Blog

Posted in Completely Random!!

intrusive thoughts

i’m going to super glue my fingers together to see how much strength it takes to pull them back apart.

i’m going to scream into the void to see if anyone will scream back at me, or just realise it was me screaming at myself from the start.

oof. angst. that’s why you should use glue. stick those pieces of a mind back together, ssshhhtk! and then hold them in place for hours. when you let go, they can hold themselves together, but just barely. hold them carefully.

(or drop them!)

nobody is listening. what does it mean to listen? asking questions, right? if you want someone to listen but they aren’t allowed to ask questions, do you even want them to listen? or is it only that you want someone to understand.

i don’t think that’s it, but you can’t think of something better at this point, can you?

shhhh they’re not supposed to know.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Sleepless Nights, Writing Bits

they told me there was nothing past death, and that i should go back.

which is ridiculous now that i think about it. i had just taken the effort to die, and now they were telling me ‘nothing exists beyond the void of the life you knew’; yet their very existence defied their own claims. who knows who or what they were, but they clearly didnt want me there, and so they sent me back. what kind of place we were in, i don’t remember – maybe a room, maybe an empty plain – but somewhere filled with a white fog beyond which you could see nothing.

no, maybe that was it. maybe it was all nothing except for them.

rather than expose their disinformation by pointing out the fact of their presence, i only felt a dull disappointment at the time. they faded from view as time rewound (even though time wasn’t supposed to exist there. curious). as the memories return of that place, surely one of them was God? and He had said that He did not want me.

i found myself back on earth. a younger version of myself might have found the void beyond death a great reason to die, but now with firm confirmation of the absence of any kind of afterlife, the existence of life became much more beautiful and endearing. it would be the only thing i would experience, and that made it all the more precious.

dream logic is something that will ever elude us.

Posted in Writing, Writing Bits

if we don’t survive the night,

i’m glad these last moments are at least spent with you. i’m glad it’s under this godforsaken sky, littered with stars unnamed as we once were. though who’s to say if they too are named; it could be we just don’t know what to call them by yet. we’ll know soon enough.

i’m glad this can be with fresh air in our lungs. with the soft grass beneath us, ready to embrace these receptacles our souls will no longer need as they might birth new life as we move on. will we meet in another life? even if not, a fragment of you will always remain wedged in between the old crevices of my innermost being. one day it might reach out in some invisible force to pull us together again gently and spark a reminder of what we once had, but until then, echoes of a connection stronger than death will still ring in the backs of our consciousness.

i’m glad it’s for a cause like this. one where we calculated the risks and counted this a war worthy of every ounce of our beings. the death of a life fully lived cannot be sad; mourned, yes, but with the knowledge of what was gained, it cannot be grieved for long.

if we don’t survive the night,

i cannot help but be glad

these last moments

at least

have been spent

with you.

Posted in Writing, Writing Bits

when the voice tells you the visions can be real if you extinguish your own light,

it’s lying. i know the feeling: a yellow sheet begins to fog over the room as a deepset sorrow takes hold in in the innermost parts of your soul. fantasies begin to swim over your eyes — you may as well be drifting between multiple worlds in which any reality could easily be the real one, and the only thread that keeps you tied to this ground is the one with the little ba-bump, ba-bumps of a steady rhythm that you sometimes take for granted at this point.

‘why can’t everyone be happy?’

it reminds you of how lonely you feel because there’s no one to talk to; not anyone real at least. today doesn’t feel real anymore either, even if you may have been experiencing it only minutes ago with someone else. now that that person’s gone, you wonder if it was a dream, or if this is the dream, and if you can just wake yourself up with that hard enough tug that things will somehow turn out to be the way that they feel they’re supposed to be.

‘you should be happy too.’

the visions are far more beautiful than they should be, and are here just beyond your fingertips. if only, whispers the voice, and its fingers begin to reach out to you; but this is why i’m telling you it’s lying. the pictures it shows aren’t real, aren’t instances you can grasp if you just hold your breath for long enough. the door it promises is not as seamless as it’d have you think, and the visions of utopia that you see never waited that close by — not that effortlessly, not without time or energy. it would have you lying on the floor alone, but just wait; wait, you know what lies beyond.

Posted in Writing Bits

self-hatred

the words were just in my mouth,

but something just snatched them away so that

all the screaming

and the pointing fingers

and the crying

and the self-hatred

stop suddenly and leave me with nothing.

the abrupt darkness is a blissful emptiness.

then your words echo back with a lag after you stop to think,

and all that comes to mind is a bitter resentment that

apparently has lasted over

four years now;

not toward you

maybe toward you

but mostly toward someone who was close to everyone

except me when i needed Him most.

and the voices are back.

and i hate them all.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Sleepless Nights

the danger of love

is that it’s the most vulnerable yet comforting state of existence.

To love means investing time and energy into someone who may or may not reciprocate. It means taking a step forward even when you’re not sure how someone will react. It means getting hurt because you care, and it means being willing to overlook the imperfections of another human who will inevitably let you down.

To be loved means being known, and being known means being vulnerable. It involves tangling up with other people — letting them in on the mess inside that might cause them to draw away and confirm your suspicion that you’re unworthy of love.

To love is to risk.

And yet… we need it so desperately.

It’s funky to need something so badly and yet be so deathly afraid of it as well. To be loved is to risk. To love is to risk.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Writing, Writing Bits

the angst from the conversation we just tried to have.

static begins to play in the silence in which you expect an answer. an answer won’t be given; i’ve forgotten the question at this point, and the thoughts have been fleeing from my head. maybe they’re trying to protect me by keeping it blank. is it blank? no, there’s a song playing in the background, and the voices have been changing out in fragments like there are five people inside talking at once. what are they talking about, i wonder. the blood pounds in my head. what started as a bit of tiredness has evolved into the beginnings of what i know to be a battering headache. i put a cold hand to my warm forehead.

corona, says one thought ironically.

i think i was happy yesterday. i think i was even happy today, but then it’s not my happiness anymore. it’s a stranger’s, and warm liquids are threatening to spill out. my eyes. my nose. my head just banged against the table. what do i even feel right now.

uh. nothing anymore. the tissues are warm on my desk and there’s a stain on my jeans.

shit.

f- f- f- f- f- a word repeats in my head until i don’t remember what it means. i think my fingers aren’t working anymore. the feelings are gone and instead of a sniveling pity party inside, there’s just a cold corridor filled with spiderwebs. is this body mine? i don’t think so. there are even soundwaves beating against my eardrums that should maybe make something happen inside. it used to sometimes. the tears are long gone now though, and my throat didn’t even get to scream.

huh. hello?

i never liked you.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Sleepless Nights

4:39am thoughts

halla, it is currently — yes, as you guessed it — four in the morning, yet here I am for some inexplicable reason.

the inexplicable reason is my arms are hurting. Not sure why. The only inexplicable part is why they’re hurting.

In any case, it’s time to start an early-morning rambling before I inevitably go back to sleep and wake up regretting this several hours later. Who knew arm pain could keep you up? I did before actually but I forgot. Fun reminders.

Anyway, what is up. I was sorting out some crap in my room yesterday, and I came across a couple old letters that an adult friend ‘sent’ nine-year-old me to humour me at a time when I put up little cardboard mailboxes on every family member’s door in the house. What a champ. Those letters are epic and I will keep them. Anyway, I didn’t want to keep them in the little box they were in anymore, so I decided to stick them in one of my old journals — my first journal, actually, which I’d originally started for some kind of project my mom made us do, then just continued afterward.

The ramblings of a 9-year-old are hilarious; I journaled quite literally and just explained everything that happened in a day. My mom was the one who made us kids start it for some reason, so she read through them like they were some kind of homework assignment (which in a way they kind of were). At one point I started an entry with, ‘My mom said I don’t have to write every detail.’

I guess my mom didn’t want to read what I ate for breakfast every morning, or about how I ate said breakfast with my sister under the dining table because it was fun.

A few years ago I wrote a mandatory post on why I personally find journaling fun, but one thing I’m pretty sure I left out was the bit where you get to read your old journals to see how you’ve grown or changed over the years. Of course, most of the information in my very first journal isn’t exactly insightful or deep, but it does give a glimpse into the mind of a kid and how they process things. Reading through some of my journal entries from a couple years ago reveals things like just how dark of a place I was in without realising it. Some entries from when I was a sixteen-year-old were surprisingly mature and thoughtful. (Imagine having depth of thought nowadays.) In a way, reading past journals is like meeting your past self to see what you think of them now. Is it always fun? No. My journals are full of random crap and details that are no longer important to me now, but sometimes you can find interesting tidbits amongst the past brain throw-up.

Huh. I knew this post would end up focusing on one thing. Good thing it usually does.

Well, that’s my 4am self’s thoughts on journaling in light of reading some old journal entries. My arms still hurt, but maybe exhaustion will trump the pain.