"i want to see some feeling"
this is what i heard from montario the other night. apparently, when i discuss people and things in my past or present, i dont show much feeling. i know i dont show much feeling. not aloud. not in public. but a dead man cant cry.
i died once. it was slow and it was painful and the unfortunate thing was that my body survived. many of you witnessed my death through my journal. but i dont know if anybody recognized it for what it was. because even here, i may talk about the pain, but mostly i just rant and rave and express the anger and frustration.
very rarely do i show anyone the shards of glass in my heart. too messy to open up my chest for the viewing. and thats what it was. it wasnt a knife or a gun that killed me, but thousands of tiny shards, pushed in and neglected, allowed to work their way slowly through veins and arteries until blood could no longer flow and my heart just stopped beating.
and i died.
there was no fuss. no trip to the hospital for resuccitation. it wasnt sudden and it wasnt unexpected... and i made it through it. i walk and i talk and i interact and i can even fuck and work and write and laugh. but i dont live. not in the same way.
i dont know if i can love. i know that i did. i loved so much and so strongly that a dead man became a ghost grasping at the vestiges of a life he could no longer have... a life that was over and could never be the same, even if he was brought back to life. your life is never the same after you've died. you're never the same.
i was young and hopeful. i had dreams and desires and wishes. i even had goals. ...and i had love. but i lost all of those things as i died... i lost myself.
i have moved on. i walked away from that life. even a ghost can realize his situation, can recognize the futility of haunting his old life.... and move on. piece by piece, reevaluation led to an understanding with myself - and formulations of new directions, new plans. but thats just it... i no longer have dreams and wishes. i have plans. a ghost does not hope. a ghost merely directs.
a ghost cannot feel. if you cant feel, you cant show feeling.
i havent cried in months. not once. not when i cut things off with her. not when i had to listen to them. not when i spent my birthday alone. not even during the very recent reminders of how i died... even now, i dont think i could cry.
not yet.
the only thing more frightening than death is resurrection. death is comfortable. there is no real pain. no real joy. no real opportunity for disappointment or hurt or frustration.
but a battle rages in that lifeless heart of mine. blood has begun to pump and its trying to force those shards of glass back out, back into the air that will eventually make them dissolve. the remaining shreds of tissue want to live again. want to feel again.
but ghosts know better. they see the pain in life without having to feel it. and to be honest, the idea of feeling that pain again is rather distasteful. we're not cats. we dont get nine lives. a ghost knows that he can survive death only once. to be resurrected and to die again would be the end.
i'm terrified. because lately, i've had this need to open the old wounds. to rip open my chest and point to those shards of glass. to tell the world how i died. no longer can this ghost be silent... lately, i've been rattling my chains. bringing forward all the pain of my former life... to hold it out as an offering - this was me. this is me. i was lost and now i am found.
hold tight before i run away and hide.
i'm terrified, because resurrection is terrifying. to leave the numbness behind. to leave the abyss; dank, dark and comfortable thing that it is... to really feel again. to become tangible. to allow my heart to beat, to be open to the world, to be open to happiness and suffering, joy and pain. to be open to love, the possibility of love.
we dont often get the choice about our own resurrection. the doctors come with their electric shock paddles and you live again. your heart is beating and the blood is pumping and never once did you have the chance to deny life.
so it is with my death. and my resurrection. i have no choice, i cannot stop the flow...
and i am scared.
i died once. it was slow and it was painful and the unfortunate thing was that my body survived. many of you witnessed my death through my journal. but i dont know if anybody recognized it for what it was. because even here, i may talk about the pain, but mostly i just rant and rave and express the anger and frustration.
very rarely do i show anyone the shards of glass in my heart. too messy to open up my chest for the viewing. and thats what it was. it wasnt a knife or a gun that killed me, but thousands of tiny shards, pushed in and neglected, allowed to work their way slowly through veins and arteries until blood could no longer flow and my heart just stopped beating.
and i died.
there was no fuss. no trip to the hospital for resuccitation. it wasnt sudden and it wasnt unexpected... and i made it through it. i walk and i talk and i interact and i can even fuck and work and write and laugh. but i dont live. not in the same way.
i dont know if i can love. i know that i did. i loved so much and so strongly that a dead man became a ghost grasping at the vestiges of a life he could no longer have... a life that was over and could never be the same, even if he was brought back to life. your life is never the same after you've died. you're never the same.
i was young and hopeful. i had dreams and desires and wishes. i even had goals. ...and i had love. but i lost all of those things as i died... i lost myself.
i have moved on. i walked away from that life. even a ghost can realize his situation, can recognize the futility of haunting his old life.... and move on. piece by piece, reevaluation led to an understanding with myself - and formulations of new directions, new plans. but thats just it... i no longer have dreams and wishes. i have plans. a ghost does not hope. a ghost merely directs.
a ghost cannot feel. if you cant feel, you cant show feeling.
i havent cried in months. not once. not when i cut things off with her. not when i had to listen to them. not when i spent my birthday alone. not even during the very recent reminders of how i died... even now, i dont think i could cry.
not yet.
the only thing more frightening than death is resurrection. death is comfortable. there is no real pain. no real joy. no real opportunity for disappointment or hurt or frustration.
but a battle rages in that lifeless heart of mine. blood has begun to pump and its trying to force those shards of glass back out, back into the air that will eventually make them dissolve. the remaining shreds of tissue want to live again. want to feel again.
but ghosts know better. they see the pain in life without having to feel it. and to be honest, the idea of feeling that pain again is rather distasteful. we're not cats. we dont get nine lives. a ghost knows that he can survive death only once. to be resurrected and to die again would be the end.
i'm terrified. because lately, i've had this need to open the old wounds. to rip open my chest and point to those shards of glass. to tell the world how i died. no longer can this ghost be silent... lately, i've been rattling my chains. bringing forward all the pain of my former life... to hold it out as an offering - this was me. this is me. i was lost and now i am found.
hold tight before i run away and hide.
i'm terrified, because resurrection is terrifying. to leave the numbness behind. to leave the abyss; dank, dark and comfortable thing that it is... to really feel again. to become tangible. to allow my heart to beat, to be open to the world, to be open to happiness and suffering, joy and pain. to be open to love, the possibility of love.
we dont often get the choice about our own resurrection. the doctors come with their electric shock paddles and you live again. your heart is beating and the blood is pumping and never once did you have the chance to deny life.
so it is with my death. and my resurrection. i have no choice, i cannot stop the flow...
and i am scared.