opensure
honestly? honestly? i'm not gonna lie. i know what i am.
(i spent a bit trying to figure out how to word this thing, and "i know i was a shit," "i knew what i was doing," "i was bitter," "something witty," also "something that makes sense," but notice that there are so many i's and really, it's not about me, but it's a thought from my brain so technically that's impossible- every thought will always be about me. and you, you, all of your thoughts will always be about yourself.)
so as i was saying: i'm not gonna lie. there's no reason for me to lie, this is my journal, these are my words in my life, my open and my close and my decision to choose what i see or die. anything can be anything on the internet when words can be seen by the whole world and no one; it's like being everywhere and nowhere at once, this is a place of rest from a reality where something is always something at a place at a time at a point at a solidly immovable fixated space-time location, in the most tiring way. this is a place of rest, why would you go to bed on a lie?
that's not a pun. if it is then this is me revealing my bad way with grammar. lay or lie? never got the difference. except one means sex, i think. or both. probably both. okay, now that one was a joke.
anyways, i'm digressing.
i know exactly what i was trying to pretend not to be. i know exactly but i was in more denial than i've ever been, the passive aggressive sort that frustrates you before it even reaches your throat (or in this case fingers, because i don't use my voice anymore). i'm not gonna lie, though, we all know it. it's as obvious as the color of the skin on my face and i'm just gonna give in now and shrug and sigh, "yeah, you're right."
sorry- just let me talk about myself for a bit more, i promise i'll be done soon-
so yeah, what you've been silently hiding behind that suppressed grimace of yours (and by you i'm referring to the floating space of conscious understanding, the collective You of all cybergalaxies) is obviously a thought about Me, obviously, and i'm telling you you're correct. i was so totally bitter. and not in the precious little damaged boarding school anorexic way, all jaded and hard and misanthropic and in need of therapy if not psych ward surveillance. not that that's me, that's just the closest category i can jump into from where i stand. but that's a real type of bitter, like a pomelo rind, or a grapefruit peel for you more casual connoisseurs, if you've ever eaten a grapefruit peel you know what i mean and you're wrinkling your nose or gagging right now. it's the same. bitter from what used to be sweet, mixing into your saliva and filling up every canyon and valley between the hill of every taste bud until your entire tongue is one big bitter muscle and the taste is grating against your very soul- that's grapefruit peel, in the most lovingly descriptive way i could manage, no thanks to the english classes that taught me the same shit from my first creative writing activity in first grade to my first college seminar which is: nothing i didn't already know. anyways, that's not the point.
if you've ever had shitty candy, then that's what i am. more specifically those shitty, i dunno, gummy-jelly-type things. gumdrops? the weird sorta sticky kind, where you bite into them and they leave these little vertical trails from the gaps in your teeth. like, it's trying to be sweet, but doesn't quite get there. still stuck halfway in it's journey from vats of melted down plastic of old little tikes toys, to edible goods. not that those kinds of gummies can't be good, but when they're cheap, it's like devouring a broken childhood dream. really, just eating them pisses me off.
that's me. candy that's not candy that's trying too hard to be candy, or pretending to be candy but failing so spectacularly that you can't NOT notice, but nobody can say anything, who points out failure to someone's face? it'd just be rude and unappreciative because probably some slave worker in a third world country worked themselves to the bone melting that plastic purple slide that used to be on the playground at the corner of nash and rockwell street so that you could have your crappy imitation of happiness, so you are forced to grin and bear it in awkward chewy-gummy silence as it wraps around your teeth and tongue and chokes you on it's way down to your crapper.
but that's getting into social commentary, and i'm not going there. there's not enough i. too much They. god forbid We. plurals. fuck plurals. either there is nothing or everything or anything. some things? it's all or nothing. go or no go. don't get stuck in limbo- plurals are the first step towards self-destruction. or should i say a plural? ha, ha.
so that's where i am now, the horrific- i'm just exaggerating, it's really not that bad- results of a plural-user. unfortunately for which there is yet no twelve step recovery plan. i'm swimming on my own here. (ok, so this is a lie. there are millions of people like me. if i admit i'm lying, i'm not lying.)
the decision, then, is obviously to pause on the whole, 'have you taken your medication today?' thing.
i'll save that for another post because it's serious and requires seriousness.
basically, the issue here is closure. i probably wasn't very clear about that, what with all the, whatever i wrote about, and my nails are shiny and keep distracting me. so i never got any closure and i ended up here. being me. me. erika.
something totally weird is seeing those five letters in the middle of my thoughts and i have half a mind to back it up and delete right now, how dare you interrupt my sacred space? five letters of identity that i never see except on nametags or in times new roman 12 pt font with a capital E and my last name attached. i feel really awkward now, honestly. i feel really awkward. like i just walked in on myself naked or something. this is weird.
erika never got closure
okay i'm not doing this, i don't know who the hell this erika person is but let's put that issue aside for now. so i never got closure. and i wasn't in denial at first, then i smoothed out and started being sorta normal and stuff. and now i'm normal and i see certain things, they call them "triggers" but really it's a lot more trivial than that, and then i got all washed up in pretend-sweet marshmallow shores and sugar sand.
basically what i was trying to say is this: you're in pain. i was in pain once, too. i understand, i sympathize, but recently i also get jealous. i told you i wasn't going to lie- i told you, i'm disgusting and proud. but let me explain. i'm jealous because i got better, and so i never got closure. being alive means i am forever open. opensure. life. but you, you're in pain, which means you can get the closure i never got. i crave clean-cut finishes. no messy open ends. i need undeniable, unarguable, finalities.
i love lists. i love checking things off. i love doing things just to fulfill my quota or my little chart of expectations. replace love with hate, and that's also true. it's some sort of tick. some sort of... obsession. i can't stand leaving things undone. it's not even something i do willingly. it's like this itchy scratchy tweed coat has been stuffed down my spine, forcing my hand to write, cross out, check off, and only then can i breathe easy.
breathe. breathe. in, in. bow out.
i went halfway. to spell it out clearly: i didn't try very hard to kill myself, and i don't want to kill myself anymore. i'm so glad i'm alive and i want to do so many things. but my list remains unchecked and i'm itching and itching and ITCHING to check it off. this is where my jealousy of pain comes in. this is where my barely hidden bitterness oozes through like hangover vomit under sweetmint toothpaste. and this is where my denial kicks in, and this is where i become something i should probably hate being but i really don't. and this is where i say i know what i am.
i know, and nothing more.
(i spent a bit trying to figure out how to word this thing, and "i know i was a shit," "i knew what i was doing," "i was bitter," "something witty," also "something that makes sense," but notice that there are so many i's and really, it's not about me, but it's a thought from my brain so technically that's impossible- every thought will always be about me. and you, you, all of your thoughts will always be about yourself.)
so as i was saying: i'm not gonna lie. there's no reason for me to lie, this is my journal, these are my words in my life, my open and my close and my decision to choose what i see or die. anything can be anything on the internet when words can be seen by the whole world and no one; it's like being everywhere and nowhere at once, this is a place of rest from a reality where something is always something at a place at a time at a point at a solidly immovable fixated space-time location, in the most tiring way. this is a place of rest, why would you go to bed on a lie?
that's not a pun. if it is then this is me revealing my bad way with grammar. lay or lie? never got the difference. except one means sex, i think. or both. probably both. okay, now that one was a joke.
anyways, i'm digressing.
i know exactly what i was trying to pretend not to be. i know exactly but i was in more denial than i've ever been, the passive aggressive sort that frustrates you before it even reaches your throat (or in this case fingers, because i don't use my voice anymore). i'm not gonna lie, though, we all know it. it's as obvious as the color of the skin on my face and i'm just gonna give in now and shrug and sigh, "yeah, you're right."
sorry- just let me talk about myself for a bit more, i promise i'll be done soon-
so yeah, what you've been silently hiding behind that suppressed grimace of yours (and by you i'm referring to the floating space of conscious understanding, the collective You of all cybergalaxies) is obviously a thought about Me, obviously, and i'm telling you you're correct. i was so totally bitter. and not in the precious little damaged boarding school anorexic way, all jaded and hard and misanthropic and in need of therapy if not psych ward surveillance. not that that's me, that's just the closest category i can jump into from where i stand. but that's a real type of bitter, like a pomelo rind, or a grapefruit peel for you more casual connoisseurs, if you've ever eaten a grapefruit peel you know what i mean and you're wrinkling your nose or gagging right now. it's the same. bitter from what used to be sweet, mixing into your saliva and filling up every canyon and valley between the hill of every taste bud until your entire tongue is one big bitter muscle and the taste is grating against your very soul- that's grapefruit peel, in the most lovingly descriptive way i could manage, no thanks to the english classes that taught me the same shit from my first creative writing activity in first grade to my first college seminar which is: nothing i didn't already know. anyways, that's not the point.
if you've ever had shitty candy, then that's what i am. more specifically those shitty, i dunno, gummy-jelly-type things. gumdrops? the weird sorta sticky kind, where you bite into them and they leave these little vertical trails from the gaps in your teeth. like, it's trying to be sweet, but doesn't quite get there. still stuck halfway in it's journey from vats of melted down plastic of old little tikes toys, to edible goods. not that those kinds of gummies can't be good, but when they're cheap, it's like devouring a broken childhood dream. really, just eating them pisses me off.
that's me. candy that's not candy that's trying too hard to be candy, or pretending to be candy but failing so spectacularly that you can't NOT notice, but nobody can say anything, who points out failure to someone's face? it'd just be rude and unappreciative because probably some slave worker in a third world country worked themselves to the bone melting that plastic purple slide that used to be on the playground at the corner of nash and rockwell street so that you could have your crappy imitation of happiness, so you are forced to grin and bear it in awkward chewy-gummy silence as it wraps around your teeth and tongue and chokes you on it's way down to your crapper.
but that's getting into social commentary, and i'm not going there. there's not enough i. too much They. god forbid We. plurals. fuck plurals. either there is nothing or everything or anything. some things? it's all or nothing. go or no go. don't get stuck in limbo- plurals are the first step towards self-destruction. or should i say a plural? ha, ha.
so that's where i am now, the horrific- i'm just exaggerating, it's really not that bad- results of a plural-user. unfortunately for which there is yet no twelve step recovery plan. i'm swimming on my own here. (ok, so this is a lie. there are millions of people like me. if i admit i'm lying, i'm not lying.)
the decision, then, is obviously to pause on the whole, 'have you taken your medication today?' thing.
i'll save that for another post because it's serious and requires seriousness.
basically, the issue here is closure. i probably wasn't very clear about that, what with all the, whatever i wrote about, and my nails are shiny and keep distracting me. so i never got any closure and i ended up here. being me. me. erika.
something totally weird is seeing those five letters in the middle of my thoughts and i have half a mind to back it up and delete right now, how dare you interrupt my sacred space? five letters of identity that i never see except on nametags or in times new roman 12 pt font with a capital E and my last name attached. i feel really awkward now, honestly. i feel really awkward. like i just walked in on myself naked or something. this is weird.
erika never got closure
okay i'm not doing this, i don't know who the hell this erika person is but let's put that issue aside for now. so i never got closure. and i wasn't in denial at first, then i smoothed out and started being sorta normal and stuff. and now i'm normal and i see certain things, they call them "triggers" but really it's a lot more trivial than that, and then i got all washed up in pretend-sweet marshmallow shores and sugar sand.
basically what i was trying to say is this: you're in pain. i was in pain once, too. i understand, i sympathize, but recently i also get jealous. i told you i wasn't going to lie- i told you, i'm disgusting and proud. but let me explain. i'm jealous because i got better, and so i never got closure. being alive means i am forever open. opensure. life. but you, you're in pain, which means you can get the closure i never got. i crave clean-cut finishes. no messy open ends. i need undeniable, unarguable, finalities.
i love lists. i love checking things off. i love doing things just to fulfill my quota or my little chart of expectations. replace love with hate, and that's also true. it's some sort of tick. some sort of... obsession. i can't stand leaving things undone. it's not even something i do willingly. it's like this itchy scratchy tweed coat has been stuffed down my spine, forcing my hand to write, cross out, check off, and only then can i breathe easy.
breathe. breathe. in, in. bow out.
i went halfway. to spell it out clearly: i didn't try very hard to kill myself, and i don't want to kill myself anymore. i'm so glad i'm alive and i want to do so many things. but my list remains unchecked and i'm itching and itching and ITCHING to check it off. this is where my jealousy of pain comes in. this is where my barely hidden bitterness oozes through like hangover vomit under sweetmint toothpaste. and this is where my denial kicks in, and this is where i become something i should probably hate being but i really don't. and this is where i say i know what i am.
i know, and nothing more.