Monday, October 25, 2010

Jekyll and Hyde.

I'm significantly happier than I used to be, but I can't help but cry when I'm alone late at night.
It was never supposed to be like this. None of it. But here I am, living it.
Late nights with my friends are the easy nights. I come home happy and too tired to do anything but crawl in bed and sleep so deeply my dreams get crazy. But now that I'm alone, only a few of my nights are like that and I have to succumb to how I got left behind and how I shouldn't have been. I become at home with the mess of my room, the clutter and chaos comforting. It's just another one of my mechanisms to materialize my absolute and utter helpless feeling.
I know I'm really sick. I've accepted that. Once I got past all the bullshit and came down to it and I saw what was really underneath my petty problems, I got it. It's not even that I'm embarrassed about it. I have great friends. They would support me. It's more that I don't want to become another teenager drug induced to feel happy again. It'd be like a submission. Like I'd be all those whiny brats who cry because their parents don't get them.
It's not that I want to be happy all the time; I don't. I just want a little control back. To be able to handle things and be able to work at things. And it almost makes me want to get some freaking help. But then my mind spins and I think who the hell would help me for free? Who would be able to understand why I can't throw that away or why I can't get out of bed?
I hate looking in the mirror. Not only because I hate the outside but because the outside is just an outcome of the psycho on the inside. Like Jekyll and Hyde, but the monster is winning. Always.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

A poem.

A man once drowned in a fountain of angels.

People sat and watched under a sea
of black and light.
An angel was once caged and chained by a man.
God slept on over a sea
of death and sorrow.
And all the while,
a single lark sang a deep and hopeful tune.
Five branches crossed over an ancient crypt.
May all who seek find empty wells.
For the man with the blood of the Angel,
who soars into the heavens
and lights like the sun,
may he find the hope he seeks.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

To a Robert Burns

The best laid plans of mice and men go often awry.
I backward cast my eye on prospects dear.
And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear.

Just once I'd like a plan to actually work. I spend way too much of my life making plans and never going through with them or having them fall apart. But then, such great poetry wouldn't be written.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Let's be honest.

I won't wear my retainer every night. Hardly once a month even. I can't always get up to take my contacts out before bed. I floss once a week. I can't not Facebook stalk and I can't always be in the mood. As much as I want to, I can't bring myself to go buy more hair dye to cover the blonde peeking through and I don't have time for a trim every two weeks. Despite good intentions I tan once a month and work out even less. I cry when I say I don't, which is nearly every time. And let's not even bring up homework. For all the things I wish I could do, I can't even do what I need to. Everyone knows flossing is important for oral health and wearing my contacts to bed has been really bad for my eyes according to the eye doctor. Yet I don't. I am a bit lazy. I will admit that. But maybe I'm just so set on being who I am I won't change. Maybe that's why I can't move on because even though I know I have changed and everyone else has, I refuse to believe things can't be the same. Where's the wake up call?

I just learned what some of these keys do. Look at this! [ ] \ { }| ^ ~ `§ σ ô