Listen to Jesus, Jimmy
I clapped my hands until they felt completely raw.
I forgive MacIvor for everything Cryptogram wasn't. I also forgive him and the director for stealing my ideas. (Okay, they didn't literally, but man do I ever want to put on a show like this.)
Just saw Daniel MacIvor's Inside, and it's freaking perfect. Just. Perfect.
It said everything I'm going through in this time of my life and expressed all the things I hope for.
Or at least, that's how my physical senses are communicating it to my brain, which is all in a tizzy.
I want to write. I want to write I want to write I want to write. I want to tame myself.
I want to ditch the child in me and just get my soul into text. I want to throw away the habits and concentrate on what I WANT.
I want to start. Please. I say please to my other self, because I am so fucking divided and I yell at myself and I scream at myself and I tell myself to MOVE and the other self whines and drags his feet and ruins me. Please. Please let's go. Please let's start. Please let's DO IT. No. No. No. No. I want to stay. I want to stay here. I want to stay at the computer. I want to keep clicking, keep reading, keep watching, keep playing.
Please. No. Please. No. Please. No.
SHUT UP. BOTH OF YOU.
Shut up to me.
What's going to happen in April? In May. In the summer.
I'm going to go back to the summer job but as what? Doing what?
I want to start, please. Please. I'm ready to move on. I want to move on so fucking bad. I want to move on from what it was like at the school. All the schools. All the things behind me.
But all I can is plead to a mind that doesn't want to listen. So I force it to. But the ways that I try to convince it are always so forceful.
I know I have the potential to love myself, but I'm so goddamn stubborn, aren't I? I've always been. And I'm willful and passionate and everything that comes with that. I never did get the brat beaten out of me.
I never got anything beaten out of me but my innocence, I suppose. England was where I got my hardest knocks, and there was no one to shield me. Now, all these people try to help me now, hold me up, push me through the race, but where were they when I needed them? When I needed those words of kindness. When that little boy felt lost and alone on a concrete playground with a grey sky above him, wishing he could be punished by the adults so he could get away from those other children.
Where were they when I felt so betrayed in my first year of high school, so confused and terrified by the world that I shut it out and fell so, so far behind?
But I know where they were when I was trying my first year of post-secondary education. They were behind me, and beside me, and I could feel them, but my mind was in too much chaos to reach out. I still remember screaming in that forest with my mom, screaming, unable to stop screaming to listen to her. To listen to anyone.
All the mistakes I've made. Everything said that can't be unsaid.
All those I've hurt, and those who have hurt me.
All the things I could do.
Rest, now. Walk, and think, and return, and sleep.
(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)
I forgive MacIvor for everything Cryptogram wasn't. I also forgive him and the director for stealing my ideas. (Okay, they didn't literally, but man do I ever want to put on a show like this.)
Just saw Daniel MacIvor's Inside, and it's freaking perfect. Just. Perfect.
It said everything I'm going through in this time of my life and expressed all the things I hope for.
Or at least, that's how my physical senses are communicating it to my brain, which is all in a tizzy.
I want to write. I want to write I want to write I want to write. I want to tame myself.
I want to ditch the child in me and just get my soul into text. I want to throw away the habits and concentrate on what I WANT.
I want to start. Please. I say please to my other self, because I am so fucking divided and I yell at myself and I scream at myself and I tell myself to MOVE and the other self whines and drags his feet and ruins me. Please. Please let's go. Please let's start. Please let's DO IT. No. No. No. No. I want to stay. I want to stay here. I want to stay at the computer. I want to keep clicking, keep reading, keep watching, keep playing.
Please. No. Please. No. Please. No.
SHUT UP. BOTH OF YOU.
Shut up to me.
What's going to happen in April? In May. In the summer.
I'm going to go back to the summer job but as what? Doing what?
I want to start, please. Please. I'm ready to move on. I want to move on so fucking bad. I want to move on from what it was like at the school. All the schools. All the things behind me.
But all I can is plead to a mind that doesn't want to listen. So I force it to. But the ways that I try to convince it are always so forceful.
I know I have the potential to love myself, but I'm so goddamn stubborn, aren't I? I've always been. And I'm willful and passionate and everything that comes with that. I never did get the brat beaten out of me.
I never got anything beaten out of me but my innocence, I suppose. England was where I got my hardest knocks, and there was no one to shield me. Now, all these people try to help me now, hold me up, push me through the race, but where were they when I needed them? When I needed those words of kindness. When that little boy felt lost and alone on a concrete playground with a grey sky above him, wishing he could be punished by the adults so he could get away from those other children.
Where were they when I felt so betrayed in my first year of high school, so confused and terrified by the world that I shut it out and fell so, so far behind?
But I know where they were when I was trying my first year of post-secondary education. They were behind me, and beside me, and I could feel them, but my mind was in too much chaos to reach out. I still remember screaming in that forest with my mom, screaming, unable to stop screaming to listen to her. To listen to anyone.
All the mistakes I've made. Everything said that can't be unsaid.
All those I've hurt, and those who have hurt me.
All the things I could do.
Rest, now. Walk, and think, and return, and sleep.
(This entry was originally posted here, from my Dreamwidth account. LJ-cut to spare my f-list; feel free to comment there with your LJ account via OpenID!)