This sounds so abstract. :p
At the beginning of the summer, I lost my mom. With that, a strange blanket of security deteriorated.
I lost my favorite pet in my entire life. My eclectus, who I thought I would have until I was old and gray. He died, quite ironically, by the only living thing I cared about more.
But then, I would lose him too. After losing my job, my love would soon follow. I would lose the right to love him. This would be foreshadowed by the loss of the light of my love. The "I love you's" forced, the continual rejection of his father's offer to help us go to Las Vegas for a weekend. My twenty-first birthday passed, and we never went. Something slipped away. He, too, followed in my mother's footsteps, in my deceased pet's footsteps, becoming an empty shell that stared at me mockingly as I shivered in the depths of solitude. No words could take away those shadows of loneliness. No apologies, no reassurances. I'd long gotten past those. I wanted touch, and that, that was the one thing, that couldn't be given.
The spiral continued downward. My grades declined. He conveniently decided he wanted some other woman from the internet, that he conveniently met two days after letting go of me, right before the lectures began for the final units of my classes. I thought the three week cushion might save me from the finals, that'd I'd just pick up the slack. What a joke. In my process to reach out to other human beings after crawling painfully from the depths of solitude, I shrugged off school. School is meant for people that have faith in the future. I have no faith. I have no faith in God, in the future, or even in other people.
I have, in contrast, grown more faith in myself. I know my weaknesses. I know if I cry, I will want to collapse onto someone else and weep of my woes. People tell me its okay to cry, but I cannot cry alone. It rips me apart, makes the pain worse. I've learned to swallow my tears. Oh, what I would give to just cry on someone. Part of being with my past love though, was that, too, was forbidden. If I cried on him, he would wrinkle his face in disgust to the puddle of tears and the less-than-attractive wet spots I would leave on his clothes. Like everything else, it was a burden.
So, I've learned, "Don't cry." I mean, I do, but not as much as I'd like to. Many, many times throughout the day, tears surface to the rim of my eyes, and I have grown the willpower to reply to them, "Stop."
I've also know I need other people. I have traded in my fear for strength. I have no problems meeting people that I've never met before. Just like how not crying could be seen as a bad thing, my social skills have developed their own sins. I keep my heart shut. I don't want to be hurt. The faith I placed in my mom, in my pet, in my lost love, is faith that has been shut so far down into my soul, I'm not sure if I could give it to another creature again. This isn't to say I don't want to love. It's just, I don't know if I will ever love so deeply.
The next thing I will lose will be my passion for the holidays. Christmas used to mean to much to me. I dread it, like a forboding plague rolling across distant hills towards me with no way to make it stop. There will be no laughter at Christmas. It will be... just another day. In August, I had fantansized about how John and I would discuss the vacation his dad was offering to us for the following year as Christmas came to its end. Now, though, I discuss nothing. Sometimes I muse of Jeremy getting me a plane ticket to visit him on Christmas day, so I can spend time with his family, but that feels so imposing.
Rather than be swept away by what seems like a never-ending current of loss and pain, I reach out quite desperately to the good things I have. I have wonderful friends, people that would come to me if I really needed them, regardless of the time (Oh, how my lost love would have never left work early or woken up in the middle of the night so I may have someone to give me a hug and tell me all would be well!) -- friends that have done things for me that I forgot human beings could do because the person I loved the most couldn't do it. I have a place to stay, even if I shall never get to call it home (every time it starts to feel like home, some horrible comment comes from his mouth that makes me feel like I am a thorn growing out of his home tree). I have another young man that seems head over heels for me, despite how closed off I am emotionally. I'm in school, even if my collapsing GPA will not pull me through. I have talents other people admire. I was born a beautiful human being (even if I look at all the other women in the world and shrink), and if only I can lift my eyes to meet the eyes of others instead of counting the cracks in the ground, people will see me for the wonderful person I am capable of being.
This sounds so tragic, but it's really more lethargy than depression. Like, I can smile, and I can say, "I had a lot of fun yesterday." When I look at my life as a whole picture, I am ridden with pain and disgust. When I live day by day, not thinking about the picture that has been painted, I am happy. It's for this reason, that I've mostly given up on dreaming and the future. It's not that I don't want a good future or anything like that -- you have it all wrong. I also don't think the future is full of misfortune. All bad things are counteracted by good things in one way or another. It's just, right here, in the now, I am so beyond overwhelmed and exhausted from all the loss I've suffered, I am trying to lift myself back up on my feet with whatever joy I can find in the present.
I know the future will go well. I don't know where it'll go, or how it'll happen, but there is no perfect life. This is no right life. There is no way it has to be. There is no way it will be nothing but the bad. Whatever happens, it will happen, and I will live because no matter what, there's always something good to live for. I'm just so tired of aiming so high, up in the heavens, where a God I can hardly look at exists.
I lost my favorite pet in my entire life. My eclectus, who I thought I would have until I was old and gray. He died, quite ironically, by the only living thing I cared about more.
But then, I would lose him too. After losing my job, my love would soon follow. I would lose the right to love him. This would be foreshadowed by the loss of the light of my love. The "I love you's" forced, the continual rejection of his father's offer to help us go to Las Vegas for a weekend. My twenty-first birthday passed, and we never went. Something slipped away. He, too, followed in my mother's footsteps, in my deceased pet's footsteps, becoming an empty shell that stared at me mockingly as I shivered in the depths of solitude. No words could take away those shadows of loneliness. No apologies, no reassurances. I'd long gotten past those. I wanted touch, and that, that was the one thing, that couldn't be given.
The spiral continued downward. My grades declined. He conveniently decided he wanted some other woman from the internet, that he conveniently met two days after letting go of me, right before the lectures began for the final units of my classes. I thought the three week cushion might save me from the finals, that'd I'd just pick up the slack. What a joke. In my process to reach out to other human beings after crawling painfully from the depths of solitude, I shrugged off school. School is meant for people that have faith in the future. I have no faith. I have no faith in God, in the future, or even in other people.
I have, in contrast, grown more faith in myself. I know my weaknesses. I know if I cry, I will want to collapse onto someone else and weep of my woes. People tell me its okay to cry, but I cannot cry alone. It rips me apart, makes the pain worse. I've learned to swallow my tears. Oh, what I would give to just cry on someone. Part of being with my past love though, was that, too, was forbidden. If I cried on him, he would wrinkle his face in disgust to the puddle of tears and the less-than-attractive wet spots I would leave on his clothes. Like everything else, it was a burden.
So, I've learned, "Don't cry." I mean, I do, but not as much as I'd like to. Many, many times throughout the day, tears surface to the rim of my eyes, and I have grown the willpower to reply to them, "Stop."
I've also know I need other people. I have traded in my fear for strength. I have no problems meeting people that I've never met before. Just like how not crying could be seen as a bad thing, my social skills have developed their own sins. I keep my heart shut. I don't want to be hurt. The faith I placed in my mom, in my pet, in my lost love, is faith that has been shut so far down into my soul, I'm not sure if I could give it to another creature again. This isn't to say I don't want to love. It's just, I don't know if I will ever love so deeply.
The next thing I will lose will be my passion for the holidays. Christmas used to mean to much to me. I dread it, like a forboding plague rolling across distant hills towards me with no way to make it stop. There will be no laughter at Christmas. It will be... just another day. In August, I had fantansized about how John and I would discuss the vacation his dad was offering to us for the following year as Christmas came to its end. Now, though, I discuss nothing. Sometimes I muse of Jeremy getting me a plane ticket to visit him on Christmas day, so I can spend time with his family, but that feels so imposing.
Rather than be swept away by what seems like a never-ending current of loss and pain, I reach out quite desperately to the good things I have. I have wonderful friends, people that would come to me if I really needed them, regardless of the time (Oh, how my lost love would have never left work early or woken up in the middle of the night so I may have someone to give me a hug and tell me all would be well!) -- friends that have done things for me that I forgot human beings could do because the person I loved the most couldn't do it. I have a place to stay, even if I shall never get to call it home (every time it starts to feel like home, some horrible comment comes from his mouth that makes me feel like I am a thorn growing out of his home tree). I have another young man that seems head over heels for me, despite how closed off I am emotionally. I'm in school, even if my collapsing GPA will not pull me through. I have talents other people admire. I was born a beautiful human being (even if I look at all the other women in the world and shrink), and if only I can lift my eyes to meet the eyes of others instead of counting the cracks in the ground, people will see me for the wonderful person I am capable of being.
This sounds so tragic, but it's really more lethargy than depression. Like, I can smile, and I can say, "I had a lot of fun yesterday." When I look at my life as a whole picture, I am ridden with pain and disgust. When I live day by day, not thinking about the picture that has been painted, I am happy. It's for this reason, that I've mostly given up on dreaming and the future. It's not that I don't want a good future or anything like that -- you have it all wrong. I also don't think the future is full of misfortune. All bad things are counteracted by good things in one way or another. It's just, right here, in the now, I am so beyond overwhelmed and exhausted from all the loss I've suffered, I am trying to lift myself back up on my feet with whatever joy I can find in the present.
I know the future will go well. I don't know where it'll go, or how it'll happen, but there is no perfect life. This is no right life. There is no way it has to be. There is no way it will be nothing but the bad. Whatever happens, it will happen, and I will live because no matter what, there's always something good to live for. I'm just so tired of aiming so high, up in the heavens, where a God I can hardly look at exists.