. It seems I'll always have another step to take, another perfection to attain. I'm tired in the bottommost core of myself, and I know I will be for the rest of my life. And that's what the tiredness is, actually. The knowing that life is always carried by an exhaustion of knowing. That my prophecies are now all emotional ones. Absolute declarations of rationalities. And when told not to think in absolutes I can only cant my head and smile. Because this is and is not such a one. It is an absolute, but it is a truism. Because it is life.
Cognitive distortions. I've been an outsider, trying to become human and similar and one of for my whole waking life. Everyone has told me I just cannot be. That I am too this, too that, too much, too little. Too. So. Very.
I have enough adjectives in my head, thank you, to destroy myself. I need neither your compliments or curses. Just fucking walk beside me. Just hold my goddamn hand. Touch palm to palm and finger to finger. And teach me I'm not alone wordlessly. Take it away for a second. So many words for stranger, but the best one is myself.
I no longer believe in love. At least not for this moment. Me, the most adamant of her devotees, through even the trials by fire I endured for her worship. I do not. Just varying states of happiness and delusion. A desire not to be alone. A desire to have a hand to hold and wamrth to flit to. Like moths that happen to bump up against one another while circling the light, so too do we come to one another in this world. And we make love where the light is brightest. And we drown the light with our necessary, human, basic darkness. Would it not be better to avoid the entanglements of 'love', 'relationship', 'obligation', 'force', 'patience and tolerance', altogether, and just let the light filter through our wings? Let us continue to flit against one another, blessed night angels ever seeking light and not destruction - that which we always find. For in relationships arent we always undone? Don't we always become something else? Don't we always change for the other, our personalities, habits? We aren't what we were when we met. We dopplegangers...we legendary shape-changers and changelings are taken by love and the desire of God in this other that we give everything and force it all aside.
Or, maybe, I only do. And that is why I will always be alone. Because the point always comes when I am destroyed enough in the search for the light of the sublime in them, and they remain stable and same, and I tumble, singed, from the light and decay. Fall into the core of the emptiness that lies within me. And remember that everything is just in giving and never getting. That just as I am I am unlovable. That if you know who I really was you wouldn't bother. That all I am is a string of good deeds. That I'm a hideous monster, hiding inside a stolen girl's body, the marks of my passage along her skin. There are so many things I cannot do, places I cannot go, and likewise things I must do, places I must go, that we couldnt possibly be.
How could I ever be loved? I am too much. Too many stipulations for me to juggle all on my own, hiding them to make it easier for you to palatate me in my monstrousness, while pandering to your every need, my love of loves of lovely loves whoever my infatuation, friendship, relationshituationship might be.
What am I...