perhaps i understand a grudge now. i'm beginning to think that a grudge is often more accurately described as "permanently hurt feelings," though that sounds a bit childish.
but i think i get it now.
because that is what i have.
and i'll tell you what i don't have when it comes to you:
reason
SENSIBILITY
clarity
and that's why i still give you, time and again, my
emotions
faith
HOPE
advice
friendship
HEART
love
time
but i'm nearing the edge of the water here. i'm trying to get the sound of your empty words out of my hopeful mind and my still so empty chest. i've tried to fill that emptiness with your words one too many times, and i'm starving as a i watch them fall through the holes you've left in me. you gave me those holes. you left them behind so that you could drop your intentions through them right in front of my eyes.
why can't i patch them up...? i hate watching the pieces fall.
you're a tangle of string in my mind. i want to figure you out, to work out the knots, or to just get rid of you, dump you for someone else to happen across. but to be able to untangle this knot would be the greatest triumph, the greatest reward.
when i try to make distance though, your tendrils wrap around me and hang on, keeping a sulky distance yet becoming the intruder of my thoughts. i want you out. i want you gone. i want to be done with you, but you won't go. when i try to get rid of you, you always stay.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
JIGSAW: the first 140 pieces.
I am jumbled, oh so jumbled inside.
how can a few caring words turn everything that already didn't make sense into something that has me teetering on the brink of insanity?
it feels right
it felt right.
will it continue to feel right?
who knows. i sure don't. i just wish there was a way to uncomplicate it all. to make things the way they should be.
but if things were "uncomplicated," none of it would have happened at all. it's either complicated or nothing, so which would i choose?
i just don't know. maybe i choose none of it, but it really breaks me up to think that. because despite all the bad things that have come from this situation, what you've given me is beautiful.
you said it felt right. and it did. we both know it did.
how can a few caring words turn everything that already didn't make sense into something that has me teetering on the brink of insanity?
it feels right
it felt right.
will it continue to feel right?
who knows. i sure don't. i just wish there was a way to uncomplicate it all. to make things the way they should be.
but if things were "uncomplicated," none of it would have happened at all. it's either complicated or nothing, so which would i choose?
i just don't know. maybe i choose none of it, but it really breaks me up to think that. because despite all the bad things that have come from this situation, what you've given me is beautiful.
you said it felt right. and it did. we both know it did.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Wackness
i just watched a movie that was so beautiful and so heartbreakingly honest that i will inevitably carry it with me through the rest of my life. the movie is called The Wackness. it's amazing. it's real and vulnerable and forgiving. ah, it's just incredible.
i've always loved movies, i think maybe more, or at least in a different way, than the next person. and this movie, wow, this movie really makes me want to live my life taking in every moment possible, making sure not to miss a second.
and the soundtrack is perfect.
it sounds cliche, but movies and music are a huge part of my life.
music fixes me when i'm broken, fills in the cracks of life, and morphs to always make sense, but never leaves me behind. but movies, they make you look at things in a new way, they show you what someone else is seeing, even if you've always been blind to it. they are like music, only the words are conversations and the melodies are pictures.
i was talking to my friend about this, and he feels the same way, only for him, it's not music, it's books.
"It's a place you can truly escape in and help create. ... movies are amazing because it is a true artistry to make people feel raw emotion for fictional characters that they have never met."
That is exactly it. books allow you to project yourself into the story, make it wrap itself around you to make perfect sense in the way that you need it to, but movies project themselves onto you. they make you a part of them and they make you care and feel and experience and understand.
that's why i love to write. i like the concept of giving my ideas and thoughts to the world for them to make mean something for themselves. i want to interact with the world around me, and i want it to interact with me in turn. this blog, no one knew of it at first, but over the years, i've slowly allowed people to see into my world through it. and only this summer have i put any real thoughts into it. it's scary for me to share these words with people i know, people i'm close with. in so many ways, i am so much more comfortable opening up to strangers. with my music, i would play my songs for a crowd of 1,000 strangers over a much smaller group of people i know any day. i wish i knew why.
the world is full of ideas and words needing to be shared and heard and projected. movies and music and books, they are all here for just that. they are all here to give people the chance and ability to spit their brains out into society and hold their breath for the response. and the best part is: even is the response isn't what you wished for, it's hard not to feel good about it, because either way, you needed to spit.
i've always loved movies, i think maybe more, or at least in a different way, than the next person. and this movie, wow, this movie really makes me want to live my life taking in every moment possible, making sure not to miss a second.
and the soundtrack is perfect.
it sounds cliche, but movies and music are a huge part of my life.
music fixes me when i'm broken, fills in the cracks of life, and morphs to always make sense, but never leaves me behind. but movies, they make you look at things in a new way, they show you what someone else is seeing, even if you've always been blind to it. they are like music, only the words are conversations and the melodies are pictures.
i was talking to my friend about this, and he feels the same way, only for him, it's not music, it's books.
"It's a place you can truly escape in and help create. ... movies are amazing because it is a true artistry to make people feel raw emotion for fictional characters that they have never met."
That is exactly it. books allow you to project yourself into the story, make it wrap itself around you to make perfect sense in the way that you need it to, but movies project themselves onto you. they make you a part of them and they make you care and feel and experience and understand.
that's why i love to write. i like the concept of giving my ideas and thoughts to the world for them to make mean something for themselves. i want to interact with the world around me, and i want it to interact with me in turn. this blog, no one knew of it at first, but over the years, i've slowly allowed people to see into my world through it. and only this summer have i put any real thoughts into it. it's scary for me to share these words with people i know, people i'm close with. in so many ways, i am so much more comfortable opening up to strangers. with my music, i would play my songs for a crowd of 1,000 strangers over a much smaller group of people i know any day. i wish i knew why.
the world is full of ideas and words needing to be shared and heard and projected. movies and music and books, they are all here for just that. they are all here to give people the chance and ability to spit their brains out into society and hold their breath for the response. and the best part is: even is the response isn't what you wished for, it's hard not to feel good about it, because either way, you needed to spit.
Friday, July 31, 2009
"family matters"
my older brother also has a blog. although he may or may not know this, i follow his blog, and today i was looking through the titles of some of his older posts and found one titled "family matters"
being the little sister that i am, eager to discover how my brother really feels about me and never quite prepared for it when i get the upsetting reality check that hits me in the face each time, i skimmed through the article to see if and how my brother would include me in his blog that explores "family matters" (no pun intended).
my caring brother did so by leading from a description of his wonderful hike with my mother into:
and that was all.
once again, i got my hopes up with him and let myself get hurt that he doesn't admire me quite the same way that i admire him.
but that was on father's day weekend, time has passed. he's back home again for the rest of the summer and we've been hanging out a good amount here and there. we went on a hike together and played guitar hero and today, we bonded over a number of things.
i was cleaning my room and mikey came running in with a wild excitement in his eyes. he told me that i had to come quick. i trotted back to his room with him and found his computer open on the bed, the screen displaying a paused image from a season 3 episode of HEROES. he throws himself at the corner of the bed and props himself up, elbows on the bed, knees on the floor. i mimic his position and together we watch one and half episodes, taking pause breaks to allow him to fill me in on character backgrounds and previous events in the show.
while we were sitting there, i mentioned that i had seen an old friend of his at the party i had attended the night before. he then asked it i drank when i went to parties. i told him that i did.
he's known me to drink before, but i think he wondered if i still did, or if i did often, or if i did so safely.
he then asked if i drank too much at parties. i told him that i never drink too much, always just enough. he laughed and said, "i always drink too much."
we laughed together and talked openly about our experiences and what each of us had thought that the other did. i think that all this time, we both wondered and now we were talking about it so openly, it was refreshing.
then, later this evening. i came home and was sitting here in front of the computer. he came into the office and asked if he could get my advice on something. i told him sure thing, knowing what it would be.
you see, he had mentioned meeting a girl at a party last week and he had tried to talk with me about it then, but he hadn't done a great job. he had started to explain things to me, then he got uncomfortable thinking about certain important details and said something like, "i shouldn't be talking to you about things like this." but the issue was that the girl's phone was broken or lost or something and he didn't know how to reconnect with her.
so tonight, he comes in here and asks me for advice. he first told me the more honest and full story of what had happened when he hooked up with this girl. then he filled me in on the present situation: the girl had texted him and he needed help, from a girl's perspective, to figure out what were good responses to the tricky messages she was sending.
i'll spare you the ins and outs of the text conversation he then had with the girl, but in the end, he was pleased with my help and he felt very hopeful.
when we were done i was about to ask for his help with MY guy problems, but right then dad walked in and ruined the party.
i didn't want to push it, so i didn't remind him that i had asked for advice aswell. but later on, he wandered back in here and said, "hey, i just realized i never gave you the chance to ask my advice on whatever it was you wanted to talk about." i told him it could wait and we could talk about it later and he seemed pleased by that answer and poised for bed.
so, i don't really know what the ending of this post is meant to be. i want it to be that my bro and i are now closer and will continue to grow in that direction, and who knows, maybe that's exactly what it is, but i'm afraid that the real ending is that Zoe is once again getting her hopes up with her relationship with her brother and will once again be hurt when things aren't what she thought they were. but i think that, if things ARE to get more open with us, today was a good start.
ironic, isn't it.
i'm writing this post, all about my dear sweet brother, all because his "family matters" post was severely LACKING in my presence. hah. seems to work out that way all too often.
being the little sister that i am, eager to discover how my brother really feels about me and never quite prepared for it when i get the upsetting reality check that hits me in the face each time, i skimmed through the article to see if and how my brother would include me in his blog that explores "family matters" (no pun intended).
my caring brother did so by leading from a description of his wonderful hike with my mother into:
We had to turn around at the top because my sister's band was going to Fresno to play a show and she needed to bum a ride somewhere. Anyway...
and that was all.
once again, i got my hopes up with him and let myself get hurt that he doesn't admire me quite the same way that i admire him.
but that was on father's day weekend, time has passed. he's back home again for the rest of the summer and we've been hanging out a good amount here and there. we went on a hike together and played guitar hero and today, we bonded over a number of things.
i was cleaning my room and mikey came running in with a wild excitement in his eyes. he told me that i had to come quick. i trotted back to his room with him and found his computer open on the bed, the screen displaying a paused image from a season 3 episode of HEROES. he throws himself at the corner of the bed and props himself up, elbows on the bed, knees on the floor. i mimic his position and together we watch one and half episodes, taking pause breaks to allow him to fill me in on character backgrounds and previous events in the show.
while we were sitting there, i mentioned that i had seen an old friend of his at the party i had attended the night before. he then asked it i drank when i went to parties. i told him that i did.
he's known me to drink before, but i think he wondered if i still did, or if i did often, or if i did so safely.
he then asked if i drank too much at parties. i told him that i never drink too much, always just enough. he laughed and said, "i always drink too much."
we laughed together and talked openly about our experiences and what each of us had thought that the other did. i think that all this time, we both wondered and now we were talking about it so openly, it was refreshing.
then, later this evening. i came home and was sitting here in front of the computer. he came into the office and asked if he could get my advice on something. i told him sure thing, knowing what it would be.
you see, he had mentioned meeting a girl at a party last week and he had tried to talk with me about it then, but he hadn't done a great job. he had started to explain things to me, then he got uncomfortable thinking about certain important details and said something like, "i shouldn't be talking to you about things like this." but the issue was that the girl's phone was broken or lost or something and he didn't know how to reconnect with her.
so tonight, he comes in here and asks me for advice. he first told me the more honest and full story of what had happened when he hooked up with this girl. then he filled me in on the present situation: the girl had texted him and he needed help, from a girl's perspective, to figure out what were good responses to the tricky messages she was sending.
i'll spare you the ins and outs of the text conversation he then had with the girl, but in the end, he was pleased with my help and he felt very hopeful.
when we were done i was about to ask for his help with MY guy problems, but right then dad walked in and ruined the party.
i didn't want to push it, so i didn't remind him that i had asked for advice aswell. but later on, he wandered back in here and said, "hey, i just realized i never gave you the chance to ask my advice on whatever it was you wanted to talk about." i told him it could wait and we could talk about it later and he seemed pleased by that answer and poised for bed.
so, i don't really know what the ending of this post is meant to be. i want it to be that my bro and i are now closer and will continue to grow in that direction, and who knows, maybe that's exactly what it is, but i'm afraid that the real ending is that Zoe is once again getting her hopes up with her relationship with her brother and will once again be hurt when things aren't what she thought they were. but i think that, if things ARE to get more open with us, today was a good start.
ironic, isn't it.
i'm writing this post, all about my dear sweet brother, all because his "family matters" post was severely LACKING in my presence. hah. seems to work out that way all too often.
Monday, July 27, 2009
the accident
Screeching wheels. Bang. Silence.
Voices, then sirens.
Footsteps, running footsteps.
Open the driver’s door, ask her if she’s hurt. She says no.
Ask her if she knows what happened, she says no.
Ask me! I know! We’ve been in a car accident! Why won’t you ask me? Why won’t you help me? My body hurts. My head hurts. My eyes are closed.
You come to my door. Open it up. Ask me if I can hear you. I can. You tell the other man that you have an “unresponsive.” Are you talking about me? But I can hear you!
You poke me and squeeze my shoulders. Stop that! You repeat that you have an “unresponsive.” My head hurts.
You feel my joints, listing them as you go, telling the other man that I am not broken. But I’m starting to think I am. I must be broken. I can hear you, but you can’t hear me.
You turn my head back and forth. You tell the other man that I have a “lac” to the back of my head and another “lac” to the front of my head. You say that I’m bleeding from my ears.
You lift my head up to shove something stiff behind my neck. Once secured, I can’t move my neck. Actually, I don’t know if I can move anything.
You try to lift me. You get inside the car on top of me to move me onto a hard surface waiting outside. You strap me down. You tape my legs and my chin. I can’t move. My head hurts.
I’m moving fast. I feel like I should be rolling off of this cart and onto the ground, but I’m taped down. I can’t move.
I’m lifted, I’m scooted, I’m in an ambulance. The siren goes and we’re moving again.
You tape an oxygen mask to my face and put heart monitor stickers on my chest. You stick an IV in my hand. My friend is here too, she’s asking if I’ll be okay. Don’t worry! I’ll be okay! Stop crying! Once I can talk and move and tell them what happened, I’ll be okay!
You pull me out and rush me into the hospital, handing me over to new voices. Why can’t I open my eyes? I’m wheeled quickly through hallways. I can’t move. I can’t open my eyes.
They push me into a room and stop. Four sets of hands work on my at once. Taping things everywhere. More stickers. A plastic bracelet. Gauze.
A tube is forced down my throat. Why are you doing that? It doesn’t feel good! Someone is squeezing air down the tube now, forcing my chest to rise and fall. Can’t I do that on my own? Is this all really necessary? If I could just open my eyes and talk to you this would all be over with!
More hands are working on me, hooking me up to machines. Taking tests. Applying pressure. A woman’s voice asks if she should try to contact my parents. No, don’t call them, this’ll just worry them, I’m fine, just let me wake up now. She leaves.
The hands stop, one set at a time. Only the hand that is pumping air down the tube to my lungs stays. A voice talks to me. What happened to you, it asks. I try to tell it, but it won’t hear me. I try to tell it that I was in a car accident. That I think I hit my head. That my head hurts. It can’t hear me. The hand just keeps pumping air.
Footsteps. A woman’s voice tells my nurse that my dad has arrived. No, please don’t bring him in here. Please don’t show him this. This will break his heart. Please don’t. He can’t handle this. He won’t understand. Wait until I’m awake so that I can explain everything to him and tell him that I’ll be alright. Wait until I’m awake so that I can hold his hand and make him feel better. Please don’t bring him in now. Please don’t.
I hear uneven footsteps in the hallway. I know those footsteps. I’ve heard those footsteps a million times. They belong to my dad. I don’t like hearing them here. I said not to bring him in here. Why didn’t you listen! Why can’t you hear me!
The broken walk comes through the door, accompanied by broken breathing. I can smell the salt of tears. No, don’t cry Daddy, please don’t cry, I’m alright.
Oh Zoe, he says, his voice soft and watery. What happened, he asks. The nurse tells him that I was in a car accident. That I have severe bleeding in the brain. That I’m brain dead. What? That’s not true! I can hear you! I’m fine! Daddy, I’m fine! Please wake me up now, I’m done with this, wake me up!
Is there any hope of recovery, he asks. They tell him no.
No, this is ridiculous! I’m just hurt! I just hit my head! I’m going to wake up any minute now. I’m going to wake up and prove them wrong. I’m not done, Daddy. I’m not done with you and Mom. I’m not done giving you hugs. I’m not done running and laughing and smiling. I’m not done living. I’m not done loving you.
He searches for my hand and squeezes it. My heart crumbles. The sounds of the machines seems further away than I remember. I can’t taste and smell the salt of his tears in the air anymore. I can’t quite hear his shaking breath as well as I thought I could. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m dying. Maybe it’s all worse than I’d thought.
But I’m not done. This isn’t fair. Daddy, this isn’t fair. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I love you, Daddy.
Voices, then sirens.
Footsteps, running footsteps.
Open the driver’s door, ask her if she’s hurt. She says no.
Ask her if she knows what happened, she says no.
Ask me! I know! We’ve been in a car accident! Why won’t you ask me? Why won’t you help me? My body hurts. My head hurts. My eyes are closed.
You come to my door. Open it up. Ask me if I can hear you. I can. You tell the other man that you have an “unresponsive.” Are you talking about me? But I can hear you!
You poke me and squeeze my shoulders. Stop that! You repeat that you have an “unresponsive.” My head hurts.
You feel my joints, listing them as you go, telling the other man that I am not broken. But I’m starting to think I am. I must be broken. I can hear you, but you can’t hear me.
You turn my head back and forth. You tell the other man that I have a “lac” to the back of my head and another “lac” to the front of my head. You say that I’m bleeding from my ears.
You lift my head up to shove something stiff behind my neck. Once secured, I can’t move my neck. Actually, I don’t know if I can move anything.
You try to lift me. You get inside the car on top of me to move me onto a hard surface waiting outside. You strap me down. You tape my legs and my chin. I can’t move. My head hurts.
I’m moving fast. I feel like I should be rolling off of this cart and onto the ground, but I’m taped down. I can’t move.
I’m lifted, I’m scooted, I’m in an ambulance. The siren goes and we’re moving again.
You tape an oxygen mask to my face and put heart monitor stickers on my chest. You stick an IV in my hand. My friend is here too, she’s asking if I’ll be okay. Don’t worry! I’ll be okay! Stop crying! Once I can talk and move and tell them what happened, I’ll be okay!
You pull me out and rush me into the hospital, handing me over to new voices. Why can’t I open my eyes? I’m wheeled quickly through hallways. I can’t move. I can’t open my eyes.
They push me into a room and stop. Four sets of hands work on my at once. Taping things everywhere. More stickers. A plastic bracelet. Gauze.
A tube is forced down my throat. Why are you doing that? It doesn’t feel good! Someone is squeezing air down the tube now, forcing my chest to rise and fall. Can’t I do that on my own? Is this all really necessary? If I could just open my eyes and talk to you this would all be over with!
More hands are working on me, hooking me up to machines. Taking tests. Applying pressure. A woman’s voice asks if she should try to contact my parents. No, don’t call them, this’ll just worry them, I’m fine, just let me wake up now. She leaves.
The hands stop, one set at a time. Only the hand that is pumping air down the tube to my lungs stays. A voice talks to me. What happened to you, it asks. I try to tell it, but it won’t hear me. I try to tell it that I was in a car accident. That I think I hit my head. That my head hurts. It can’t hear me. The hand just keeps pumping air.
Footsteps. A woman’s voice tells my nurse that my dad has arrived. No, please don’t bring him in here. Please don’t show him this. This will break his heart. Please don’t. He can’t handle this. He won’t understand. Wait until I’m awake so that I can explain everything to him and tell him that I’ll be alright. Wait until I’m awake so that I can hold his hand and make him feel better. Please don’t bring him in now. Please don’t.
I hear uneven footsteps in the hallway. I know those footsteps. I’ve heard those footsteps a million times. They belong to my dad. I don’t like hearing them here. I said not to bring him in here. Why didn’t you listen! Why can’t you hear me!
The broken walk comes through the door, accompanied by broken breathing. I can smell the salt of tears. No, don’t cry Daddy, please don’t cry, I’m alright.
Oh Zoe, he says, his voice soft and watery. What happened, he asks. The nurse tells him that I was in a car accident. That I have severe bleeding in the brain. That I’m brain dead. What? That’s not true! I can hear you! I’m fine! Daddy, I’m fine! Please wake me up now, I’m done with this, wake me up!
Is there any hope of recovery, he asks. They tell him no.
No, this is ridiculous! I’m just hurt! I just hit my head! I’m going to wake up any minute now. I’m going to wake up and prove them wrong. I’m not done, Daddy. I’m not done with you and Mom. I’m not done giving you hugs. I’m not done running and laughing and smiling. I’m not done living. I’m not done loving you.
He searches for my hand and squeezes it. My heart crumbles. The sounds of the machines seems further away than I remember. I can’t taste and smell the salt of his tears in the air anymore. I can’t quite hear his shaking breath as well as I thought I could. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m dying. Maybe it’s all worse than I’d thought.
But I’m not done. This isn’t fair. Daddy, this isn’t fair. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I love you, Daddy.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
these days
the days are trying to stop me from believing.
these past few have been hard to deal with. hard to get through. hard to make decisions in.
i feel like i'm in between everything. i'm exhausted, my soul is worn out, but i can't stay at home, i just have to get out of this house sometimes. and when there's nowhere to go?...when there's nowhere to go i feel cramped in my chest. i wander about with an empty face. i don't find humor in things that i should think are funny. i'm difficult to be around.
i want to draw. to be able to draw. to feel comfortable enough to not care whether or not i know how to draw.
i want to sketch, to design.
i wrote a song today, it's almost finished. and i love it. i haven't written a song like that in quite awhile. it felt good. it felt very good to be writing again. but how funny is that? once again, the music comes with the mood. but only in a version of itself today. i'm not depresed, no siree, but not happy either. and my song isn't depressing in the slightest, it's very cute actually.
i'm tired. i'm going to go to sleep, everything will be better after some sleep.
tomorrow, please don't break me.
these past few have been hard to deal with. hard to get through. hard to make decisions in.
i feel like i'm in between everything. i'm exhausted, my soul is worn out, but i can't stay at home, i just have to get out of this house sometimes. and when there's nowhere to go?...when there's nowhere to go i feel cramped in my chest. i wander about with an empty face. i don't find humor in things that i should think are funny. i'm difficult to be around.
i want to draw. to be able to draw. to feel comfortable enough to not care whether or not i know how to draw.
i want to sketch, to design.
i wrote a song today, it's almost finished. and i love it. i haven't written a song like that in quite awhile. it felt good. it felt very good to be writing again. but how funny is that? once again, the music comes with the mood. but only in a version of itself today. i'm not depresed, no siree, but not happy either. and my song isn't depressing in the slightest, it's very cute actually.
i'm tired. i'm going to go to sleep, everything will be better after some sleep.
tomorrow, please don't break me.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
my new button
loading...loading...loading...
REFRESH
loading...loading...loading...
REFRESH
i am adopting a new thing into my life today. it's called the REFRESH button. i spend all this time loading...loading...loading... and all to often to i receive the FAILED ATTEMPT message. so now, when i have been loading...loading...loading... for too long, or when i get the FAILED ATTEMPT message, i will simply REFRESH.
...REFRESH.
REFRESH
loading...loading...loading...
REFRESH
i am adopting a new thing into my life today. it's called the REFRESH button. i spend all this time loading...loading...loading... and all to often to i receive the FAILED ATTEMPT message. so now, when i have been loading...loading...loading... for too long, or when i get the FAILED ATTEMPT message, i will simply REFRESH.
...REFRESH.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
trust
I used to have only one strong thought about trust. I always felt that trust was a mutual agreement. a handshake, a bargain, a kinship. i felt that the truest way to know whether or not you could trust someone was to discover whether or not they trust you. if they confide in you, they have stretched out their hand to you. and that is when you know that you can confide in them, and take their hand and make a promise to one another.
but now, i feel differently. i suppose there is still some truth in my old thought, but i really don't prefer it. after what i've gone through recently, i understand trust in a different way. and, looking back on my old thought of trust, it feels too conniving, too sneaky, too UNtrustworthy. but i also see now, how trust IS a sneaky and conniving thing in a lot of ways.
i had always been big on trust, but not long ago, i made one severe mistake that broke the trust a good friend had in me. i hurt her terribly with my actions and i knew right then that her trust in me had been lost.
the funny thing though, is that i lost trust in her, too. maybe it was because of that mutual agreement that i mentioned before. because since i had backed out of the agreement, i knew that she didn't have to live by it either. and the odds are that she didn't want to anymore either.
which only strengthens my new feeling that trust IS a sport of deceit. trust is a veil laid down to cover the things that are meant to be hidden. and people tend to respect that, but the reality is that that veil can in fact be pulled away at any moment.
but i think that a big reason that i felt a loss of trust in her was because i was really feeling a loss of trust in myself. i was angry with myself for betraying a friend. i, too, was hurting as a result of my actions.
and a small part of me felt betrayed by her lack of forgiveness. the bigger part of me understood that i was the one who had done wrong, that i was the one to blame for the separation, but that small part of me felt hurt that the previous years of our beautiful friendship meant nothing after just a moment of bad judgment.
we're talking again, and we're getting better, slowly mending what was broken. as we slowly regrow i feel more trusting toward her again, but still, my heart breaks when i let myself be reminded of how i hurt her.
trust has always been meaningful to me. it's always helped me sort out my true friends from my non-true friends. but having been the one to break the trust, i have learned a lesson. as i work towards gaining my friend's trust back and gaining my own trust back, i have realized that in the end, i AM a true friend. i have always been a good friend to the people around me and i have always done my best to honor and uphold the relationships i have with people. i have realized that, if i were not a true friend, i would not be taking the hard and painful path to forgiveness, but rather would be walking away.
i am not saying that what i did should be forgotten because of who i am, i'm only saying that, in the end, my good should overcome my bad.
trust is a tricky thing to pinpoint, and i know that i am not even close to getting it, but i do know that it's different than it appears. it's not just a handshake, it's much deeper, but at the same time, much thinner, much easier to wrinkle.
but now, i feel differently. i suppose there is still some truth in my old thought, but i really don't prefer it. after what i've gone through recently, i understand trust in a different way. and, looking back on my old thought of trust, it feels too conniving, too sneaky, too UNtrustworthy. but i also see now, how trust IS a sneaky and conniving thing in a lot of ways.
i had always been big on trust, but not long ago, i made one severe mistake that broke the trust a good friend had in me. i hurt her terribly with my actions and i knew right then that her trust in me had been lost.
the funny thing though, is that i lost trust in her, too. maybe it was because of that mutual agreement that i mentioned before. because since i had backed out of the agreement, i knew that she didn't have to live by it either. and the odds are that she didn't want to anymore either.
which only strengthens my new feeling that trust IS a sport of deceit. trust is a veil laid down to cover the things that are meant to be hidden. and people tend to respect that, but the reality is that that veil can in fact be pulled away at any moment.
but i think that a big reason that i felt a loss of trust in her was because i was really feeling a loss of trust in myself. i was angry with myself for betraying a friend. i, too, was hurting as a result of my actions.
and a small part of me felt betrayed by her lack of forgiveness. the bigger part of me understood that i was the one who had done wrong, that i was the one to blame for the separation, but that small part of me felt hurt that the previous years of our beautiful friendship meant nothing after just a moment of bad judgment.
we're talking again, and we're getting better, slowly mending what was broken. as we slowly regrow i feel more trusting toward her again, but still, my heart breaks when i let myself be reminded of how i hurt her.
trust has always been meaningful to me. it's always helped me sort out my true friends from my non-true friends. but having been the one to break the trust, i have learned a lesson. as i work towards gaining my friend's trust back and gaining my own trust back, i have realized that in the end, i AM a true friend. i have always been a good friend to the people around me and i have always done my best to honor and uphold the relationships i have with people. i have realized that, if i were not a true friend, i would not be taking the hard and painful path to forgiveness, but rather would be walking away.
i am not saying that what i did should be forgotten because of who i am, i'm only saying that, in the end, my good should overcome my bad.
trust is a tricky thing to pinpoint, and i know that i am not even close to getting it, but i do know that it's different than it appears. it's not just a handshake, it's much deeper, but at the same time, much thinner, much easier to wrinkle.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
just my luck
once again. wrong guy, wrong time.
like one guy, he likes my friend.
another guy hits on me, i'm not interested.
old fling starts talking again, i don't know how to act, don't know how i feel, don't know if i want to get re-involved.
wrong guy, wrong time. that should be my moto.
or maybe it's just my curse.
like one guy, he likes my friend.
another guy hits on me, i'm not interested.
old fling starts talking again, i don't know how to act, don't know how i feel, don't know if i want to get re-involved.
wrong guy, wrong time. that should be my moto.
or maybe it's just my curse.
Friday, July 17, 2009
the backyard
I've decided to go outside. it's the first time i've been outside today.
i spent the whole day today on the computer, watching tv, playing guitar, recording songs, trying to write lyrics...all hoping for inspiration.
and now i'm outside. i'm reflecting. i'm thinking and observing and feeling.
it's that wonderful time of day. that time that only lasts from about 6 to 7. the sun has retreated just enough to cast splashes of light all across the very green backyard. the wind is rustling around in the leaves and the neighbor's wind chime is playfully adding to the song. there are birds calling out in happy late day melodies and the cats are lounging lazily in the grass, looking around for any bit of action to partake in.
all of this comes and goes in bursts though. a breeze will roll through, picking up the stray hairs from my bun and making them dance around my face, and in that gust, everything seems to be moving in it's own way, the wind whispering to everything that it touches. the chimes pick up, the leaves bump against each other and everything wakes up, even for just a moment. as the breeze passes, my ears stretch further away. now i can hear the children playing in yards down the street, the car starting it's engine around the corner, the dogs barking to each other through wooden fences. i can hear the conversations of people walking by the front of the house, my secret pair of ears picking up on the words that they think are private.
another breeze. chimes. leaves.
i am happy out here. happier than i've been in days, maybe even longer than that. i always feel happy out here. but i don't come outside to enjoy it enough. it scares me a little, to be left with just my mind. i'm used to writing things down, to making rhymes and tunes of them. but sometimes there is no tune to be had, or no tune perfect enough to capture what is in need of capture. so i stay inside and numb myself to my mind, giving it excuses and distractions to protect it from itself.
i came out here to begin with in search of inspiration, or perhaps just a change of scenery. i sat here and observed. as i observed i tried to discover a tune, a rhyme, something to write down. i tried to think of a way to put this beautiful yard and it's beautiful sounds into a beautiful song, something that would sooth the ears of a tired heart.
i didn't find that tune, or that rhyme, and in not finding them i became anxious. i used to explore everything through tunes and rhymes, tunes and rhymes, how could i fully appreciate something without putting it into a tune or rhyme? how could i process something without taking it in and pushing it back out in a new form, in my own form, in the perfect melody?
when did creating music become a burden? an obligation? it's supposed to spill onto paper, spill out of my heart and onto a piece of paper. that's part of the magic of it, the way that it always spilled out. i never had to ask for it, it would come without warning and there would be nothing i could do to stop it.
i don't know where that went. i think it left at the same time as my sadness did. it's funny how the two things went hand in hand so easily, so effortlessly. they were twins actually, born at the same time, but each with a unique personality. or perhaps they were more soul mates, opposites complimenting one another's differences, filling in the gaps for one another.
depression created the music, the music filled the gaps left by the depression.
they loved each other. in a bittersweet way that would have been impossible to describe.
and in a way, i loved them too. although at the time i didn't realize it. depression was breaking me and music was gluing me back together. the same thing over and over again. broken and glued, broken and glued.
but i loved the music. the heart-breaking tunes built off of honesty, longing and hurt. and since i loved the music, i loved the darkness, they were so inseparable. they came together and they left together.
it's funny how that darkness left me though. it engulfed me for so long. i thought i was alone and numb, when really i was pushing people away and feeling everything. that's why the music came too, it was my feelings working overboard.
now is the real numbness. the depression is gone, the constant sadness, the darkness, the hole, but there hasn't really been happiness to replace it. i've cried all my tears but i haven't laughed that first laugh yet. i'm in limbo, stuck somewhere in between.
and i think that's why i'm afraid to be left alone with my own mind. because my mind and my heart long to be back in that hole, feeling everything, because they don't know how to feel anything now. so my mind wanders and bounces around from reason to reason. reasons why i can't feel. reasons why this "in between" is so much worse than the darkness. reasons why i haven't had that "after crying laugh" yet. reasons why i wish things were different.
but it's hard to look at all those reasons, think about them all and let them marinate in my brain. it's hard to let myself go there, to let myself take things for granted, to wish that the good things were gone just so i could selfishly return to my isolation. and that's why i try to busy myself with the old writing and rhyming. the old spill your heart onto paper. maybe i need to adapt. maybe it's time to embrace limbo and hang on tight so that when i reach that first laugh, it'll be well appreciated, it will be noticed. maybe i need to break away from sad lyrics and heartbroken melodies. maybe it's time for a new approach.
i'm still out here in the backyard. it's different now though. the sun has retreated even further, leaving the last splashes of light far behind me. the sprinkler's have come on, drowning out the delicate sounds. someone inside has flicked on the tv and started cooking in the kitchen, more sounds that fit the next signature song of the day. it's past 7 now, so my favorite part of this soundtrack is over. we're on to the next song, the next chapter. i'm going to work on turning my own page to the next chapter as well.
i spent the whole day today on the computer, watching tv, playing guitar, recording songs, trying to write lyrics...all hoping for inspiration.
and now i'm outside. i'm reflecting. i'm thinking and observing and feeling.
it's that wonderful time of day. that time that only lasts from about 6 to 7. the sun has retreated just enough to cast splashes of light all across the very green backyard. the wind is rustling around in the leaves and the neighbor's wind chime is playfully adding to the song. there are birds calling out in happy late day melodies and the cats are lounging lazily in the grass, looking around for any bit of action to partake in.
all of this comes and goes in bursts though. a breeze will roll through, picking up the stray hairs from my bun and making them dance around my face, and in that gust, everything seems to be moving in it's own way, the wind whispering to everything that it touches. the chimes pick up, the leaves bump against each other and everything wakes up, even for just a moment. as the breeze passes, my ears stretch further away. now i can hear the children playing in yards down the street, the car starting it's engine around the corner, the dogs barking to each other through wooden fences. i can hear the conversations of people walking by the front of the house, my secret pair of ears picking up on the words that they think are private.
another breeze. chimes. leaves.
i am happy out here. happier than i've been in days, maybe even longer than that. i always feel happy out here. but i don't come outside to enjoy it enough. it scares me a little, to be left with just my mind. i'm used to writing things down, to making rhymes and tunes of them. but sometimes there is no tune to be had, or no tune perfect enough to capture what is in need of capture. so i stay inside and numb myself to my mind, giving it excuses and distractions to protect it from itself.
i came out here to begin with in search of inspiration, or perhaps just a change of scenery. i sat here and observed. as i observed i tried to discover a tune, a rhyme, something to write down. i tried to think of a way to put this beautiful yard and it's beautiful sounds into a beautiful song, something that would sooth the ears of a tired heart.
i didn't find that tune, or that rhyme, and in not finding them i became anxious. i used to explore everything through tunes and rhymes, tunes and rhymes, how could i fully appreciate something without putting it into a tune or rhyme? how could i process something without taking it in and pushing it back out in a new form, in my own form, in the perfect melody?
when did creating music become a burden? an obligation? it's supposed to spill onto paper, spill out of my heart and onto a piece of paper. that's part of the magic of it, the way that it always spilled out. i never had to ask for it, it would come without warning and there would be nothing i could do to stop it.
i don't know where that went. i think it left at the same time as my sadness did. it's funny how the two things went hand in hand so easily, so effortlessly. they were twins actually, born at the same time, but each with a unique personality. or perhaps they were more soul mates, opposites complimenting one another's differences, filling in the gaps for one another.
depression created the music, the music filled the gaps left by the depression.
they loved each other. in a bittersweet way that would have been impossible to describe.
and in a way, i loved them too. although at the time i didn't realize it. depression was breaking me and music was gluing me back together. the same thing over and over again. broken and glued, broken and glued.
but i loved the music. the heart-breaking tunes built off of honesty, longing and hurt. and since i loved the music, i loved the darkness, they were so inseparable. they came together and they left together.
it's funny how that darkness left me though. it engulfed me for so long. i thought i was alone and numb, when really i was pushing people away and feeling everything. that's why the music came too, it was my feelings working overboard.
now is the real numbness. the depression is gone, the constant sadness, the darkness, the hole, but there hasn't really been happiness to replace it. i've cried all my tears but i haven't laughed that first laugh yet. i'm in limbo, stuck somewhere in between.
and i think that's why i'm afraid to be left alone with my own mind. because my mind and my heart long to be back in that hole, feeling everything, because they don't know how to feel anything now. so my mind wanders and bounces around from reason to reason. reasons why i can't feel. reasons why this "in between" is so much worse than the darkness. reasons why i haven't had that "after crying laugh" yet. reasons why i wish things were different.
but it's hard to look at all those reasons, think about them all and let them marinate in my brain. it's hard to let myself go there, to let myself take things for granted, to wish that the good things were gone just so i could selfishly return to my isolation. and that's why i try to busy myself with the old writing and rhyming. the old spill your heart onto paper. maybe i need to adapt. maybe it's time to embrace limbo and hang on tight so that when i reach that first laugh, it'll be well appreciated, it will be noticed. maybe i need to break away from sad lyrics and heartbroken melodies. maybe it's time for a new approach.
i'm still out here in the backyard. it's different now though. the sun has retreated even further, leaving the last splashes of light far behind me. the sprinkler's have come on, drowning out the delicate sounds. someone inside has flicked on the tv and started cooking in the kitchen, more sounds that fit the next signature song of the day. it's past 7 now, so my favorite part of this soundtrack is over. we're on to the next song, the next chapter. i'm going to work on turning my own page to the next chapter as well.
Monday, December 29, 2008
just a few
slumped back against a stiff wooden chair
my mind wanders and searches for a topic of interest to settle on
the boys of the family are clicking and jiving along to the guitarhero tunes
the christmas tree is still lit and merry in the corner of the room and welcomes warmth into the home
i am bored
and motionless with the exception of my fingers clicking across a small plastic keyboard
just a small plastic ketboard that is able to connect me to the rest of the world in a matter of seconds
in a matter of just a few words
just a few letters
just a few.
my mind wanders and searches for a topic of interest to settle on
the boys of the family are clicking and jiving along to the guitarhero tunes
the christmas tree is still lit and merry in the corner of the room and welcomes warmth into the home
i am bored
and motionless with the exception of my fingers clicking across a small plastic keyboard
just a small plastic ketboard that is able to connect me to the rest of the world in a matter of seconds
in a matter of just a few words
just a few letters
just a few.
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