I was standing in a grass field; my thin white dress rippling with the wind and tickling my knees. The surrounding buildings dusted everything in a heavy orange glow with their pulsating lights. My plain brown hair fell onto my shoulders; I could feel its ends sliding across my back while a perplexing scene played out in front of me, the characters acting so naturally and without the slightest of hesitations as if I was invisible. A man and woman standing together, softly trembling and entwined with one another, whispering nothings into each other's ears. There he was. There he was with another girl, his hands softly gripping hers. His lips pressed onto her forehead. And that's when the panic struck. Every impulse in my body told me to run. I couldn't breathe. Without warning and beyond my control, my diaphragm expanded and air noisily rushed into my lungs. He noticed. They noticed. And I took off. Suddenly the orange glow from the buildings was gone and the field was dark. Green and black speeding past, broken up occasionally with my small pallid hands clenched into fists and pumping at my sides with each stride. All I remember is the hysteria. The running and sobbing and the quick shallow breaths. I remember feeling a warm, strong hand make its way around my arm and slow me down. I remember words. I remember words and the tone of it all and I felt like I was reliving every single disappointment I've ever had. My chest felt like it was going to collapse and my heart like it was going to suddenly stop beating. And all I knew was that I had to keep running or the reality of it would catch up with me, grab hold, sink into my bones and break me from the inside out.

I woke up gasping for air and clutching at my chest.

This is a sick joke.
Because it can't be what it feels like. It just can't. 

The fire in your heart is out.

I don't even want a boyfriend. I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time, and thinks I'm the best person in the world, and wants to have sex with only me.

I had the most bizarre dream last night. I was walking down 12th avenue on the way to get a coffee. A lady was biking along the road, a wire trailer fastened to the back full of cans, a wicker basket on the front full of flowers.  She wore layer upon layer of tattered cloth, her hair a matted mess underneath her oversized hat. Her face was adorned with well-earned lines and black charcoal. I remember watching her pedal for some time until she stopped her bicycle in the middle of traffic, swung her leg over, got off, and lay down right in the middle of the street. She lay down and outstretched her arms to the heavens as if to accept her inescapable fortune. Whether or not she intended to meet with fate at that exact second, or whether she was trying to prove a point remains a mystery to me. Her dull grey eyes gave not even the slightest indication. She looked neither sad nor manic and unhinged. If anything she looked, to a certain extent, determined. The two furry caterpillars above her eyes inched stubbornly closer to each other in a look of resolution.  But at that point an SUV came barreling towards her. It began to slow, realizing as it drew nearer what the large black mass in the middle of the road was, but then, as if to prove its own point, ran over her. Slowly. Agonizingly. Front wheel, then back. I covered my ears in anticipation of a bone-chilling wail, but there was none. Everything was silent. The world was silent.

I woke up and it was as if I was taking my first breath of air as an infant, or maybe like I had spent my entire life underwater and I was just relearning how to use my lungs. I felt very confused and I remember thinking "oh that's right, I'm alive". And then I remember thinking what a strange feeling it was to have forgotten this very real, very obvious, very inescapable fact. 

Sleep inertia followed me around most of the day. I lost huge chunks of time; one minute it was 10 am, and the next minute it was late into the afternoon and I was still sitting in the exact same position.

I need a better distraction. Or maybe someone to talk to.

I gave my everything, for all the wrong things.

Today I am a slave to my anxiety. 

And I can't say I'm sorry for loving you and hating myself.

Quoi qu'il advienne.

I am breathing. I am breathing and this is highly unusual because I am also dreaming; and in dreams you are not normally so hyper aware. But there I am, standing under the soft white glow of the streetlamp, surveying my chest as it rises and falls while a thick, shapeless smoke expels from my mouth. I feel my lungs inflate but I also see them inflate as if a third eye has taken residency at the apex of my diaphragm. Molecules of oxygen and carbon dioxide exchange across my capillaries and the thin membrane of my alveoli. I am watching a million of my physiological functions take place all at once; DNA replicating, RNA translating, heart pumping, blood circulating, neurons firing. I am everywhere but nowhere in particular. I am very small, like an atom, but I am large enough to see the entire picture too. I am so large I extend outwards into the real world and I watch myself sleep. 

---

Today I woke up ready to be bad-tempered and full of self-commiseration. My alarm went off at 5:15 AM and I wanted to throw it across the room and shout obscenities at it until someone heard my call and turned back time so I could get, "just another hour even!". My stomach was so angry at me; the stress of this thing and that, and the stress of not eating, and the stress of wondering why I wasn't eating. It growled loudly at me but I had no appetite to appease it so I simply washed the sleep out of my eyes and dressed for work. I placed my feet in my shoes one at a time, muttering under my breath, furrowing my brow, pleading with my stomach: "if you would just settle down, maybe I could feed you!".  I walked out of my house; it was cold and it was dark and, "why should the sun get to sleep in while I can't?" I cursed the empty streets and dark windows and I cursed the sun for being asleep. "Why should anyone get to sleep in while I can't?" When I arrived at work I was so driven with an all-encompassing rage that I threw myself into my tasks with a vigor unrivalled by that of my coworkers; past and present. I fed the dogs, swept, mopped, let them outside. I greeted each customer with a smile the likes of which you have never seen on someone harbouring such emotions. I made sure no mistakes were made. Applications were filed, emails were answered, dishes and clothes and dog paws were washed. I ran up and downstairs, scrubbing whatever there was to scrub while on the phone and petting three canines at once. I rescued an Australian Shepard from what could have been it's very demise and in doing so received the brunt of it's teeth on my cheek. I didn't even flinch. I bled. Surrounded by howling dogs and an icy breeze, I stood in the warehouse bleeding; wearing my wound and my blood and my heartbreak and all of my anger like a badge that I earned from a hard-fought battle. I was the only human soul in that building and I felt so alive and liberated; finally the walls came crumbling down and took all of my composure with them. I turned the music up and I howled. I howled with my face still bleeding and my heart still broken and my stomach still twisted. I howled until all the dogs in that room joined in chorus. I howled until the noise rolled from floor to ceiling, filled every inch, and after reaching every cavity it could reach, spilled onto the surrounding blocks. I howled until we achieved a frequency that trembled through every cell in my body; pulsed through my flesh like an artificial heartbeat. The hair of my arms stood on end. I howled until the vibrations pressed their way into the backs of my eyelids and the palms of my hands. I howled until all the stale air was gone from my lungs.

Sometimes I feel like my life is so ridiculous, there really isn't anything to do but laugh. 

And so I did. I laughed away all the anger. I laughed away the throbbing heat in my face and the ringing in my ears. I laughed away the knots in my stomach. I laughed until I cried and what a sight that would have been; one lonely girl amidst a pack of domesticated beasts, hysterically sobbing and laughing simultaneously with her face buried in their fur.

Maybe I am broken. Maybe the frenzies and the badges and the howling and the inappropriate laughter are activities reserved for broken girls. But there is something so hilarious, and so unlimited, about being me. Broken or not, I get by just fine on my own. 

A woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd; but a woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one's ever been before. 

The question fits the question mark

I dreamt of nothing. I lay on my back, my eyelids wide open and fixed on the ceiling, my stomach twisting, weaving itself into thick knots. Every night it's the same; the emotional stress presents itself as a real and tangible discomfort in the pit of my abdomen and at the bridge of my nose. When sleep finally comes and offers it's reprieve from the physical manifestation of my anxiety, it torments me instead with uneasy dreams of senescence, of ashen and inhospitable wastelands, of ruin. Worst of all are those dreams of pleasant memories that lure me into false comfort and make my heart sink that much deeper upon awakening. I found consciousness before the light of day and opened my eyes one at a time to blearily face a reality I have been trying my best to escape. I am greeted with yet another overcast day and the same thick knots in my gut.

I kicked off the blankets, regretting not wearing clothes to bed while my body shivered and nearly sent me back under the covers. Pressing myself to keep moving (always to keep moving), I got out of bed, threw whatever dirty clothes lay strewn about my room onto my body, and hurried into the kitchen.  My body physically rejected the thought of consuming solid food for the third day in a row, so I hastily poured juice down my throat, brushed my teeth, and left my house.

Under the pressure of the world's merciless and disparaging stare, the thin veil of composure I conceal myself with threatened to come undone. A loud and marked hunger bubbled underneath the surface, and it was all I could do not to scream and cry and accuse the world of it's cruelty and unfairness right there on the 99 B-Line. 

I spent the rest of the day with my face hidden behind my computer and my lips pressed firmly in an expressionless gaze. I did not trust my mouth to keep quiet my disquiet, and had I opened it, the whole class would have surely heard the roaring coming from my insides.

Trust me, I feel as pathetic as I am sure I seem.
But perhaps it was foolish of me to think we could speak freely so soon. I know this man not as a friend, but as a lover. We were nothing and then we were something and maybe now, in the absence of lines, I have no idea where to tread. 

This will run its course. I just have to let it somehow.

A thousand lies, you tell yourself; that no one ever loved you right

Dark Side of Me

I was running. At first my legs carried me fast and far; over pavement, through deserted, narrow streets, buildings passing by as indistinct but uninterrupted panels of gray, ready to bury me under their heaviness like the sides of a coffin. Something inside of me, some bloodthirsty savage began taking hold of my body and, threatening to paralyze me in retribution for my sins, grew like a shadow at sunset. I willed my legs to accelerate, to run faster towards a destination, any destination, where I could escape from the suffocating encumbrance of concrete and steel rising up around me; and the monster rising up inside me. 

I ran for quite some time before I realized it was snowing. Thick white flakes fell down around me, settling in my hair and climbing up around me as tall, exaggerated drifts. Like Atlas and his celestial sphere, I carried the city's desolation on my shoulders; an unassuming emptiness, however ripe with it's own unyielding density that bore down on me and sent my feet crashing through the crystalline ice. It reached the height of my hips and I could no longer run at the force I had been. Slowing down, the blur of metal, concrete, and glass became clear and well-defined. The buildings became giants observing me with intent and disapproving eyes. An overwhelming urgency spread throughout me; my heart beat faster in an unavailing attempt to provide my limbs with the blood needed to get me out from under their gaze. 

The snow disappeared and my legs gave way. My eyes left my body and I saw myself slow down, my ankles gradually melting into the asphalt. Now without feet, my knees buckled and I was sent hurtling into the earth ahead of me, all the while my body parts slowly becoming indiscernible from one another, liquifying, and yet still trying to make ground. My frame unfurled; reduced to a puddle, my toes found themselves laying nearly a kilometer away from my head. I felt more removed from myself than ever, a thin stretch of water; my skin, muscles, blood vessels, bone exposed for men and giants alike to catch glimpse of and assign value to.

I could do nothing but watch as my illegible spill of flesh lost all worth.

This wall won't hold forever.

Your time has come, it's now or never.

Patterns

My heart feels heavy. The room feels loud. His words beat against the side of my head one syllable at a time. The air feels so thick I think I might choke on it. This isn't the first time I have sat across from a man while he tells me I'm not good enough, while the world blurs out of focus in a haze of soggy tears that slowly creep down my face and fall onto my knees. This isn't the first time I have given all of myself to somebody only to be led on and hurt by them. This isn't the first time I have doubted myself, hated myself, wondered if I will ever find love and if I'll deserve it when I do. But something about this time feels different. Something about this moment, sitting here beside him while the blurry world falls silent on my ears, watching his muted silhouette pull the plug...something about this moment feels different. As if every word of his uncertainty, all the context and subtext, compounds with the last. Years of heartbreak claw their way from their distant depths, capitalizing on my vulnerability, adding insult to injury; like squeezing the life out of a lemon onto newly opened wounds. And with each syllable, now ripping into me with savage teeth, the light inside me dims. 

Until he tells me to give up and the light goes out completely.
And so I do.

It was raining. I remember it so vividly; it dripped from his hair, each bead rolling down his cheek until it settled on the smile that played across his face. Tall concrete giants rose out of the thick mat of clouds sulking over the city in the night before us. His hand, wrapped around mine, felt safe and warm despite the dropping temperatures and biting sleet. Until my dreams caught up with reality and I dreamt of elderly women singing softly over the ocean; their white hair like a billowing fog dancing around their weathered faces. Their leathery hands reaching out and grabbing at my ankles; threatening to pull me out to sea where I would surely be consigned to oblivion. I dreamt my face deeply entrenched with grooves from years of furrowed brows and long forgotten laughter. I dreamt my skin a pallid grey, stark against the dark blue water reflecting the midnight sky; floating there alone, the last consoling note from the most unconventional of sirens, fading off into the distance. I dreamt of unbridled winds, imprisoning me in long and cruel arms. Rendering me so wholly immobile and helpless, that my muscles could do nothing but accept their fate one by one; my body hanging lifeless and limp. And completely emotionless.
------
This is not because I needed him to substantiate me in any way. This is not because I wasn't ok before he came along. This is not because I'm not ok on my own. This isn't necessarily because I was certain. This isn't because I was ready to call it quits and send out the invitations because I thought "that's it, I found him!";  three months is certainly not long enough to know that. My feelings were real, but maybe it's not about him at all. There is only so much that the body can take. There are only so many times the heart can be hurt until it just doesn't seem worth it to fight any more. I have given everything I have to give and then some. I have put myself out there time and time again. I have fallen more times than I can count; not once has there been anyone to catch me. But each time I have told myself that I deserve better, found my legs, and soldiered on with my head held high. Alone, but optimistic and empowered and marching the best I could. But this time is different.

This time it doesn't feel worth it to be me any more. 
And I don't think I am strong enough to be.

So I've given up. But not on him. I've given up on myself.
Can I go to sleep yet?

I can hear cars on the road. Mechanically they hurry past; crude and clumsy textures with no persistent beat. A wall of percussive sound with no distinct notes or melody. 

Today I awoke to find a rampart forged of mist and fog staring at me from across my backyard; inaudible, unmoving. Unwavering in its density and impinging on my world with its weight. The cars hurrying past. I stood, somewhat rigidly, staring into the grey void threatening to engulf me; my clothes wrinkled, my hair bedraggled and knotted from the uneasy dreams of the night before. Dishes lay heaped in the sink to my left, shoes stockpiled in a characteristically insouciant manner to my right. Disorderly as it may be, my near nano-scale, disaster of an apartment, provided refuge from the encroaching brume and rooted my body to the earth; my thoughts with it. Soberly I closed the door, retreated to my bedroom, and slunk under the covers. 

However sleep delivered no solace from my unease. Panic struck. My mind reeled. My limbs seized. My body lay there motionless; paralyzed and helpless while my anxiety cocooned me just as the fog did. I dreamt of babies. Of diving into icy lakes, legs tangled in seaweed, my lungs collapsing under the pressure of being suspended under hundreds of meters of glacial liquid. I dreamt of the prairies. Of being enveloped in tall grasses and endless blue sky. I dreamt of emptiness and solitude. Those same prairie grasses on fire, the heavens thick with smoke and ash, filling my nose with a suffocating redolence until finally I dreamt of nothing except an overwhelming darkness. 

When I awoke again the fog had lifted but I was met instead with a pounding between my eyes and a gentle nagging in the pit of my stomach. There is something so fragile about the way the blood pulses in my ears when I have run out of things to distract myself with. 

I promise to not let this get the best of me.

It's raining in Vancouver, surprise surprise.

I have been so extremely unmotivated lately. And exhausted. I suppose I could chalk this up to a lack of sleep; new relationships are exciting and between texting and visits and school and 6am starts at work, sleep has fallen by the wayside.

But even when I feel caught up and well rested my muscles struggle to simply hold my weight up. My eyes squint against the light of day. I wrestle to keep myself awake, let alone alert and functional. I can't bring myself to study. I don't run any more. I write relatively infrequently. Even climbing, which I used to be so passionate about (you'd be hard pressed to drag me out of the gym), seems too unfulfilling to haul myself out of bed for.

The things I used to seek solace in, don't provide solace any more.

I feel so disconnected from the world, but interestingly enough I feel even more disconnected from myself; a relatively new feeling I'm grappling to come to terms with. I'm losing sight of what I want longterm because I spend so much time focusing on those things that provide an immediate gain. I can't bring myself to do things I don't want to, even if it means ensuring a better future for myself, because I can't rationalize making myself miserable in the present.

This isn't to be confused with unhappiness; I'm beyond content with my life. But sometimes I feel like I'm just disguising this self-destructive path of laziness as a means of perpetuating that happiness. And the longer I stay on that path, the further away I get from that driven, successful woman I know I want to be. And the further away I get from her, the easier it becomes to justify doing absolutely nothing with my life until I fall into a downward spiral of self-loathing and disappointment.

I need to reevaluate my priorities.
I need to get my shit together.

Sometimes I write poetry.

I work my days for you, 'cause I love you. Boy, I don't want you, I need you. I can't see no other way. 

It's what you spit out and not what you mean,
And it's what you see, not what's meant to be seen,
The people you touch, not the ones that you don't,
The looks that you give, sometimes the ones that you won't.
It's the sun overhead, and the grass underneath,
That moves like wild fire beneath your bare feet,
It's the stars when they shine, not the darkness you feel,
The music of traffic, and the embraces you steal.
It's your bed in the dawn, in the arms of a man,
The way you keep going, when it's more than you can stand.
It's the breeze and the leaves when they turn green to red,
How the snow falls to the earth, when the leaves are all dead.
It's the way life is uncertain, and not when you're sure,
And the places you'll go, not the debt you'll incur.
It's the times that you waver, and the times you stay strong, 
It's the times that you're right, and even times that you're wrong. 
It's the silence that rings in the dead of the night, 
The blood in your ears that lets you know you're alright.
It's a whisper, a word, or a beckoning call, 
Or a song, saving grace, in the heat of it all.
A million reasons to smile, a million reasons to not,
But this one beautiful life is all that you've got.

Posts through the ages

I mean after two and a half years you begin to forget the whys and you're just left holding onto something because you'd feel empty without it. Maybe because it's really just easier to fall back into loving him then to move on and live life.  Maybe it's just reliable or the way I feel when he's around. It used to be the way his lips curled when he smiled and the depth in his eyes... it used to be butterflies but now it's just familiar. I think I'm just so caught up in the chase that... that it doesn't matter if the destination is wrong for me, my legs just keep telling me I've got to keep running.
-March 10th, 2007 (17 year old me was so smart)

There’s nothing to write about anymore.

A few years ago tell me to write something and I would pretentiously go on for hours about the colour of the sky. Now the sky is… it’s just the sky. It’s beautiful and it’s simple and when I look at it I feel at peace . That’s all. I don’t feel small in comparison or lonely or isolated when I see how vast and open it is. I don’t feel anything but contentment, a mere satisfaction that I’m alive and the sun still shines and the snow still glistens under it. 

Maybe the reason is because I've stopped caring. Things just happen. Good or bad, they happen and that’s it. I sit idly by while things materialize, transpire, flourish into greatness and wither away. Anything that happens in my life stops happening eventually, and everything's always in and out and changing too fast that I don't have the time to care about it all . So when great things die I don't feel an ounce of remorse because I do nothing to keep them around. At the same time I don’t feel resentment towards life when something bad happens…. Because just like good things, bad things stop happening too until it's all just nothing.

I do my best to stay at a distance, unattached, because everything always goes away whether I want it to or not. Boys will like me and eventually get bored. Friends will be made and unmade, or just drift away. People will pass in and out of my life and I’ve tried hard to hold on to the good ones but they all move on to bigger and better things. I’m so tired of trying to make things happen because if I want it to happen it won’t. So I accept things the way they are and let things just happen the way the world intends them to. 

So I’m content.

I’m content because in my world everything is just as it should be.

I’m friends with everyone I need to be. They’ll leave eventually, everyone does, but the space will be filled with something new.

Everything I need in life I have. I don't have a car, or an ipod, but I can live without material possessions because I know that true happiness isn’t defined by them. I’m not defined by them. What matters are my actions, the relationships and bonds I manage to form, and my attitude towards life. That’s all; things aren’t going to make my life better, I can make it better simply by believing everything is okay, or it will be when all is said and done.

And with all of that I know I'll always be content because the prairie grass still glimmers in summer’s sunlight, and the snow still floats down to earth with such grace and such certainty that the ground is where it needs to be, it’s hard to be anything but grateful of life.

I’m grateful to be alive.
So I don't need to write 10 pages on the colours of the sky, I can just look up at it... and feel certain that life is just simply beautiful.

-November 29th, 2006

If I didn't love him before, I know that I do now.
Is that weird? Is that weird to love someone that you barely know?
Can you love somebody who doesn't love you back?  Can you love somebody and not know why?
Why.  Why.
Why.  Why.
Why.  Why.
Why.  Why.

I want to be able to answer the question.  My feelings are real, I don't have to defend them.
I need to know why. . I need to make sense of whatever this is so I can get over him. And if I can't get over him... well I will graciously except defeat and tell him. "I... hey... I love you.. And I know that you will never return the feelings, and I know that I will never let mine go...  but I need you in my life. So please just... look at me? Look at me like you used to, Please!!"

He drives me crazy.
He won't even look at me.
I love him and he won't even look at me!
I LOVE HIM AND HE WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME!

-September 22nd 2006

I'm sort of a pig.
And my hooves hurt from dancing.

And I love you.
Still. I'll say it again.
I love you.
Because when I say it to the air... well at least I'm saying it.
And you'll love me back one day.
Well maybe not you. But somebody like you... and that will do.
For now I think I can be content alone. 

--September 19 2006

Ponder this and go inside, and when you think you've caught me at a lie, then come and tell me I'm not fit to prophecy.

I wish I were made of sugar plums.

--When did I write this and where did that first part come from? Oedipus Rex?

I was waiting for the 66 to suburbia when half inch plugs walk up attached to the earlobes of some tall dark and handsome. Then it hit me like a 200 lb bus battery.

I was really craving peanut butter and jam.
Potentially between two slices of rye bread, with a 60% chance of melted chocolate chips, and a definite possibility of a glass of skim milk.

Of course I haven't yet satisfied said craving, but oh well.

-July 22nd, 2005

There's fear, sure.
And there's unknowing... okay, I get that.

But there's life.
There's a blue sky outside of my door.
There's yogurt for lunch. There are birds chirping and children playing.
And there may not be a meaning we can see.
But it's beautiful.

There may be people dying. Or crying. Or prying, lying, denying. 
Or an insatiable hunger for power.
But then there's life.  

There may be misery.
And fear, and want, and loneliness.
But there's laughter, and love, and hope.
There is faith, imagination, drive and ambition.
Patience and consideration.
There is unity between man.
Maybe we haven't found a reason.
Or a purpose. But we have found life. And if after everything the world has been through people are still smiling? 
Well then it's worth it.

No voice is too small. Or weak.
And there is no such thing as just one person.
People are out there and living and if everybody thought that they were just one person....
There'd be a lot more people starving. Not just starving for food, but starving for something real.
Starving for somebody to just care about them. 
So there are bad feelings in the world, and bad thoughts, and bad actions, bad people with even worse intentions...
But there are good. There are good intentions, and good actions done by people who decided that life is worth living even if the end is unforseeable.
Balance is not unjust.

It's natural to be scared, disappointed, angry, or sad.
But you put yourself out there and you live.
If you expect the worst, it'll happen.
You'll be miserable from the moment you started preparing for it to the moment it happens and the dwelling moments that preceed it.
If you stay positive, and keep smiling, there's nothing stopping the worst from happening but at least you gave it your all and had a good run.
Then you get back on your horse and you keep smiling and keep staying positive... 
Things won't always go the way you want. Sometimes things may NEVER go the way you want.
But create something new for yourself and find the beauty in whatever happens.
Smile. Smile if only for the sake of smiling.
Because there may be no point in living... but there's even less point in dwelling about it.
--April 27th, 2007 (wiiiissse beyond my years)

July 19th, 2007

Calculate Precipitate 

There's something to be said about, 
the way some days words just run out. 
Then he tilts his head to face me when he has nothing left to think.
He said "there's something to be said about, 
the way you make me melt throughout.
You turn your head to face me, now there's nothing left to think"
Then I shudder.
And I stutter. Stomach Flutters. Words are muttered.
And yet silence still rings clear, rings in my ear, clear in my ear. Ring Ring.

There's something to be said all right, 
I wake up sweating in his arms at night. 
His eyes were pale, lifeless, deep, what more is there to dream?
I HEARD "there's something to be said, you're right, 
a smile will help me sleep tonight.
Your eyes are like a sunset, so what more am I to dream? 
Then I stagger.
And I stumble. Stomach rumbles. Words are mumbled.
And a pattern is mapped out, mapped in my doubt, out in my doubt. Out Out!

There's something to be thought or felt, 
that's rarely ever about how you melt, 
but more to do with comfort that I hadn't seen in years. 
He said "there's something, always, to be felt, 
your words, a touch, a moment dealt, 
but it's more to do with comfort in which I think that you deserve."

In that, I don't think I deserve

Our existence relies, 
On this thin region in the stratosphere,
Highly concentrated as it is...
With ozone. That's three oxygen atoms for every molecule.
And a holiday in Athens relies
On these wispy little clouds at the top of the troposphere
And oddly enough the water vapour and carbon dioxide 
That everybody seems to make such a fuss over.

Ocean circulation,
Is part of a much larger picture
A system of interconnected components
Working together for the stability of earth's system.
But you only feel the sea breeze,
Gently blowing on your face.
And that`s as good an answer as any.

The continents are moving
On average 1-15 cm/year
and will continue to move
Until they collide into each other
To form a new Pangea. And sometimes I wish I could be alive to see it all.

My life relies... my life relies
On you, this multi-cellular, heterotropic being
Highly concentrated as you are...
With love. Thats fifteen more heartbeats for every minute.
Thats my whole existence. That`s a reason.
That`s everything. Fifteen more heartbeats and a reason...
I may see the continents collide after all.
--October 20th, 2007

I am an analogy.

June bug.

Some months ago.

Someone came on the bus today who had no limbs. None. And so I am sitting there, riding the 99 B-Line to school, my bike strapped onto the front, feeling sorry for myself because the guy I like doesn’t like me back, and because I’m in a financial hole, and because I’ve gained ten pounds, and this guy, seemingly content and at peace with his fate, wheels onto the bus. And he doesn’t have any fucking limbs. At one point he was probably faced with the uncertainty of death. He probably clung to every fiber of his being, hoping that whatever took his limbs didn’t take his life. He persevered. And now, that smile drawn across his face when it has so many reasons not to, that smile reflects a strength of spirit and a depth of character that I can only dream of. Because here I am feeling sorry for myself because someone made fun of my outfit. And instead of making me feel better, instead of thinking "life's not so bad, at least I have all my limbs", the light in his tender eyes just mocks me. His polite smile a reminder that, every time I fall it gets harder and harder to get back up.

The truth is, I can't look on the bright side right now. The truth is, it just makes me feel worse that strong people like him are faced with such incredible suffering and are able to stay positive- when I buckle under the slightest of criticisms or vow to stop moving because I haven't had a boyfriend since the last one cheated on me. The TRUTH is, my friends and my family, my tiny kitten, the food in my fridge, the roof over my head, my four limbs that can climb up mountains and pedal my $1000 bike, my limbs that can run and jump and DANCE, they're just a constant reminder that right now I am a sad fucking person. I am a sad person sitting alone in my sad fucking apartment, feeling sorry for myself. How fucked up is that?

It took me 6 months but I finally burned our photos. It felt good. 

And now it's over.

When was I 21?

Some years ago
I can't remember the last time I allowed myself to want something. Want is an emotion reserved for people who deserve to be happy. 

I have spent the last 4 months stuck in a self-doubting coma, anticipating loss. 

Why am I not enough? Why am I not worth it? Is there someone else? What does she have that I don't have? 

So I'm 21. I'm 21 and I have spent the last 10 years telling myself that I will not have a future. I could never picture myself living past 25 years old. Everyday is a struggle, a new battle, and I could not imagine myself winning the war. Everyday is a new emotion and I thought that I was stronger. But I'm not and it is harder each time I fall down to get back up. And I felt like I would never overcome it. But I'm only 21, and I've worked hard up until now to get to this place. Wherever this place is. I will not let myself ruin it. I am not who I was 5 years ago. I'm not who I was a year ago, and I won't be the same person in another year because people grow. People love, people make mistakes, people hurt and get hurt. There's sadness and anger and love and happiness. And people learn somewhere in all of that.

AND SO I'M 21! I need to be able to tell myself that I deserve to be happy. And I need to learn to take care of myself so that I am in a better place to take care of others.  And I need to realize that I still have a lot of growing up to do.