(no subject)
So this is what it was like. My first mentally documented milestone.... coming back with a vengeance, in waves, and in folds. To discover the fragile truth, that we are human, simple beings. Family nights consisted of a reeeeal healthy dose of old wars movies, and comical satire, that no 8 year old could possibly comprehend, not to say she didn't try. What could that man have possibly lost under that girl's skirt that he had to look under it? And why was some crazy red haired guy named Chuck shooting at those little asian people? Laying on my stomach atop hardwood flooring, the core of my tiny existence pressed tightly up into my throat. I caught my breath, but never once did I close my eyes or cover my ears, (I adhere to that to this day still). I choked on the sturdy realization that, nothing is sacred. Not childhood, not love. Where was beauty? And what is beautiful? Everything is a potential victim, for nothing can be kept safe in this world any longer. The ugliness far out weighs anything pretty, on any level. And so to crappy Chuck Norris flicks, and Apocalypse Now, I encountered my mortality. While holding open my young eyelids, so I'd have a good view of what exactly was going on in Clockwork Orange... my brother congratulated me. I had graduated.
I didn't make friends easily, or often... was it possible that I had some twisted insight, by the time I was 10, from movies, media, my neighborhood, memories of abuse, my family... that all people are tainted, and very few are sincere and true. VEry few, and yeah, me and you, are real anymore. I chose for years to define myself, by things I had seen and done, by my experiences with sickness, and death, neglect, and all the footage I saw when we watched the news while sitting down to eat our minute steaks and canned beans. But who the fuck am I? When you cut away all the crap...the fat, and the bone. What's left? or rather...Who is left?
So by definition... am I...my glossy blue eyes? my trophy fucks? the book I read last week, the music I breathe? the low-carb diet that I tried and failed at after 2 days? When I picture what a word would look like in a picture...no letters, just drawing, lines... definition is a box. And I am curled up inside of it.
Maybe this is why I am content to suffer now. It has its place, and yeah, it holds beauty too. Maybe there was a mix-up in the fetus shipping department and I landed on the wrong continent. Surely I'd be more fit to be suffering, than those who would give anything to be happy, and live in such a 'free country' as this. I wish no harm upon any single human being on this earth, yet for some odd reason, I don't know how to live outside of sadness, and so in turn this causes my own self harm. Day after day.
I will never be a martyr. And there is nothing saintly about antyhing I have lived or will live. It is simply life. I take the shit as well as the sunshine, cause I have never known one without the other.
And this is what it is like now. The blueprint of my life... decided on by myself at such a tender age. I chose the hard road, yet I freely bitch about all the bumps.I would make choices that would most certainly challenge me, and others. To take the route less travelled if you will, and discover, no encourage all the adversities that life can bring.... there is no pride in making things easy for yourself, or anyone else for that matter. Make it count. We are all gunna get blasted by one Chuck or another. That's what this taught me. You can never be prepared. There are no certainties, save for life, and death. Death moreso.
Now that I am grown, of course things have shifted. But if I can say one definate thing about myself, is that I am loyal. I know I have a genuine heart, that more often than not, gets confused, and gets wrapped up in the triviality of day-to-day life, as though my life itself depeded on it. So yeah, I'm still working on this blueprint, cause remember, according to me, very few things are a for sure deal now, right? I'm working on a new outlook, but that's way more difficult when you have set up camp at the bottom of a pit. So, a choice, many choices, will determine how I live out the rest of my days. I am, obvioulsy no longer a girl... yet I have held fast to much that was impressed on me then. Letting go... of the distance I place between me, and the rest of the world... letting go of the stubborness I posess with such vindication. I know it's ok to be wrong, and to hurt, and to let go of my opinions, and views.... let things slide.... cause perhaps, I'm defining myself with this bitterness...of all I gained and lost, all those years ago. Of all I missed out on, cause I walked away or was pushed.
On days that I feel like I'm already dead, or at a minimum, slowly dying.... I know...
I won't be defined by my depression, or my childhood. Or by myself. This is hell. The only thing left looking forward to, is life, and really living.
I didn't make friends easily, or often... was it possible that I had some twisted insight, by the time I was 10, from movies, media, my neighborhood, memories of abuse, my family... that all people are tainted, and very few are sincere and true. VEry few, and yeah, me and you, are real anymore. I chose for years to define myself, by things I had seen and done, by my experiences with sickness, and death, neglect, and all the footage I saw when we watched the news while sitting down to eat our minute steaks and canned beans. But who the fuck am I? When you cut away all the crap...the fat, and the bone. What's left? or rather...Who is left?
So by definition... am I...my glossy blue eyes? my trophy fucks? the book I read last week, the music I breathe? the low-carb diet that I tried and failed at after 2 days? When I picture what a word would look like in a picture...no letters, just drawing, lines... definition is a box. And I am curled up inside of it.
Maybe this is why I am content to suffer now. It has its place, and yeah, it holds beauty too. Maybe there was a mix-up in the fetus shipping department and I landed on the wrong continent. Surely I'd be more fit to be suffering, than those who would give anything to be happy, and live in such a 'free country' as this. I wish no harm upon any single human being on this earth, yet for some odd reason, I don't know how to live outside of sadness, and so in turn this causes my own self harm. Day after day.
I will never be a martyr. And there is nothing saintly about antyhing I have lived or will live. It is simply life. I take the shit as well as the sunshine, cause I have never known one without the other.
And this is what it is like now. The blueprint of my life... decided on by myself at such a tender age. I chose the hard road, yet I freely bitch about all the bumps.I would make choices that would most certainly challenge me, and others. To take the route less travelled if you will, and discover, no encourage all the adversities that life can bring.... there is no pride in making things easy for yourself, or anyone else for that matter. Make it count. We are all gunna get blasted by one Chuck or another. That's what this taught me. You can never be prepared. There are no certainties, save for life, and death. Death moreso.
Now that I am grown, of course things have shifted. But if I can say one definate thing about myself, is that I am loyal. I know I have a genuine heart, that more often than not, gets confused, and gets wrapped up in the triviality of day-to-day life, as though my life itself depeded on it. So yeah, I'm still working on this blueprint, cause remember, according to me, very few things are a for sure deal now, right? I'm working on a new outlook, but that's way more difficult when you have set up camp at the bottom of a pit. So, a choice, many choices, will determine how I live out the rest of my days. I am, obvioulsy no longer a girl... yet I have held fast to much that was impressed on me then. Letting go... of the distance I place between me, and the rest of the world... letting go of the stubborness I posess with such vindication. I know it's ok to be wrong, and to hurt, and to let go of my opinions, and views.... let things slide.... cause perhaps, I'm defining myself with this bitterness...of all I gained and lost, all those years ago. Of all I missed out on, cause I walked away or was pushed.
On days that I feel like I'm already dead, or at a minimum, slowly dying.... I know...
I won't be defined by my depression, or my childhood. Or by myself. This is hell. The only thing left looking forward to, is life, and really living.