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Haven for the living Princess and the Pea

Do you know what the scariest thing is? To not know your place in this world, to not know why you’re here. That’s – that’s just an awful feeling.

Elijah Price (From the movie Unbreakable)

Although the character saying this is the antagonist of the story he makes a compelling point. Very few of us have the fortune of knowing our purpose.

I often think to myself that perhaps I don’t have a purpose. Even knowing that would offer me a freedom I don’t yet understand.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been feeling a professional sense of being lost. Rudderless in this ocean of darkness and confusion. Unable to glimpse even a beacon of hope. I drift through life without direction. Every once in a while I catch a glimpse of what I think is light, but it always turns out to be a mirage, a reflection upon the water’s choppy surface. Whenever I see such a glimmer I also swim towards it, fighting against the current, wearing myself out, all the while knowing it’s just another reflection on the water. But I ignore myself. Tell myself I’m a liar as nd that I don’t know what I’m talking about. That this is the real thing. That it’s that direction, that purpose or sense of self-worth that I seek, that companionship or at least the ability to be happy in my own company. But my lesser self always wins. He always ends up clutching at the nothingness in the distance. Leaving us no more found only now all the more disappointed. Exhausted from fighting. Drained and burned out. The other me knows deep down tha tv if I knew there was no direction to find, no light to look for, then I could embrace my state of being perpetually adrift. I could no longer invest myself in these foolish ideas of finding something that doesn’t exist. Then perhaps I could stop being afraid of who I’m not or where I might end up.

But first I must convince him. The other me. The one who is constantly searching for a reason to exist.

the lonely ballad

empty wallet

porcelain tooth

fill me up

with your seduce

ride with me into the night

wing my dreams and give them flight

cute bike riding pic FINAL

Lost in time

“The more things change the more they stay the same.”
Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

Everybody experiences depression differently. I know this. I don’t know how many others experience what I am about to talk about. But if they do then perhaps it may provide some sort of temporary comfort.
I feel as though time has simply just forgot about me. Either that or it no longer holds any relevance. One day just blurs into another. Even with my schedule of work, study, work, train, work etc. I try to make the most of my day. I try to be productive and make my day mean something. But to no avail. Continue reading “Lost in time”

Little Black Riding Hood

No one knew how it started, but Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t the same. Her family described her as the most ungracious child. She did not help out around the house, she scattered her belongings everywhere, she fought with her mother and she no longer saw her friends. She stopped going to school and slept all day instead. One day she traded in her red riding hood for one in black, the only trace of her old self the red ballet flats she wore. She then left home and moved into her grandma’s old house in the forest which had been vacant for years since the woman’s death. Continue reading “Little Black Riding Hood”

Intellectual Connection

I’ve been isolated lately. I can handle being alone for long periods but eventually it begins to grate on me. It’s not so much an emotional connection that I am missing when I isolate myself but an intellectual one. That’s not to say that a sense of friendliness or comraderie is not appreciated when I interact with people but there is a greater need at my core. Continue reading “Intellectual Connection”

Empty veins

I will probably need to give this post a trigger warning, though to reassure anyone who is concerned, I opted instead to bleed with words.

Empty veins

I examine the blue veins highwaying my wrist

where your fingers rested a paper-slice away from my life force.

Veins visible and dramatic beneath my anorexic physique and translucent skin.

Veins like roots protruding the surface,

my insides and my dreams laid bare

for you to tender, if you wish, or slay. 

 

I imagine slitting these veins.

These veins, once bursting with your love.

These veins now waterless river channels meandering to my heart.

Emptied as fast as they were filled.

Helplessly waiting for the next rain fall.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

Dying more and more as each day drags on.

The angel and the devil,

the villain and the hero,

Are one and the same.

So I push away both

and return to a solitary world

behind closed doors,

behind the stillness of night, my only friend,

and behind my bags yet to be unpacked.

Bags stained with the sour taste of my final day

when the silence, perhaps, said all there was to speak.

People pleasing does no one any good

I have long believed that I am helping other people by telling them what they want or expect to hear. I will show them emotion that I do not truly feel, and constantly give them validation while I meanwhile invalidate myself and my own feelings. It has left me sadder, lonelier and angrier than ever, but what I have not realised until now is that, in the end, it often just hurts them as well. This is the truth that never occurs to many people pleasures. While well-intended, people pleasing really does no one any good.

Six years ago I was in a very unrequited relationship with a man I met when I started university. I made the mistake of telling him I loved him, when really I didn’t know the meaning or impact of those words. He ran with those words and they propped up all his fantasies about us. He got more and more attached to a closeness that wasn’t really there and to a person who didn’t really exist, and in the end it broke his heart terribly. I now find myself in a similar situation where I am hanging onto words and promises I don’t know whether this person meant. It is cruel to get your hopes up over something that is not going to happen. I’d rather people not be nice to me than say flowery things which have no substance. Realising what people pleasing does to both parties, I’m hoping I will be better able to speak my true feelings and resist the temptation to say things I don’t mean. I am starting to really admire people who are blunt, make it clear right from the start where you stand with them, and are bold enough to speak their truth, even if it risks offending others. They may not get credit for it but their bluntness is, in many ways, one of the kindest things they can do for us.

I’m no poet. I can’t paint with words. Can’t cast imagery or create art out of pain. All I can do is write it how it is.
I’m not an easy person to befriend. I have a constant need for validation. To know that I’m still doing things right. It’s my own flaw. A deep flaw. As ingrained into my character as a scar in flesh or a gorge where a river once flowed.
All my life I’ve been so afraid that I would drive away my friends that I would cling to any I had. Constantly trying to engage.
I would send texts after texts for fear that if I remained silent and distant that they would forget about me. Or perhaps that they would think I didn’t care.
I would over think every little thing that I did. If I were to receive a reply I would scrutinize it to the point of paranoia. “What were they feeling when they wrote it?” “Are they mad at me?”
I tried so hard that I drive people away. Ultimately I end up driving everybody away.
I have become a burden. A nuisance. I’m so enveloped by my fear of failure that I have lost my ability to consider what others might be feeling or need.
Now I’m here.

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