Snow flakes and neurosis

It’s a snowy afternoon here, it is much warmer than it had been earlier this week and it is a little more calm. I finished up with the workshop I went to because of how bad my GPA last semester was. As a workshop it was nice. It was a lot better than many of the workshops I’ve had to go / take part of in the last year.

It gave me time to think, to re evaluate. I like writing, I like english however something one of my friend’s said yesterday is kinda digging at me. She said that she had to give up English as a major, had to accept writing as a pipe dream because she has a child and needs to have a career after her undergrad. She’s majoring in psych so far.

It came off as very defeatist to me.

I don’t like defeatist things. There is a limit on how hard you should try for something and lines where defeat is acceptable however to me it should not be accepted right off the bat. It’s counter productive, it doesn’t help anything when you’ve already determined that you’re going to lose at something, that no matter how much you may want or believe in something that because you think you cannot do it, that it is futile any effort will be wasted. It bothers me more than it really should.

I dig in. I throw everything I can into the things I do, I run head long into the unknown sometimes. I jump before looking and I know that somehow I will land on my feet. That I am strong ,maybe a bit more lucky, enough to make my own luck and survive no matter what. So I have faith in my convictions, I have belief in what I believe to be right and what ideals I adhere to. I know that I am hard to deal with, that I am full of sharp edges and things that many people may not agree with. I know that I am complicated, that I am incredibly lucky and that many people would not to chose to go through life like how I have.

I know these things.

It still bothers me though. It’s almost like it’s a personal attack on me when people are incredibly defeatist, when they accept mediocricyinstead of wanting to be better. Do better, try harder, to change how they are perceived in the world and how their world is perceived by them. It shouldn’t but it does.

I am always, in the back of my mind, striving to be better. To be better at life, to be better at being myself and to someday be better off than I am now. It’s kind of self centered to say that I am the only who does this, I’m not. Lately it has just seemed that many people are fine to be trapped into a life where half assing it fine. Rewarded even and it grates at me.

I’m not perfect. I do not have the answers.

However I do know that I can only do the best that I can. And at the end of the day, it’s something that I have to accept.

I am so rant-y in this.

I’ll write again soon!

À bientôt!

Zed

Greetings again!

I love this video so much right now. It puts into feelings, exposes better than I could. 

I’ve been putting off writing here for awhile. For a long time I just didn’t feel like it, like it wouldn’t make any kind of difference one way or another. Only, it does make a difference. I get better at typing out my thoughts, my ideas and in that I re examine why I believe those things. And how.

I believe that there are different ways to experience things. Which is kinda neat. I don’t think that this blog will ever get a larger readership; however it might have some people who check in from time to time. Maybe I’ll get much better at writing, at typing, at explaining and examining things and people will want to read it. Who knows.

I am hard to get a hold. I am slippery. I make plans and then sometimes social anxiety gets to me. It sucks but sometimes being surrounded by people is a frightening thing. Or the way in which I am dressed suddenly becomes reprehensible; how could I possibly imagine that this would be a good idea to wear. My confidence is fleeting at times. I do like socializing with some people, that’s the crux of all this. There are some people whom I would rather not socialize with though and the way/shape/form I socialize is odd.

I suck at picking up on body language. I know when something is wrong, sometimes with body language but still. It can be awkward when people crack a joke, when it’s encoded within sarcasm or black humor and I get part of it but still. People with body language is odd. Like I can pick up when people are happy and I’m doing what they want, it’s still odd.

I guess it’s like learning another language.

So this semester, along with getting a better GPA I am going to grow some confidence. That doesn’t try to flee at odd moments. What I do know and when I do get things, I get them. I’m that person sitting in the classroom who’s bored out of their skull when they understand what they’re doing, giving more complex answers than what’s warranted and that generally stops any kind of conversation or is so far outside the realm of conversation it’s kind of stupid. I am that person. The idiot savant. You would think that I’d be more self confident more of the time but it’s odd.

Anyways I’ve rambled quite a bit.

À bientôt!

I promise to write sooner again!

Zed ❤

Thirteen

Suddenly I see. I see how you see things, how you feel things and a deep sense of despair washes over me.

I am a fool. I am a fool for taking you back the first time and I am foolish for offering you something this time. I am more than foolish, I am somewhat self destructive you could say.

You destroy me.

Utterly. With a single glance, a word not spoken, a text message unanswered and by reminding me not so gently that I am wrong. Or that I have something wrong with me, namely this feeling I have towards you.

I want so badly to get what I want, to have you take some of my terms. Then I will still have you. I will have a warm body to sleep next to, to cuddle, to taste and to play with. I will have an entity that I am acquainted with but I still have more to learn about.

I will have part of my home restored.

Only I see what you see now. I see what I have been thrown into and it hurts. It claws at my soul, I shake when I see that someone has become much more important than me. And you’re letting them. You love it. You have become their pet and I am just this fool, this idiot who believes that maybe just maybe something can be salvaged.

That my heart won’t go through the blender again. Like it has been.

That somehow you will suddenly feel how I do for you and you will want this.

Only you won’t. Because you don’t feel that way at all.

I don’t know why I am clinging on. I should just let go. I should cut and run, I should run you out of my home and my life. I should not be crying as much as I do and I should not be ripping apart on the inside.

Hope is a great thing, however, it kills.

You cannot live on hope when you have facts, when you have feelings and just blatant statements that point to the decision not in favor of hope. Hope is a liar and whispers if you just hold out a little longer things will be okay. Things will work out how you want them to and then you will be happy.

It doesn’t work that way.  I am old enough to know that it doesn’t work that.

What happens is that you cling onto hope so hard that when it doesn’t turn out how you thought, when it’s not okay, you crash so hard dying seems like a fantastic option. That everything is grey, food has no taste and who needs to take care of themselves? A shower just becomes a place where you can be purged of the feelings of hopelessness through burning water and where snot doesn’t get stuck. You can breathe and be crying at the same time.

I see what you see. I get it. My hope is dying.

My dream is dying, it’s dying to the applause of me trying to be a good person, trying to support you as much as I can and being torn apart by myself with a side kick of you. I get it.

I get it.

I am not the person you want at all.

And it fucking kills me. Along with hope.

À bientôt

How is it?

It’s like wordlessly screaming. That moment when something is revealed, something is hinted at and all of a sudden your heart is in your throat. You’re shaking because you are now pumped full of adrenaline, fight or flight, fight or cry, cry or scream. You cannot for the life of you remember why you thought it was a good idea at all to go to a certain social networking site. To go investigate, to check things out and there starkly is the sum of all of your fears.

The fears that you have written off as being crazy, being unsubstantiated, of being unfounded. They sit there proudly, glowing in their truth and delusions in my world come crashing down. There’s a great moan as the delusions come down, as loudly as a metaphorically alive thing can die it does. I stand alone in the wreckage of what I had believed, mouth open, shaking, tears streaming down my face without any kind of understanding.

Some truth, some truth of yours might have been nice.

And did I as a human being capable of feeling sadness just as greatly as you, deserving to have the harsh glow of the sum of my fears wash across me?

Maybe I am delusional. And my delusions are in ruins, however that does not mean that the un truth or hidden I’m not telling yous are what I deserve.

I have given you the whole of my truth and the protection of my compassion. I have tried and am trying so very hard to not break now. To not be a constant mess of weeping and heart break. I am doing my best to beat my heart sickness of you.

And yet.

It’s just like salt in my wounds. Every text message you ignore from me but take from other people is a snub. I get it.

I’m not important.

And I’ll own up to feeling that I’m not important to you in the very least because it is exactly what I feel like.

 

À Bientôt!

Zed

 

Right between the eyes

I feel heart sick.

It is one of the worst types of sick to feel, in my very own opinion.  Earlier this fall I had lost my best friend. It was unexpected in the worst way, we had been texting up until he had died. He wasn’t that far along into adult, he shouldn’t have died.

He should still be very much alive. I feel very heart sick over that. My best friend died. That’s not supposed to happen until much later.

People wonder why I’ve been so distant, why I suck at group things more than usual this is it. My best friend died. Did you want me to proclaim that at every function where I was trying to not burst into tears?

My best friend died and it isn’t fair.

My best friend died and now I have no real people who have known me for years to talk to.

My best friend died and somehow this has inconvenienced you.

I’m really sorry about the last one. I know that it doesn’t help anything but still. My best friend died and it really fucking broke me. It still fucking breaks me because he was always there. Even if we didn’t live in the same city or province or he was always. We would always make plans to meet up and just talk.

I remember walking through the snow with him, talking about his feelings and how he felt. He told me that I was one of the rare people who he felt he didn’t have put his facade on around. I remember his smile and how he could wiggle his nose like a bunny.

I miss him so much. I wish that he was still here.

He was one of the first people who met me and said you’re going to make a wonderful top one day. I remember how he told me that he would introduce me to his mom’s friends in the community, that if I wanted to learn how to do things he would help me find people to teach me. Vetted people. Non creepy people, but people that we both knew.

I remember how much he believed in me when other people didn’t.

And how easy it was to be around him. I miss him so much.

And yet it does get better.

Getting there

So as I sit here, casually attempting to study for a midterm I have tomorrow, I have come to a conclusion. I want to write. That’s all I ever want to do, write, expel words, get lost in a moment of conversing with someone that’s entirely one way.

When I write for assignments, it takes forever to get started. The words refuse to come and instead it’s the blank page waiting. I don’t know for what, since I’m the one that the words come from and if I don’t know what I’m waiting for, what I’m expecting, then the page is no expectation. Maybe something profound, amazing, stellar, something that’s amazing.

So when it is not amazing, stellar but just a start I tend to become rather judgemental. I think, edit away at it to make it sound more polished instead of hashing out the skeleton of what I want it to be and how I want to arrive at that conclusion. Instead it becomes one amazing sentence, a partially developed thesis and then more blank page waiting.

It is as if I am pulling teeth. My own teeth.

It is not fun at all and being not fun at all dissuades me from writing.

I know that I can write. And that it is good, that if it is not good enough for me in that moment then I can always edit more to make it good. My idea of good is very different from other people’s idea of good. I hold my writing to a higher standard because of how badly I fail to communicate with people verbally.

Since I communicate not as well as I liked to verbally, it is essential that I be as clear and send the message that I want to in my writing. Which appears to be a larger problem of why I don’t write as much as I would like to anymore.

The remedy to this, I do believe, is to write small amounts everyday. Then it becomes more useful, more natural. There’s less of an importance placed on it. It does not become this monstrous mountain to climb and overcome.

Well. That’s what I hope anyways.

À bientôt!

Painful

Some days just being, just living, taking another breathe and interacting with people is very very hard. That’s not to say that every day is like this nor should it be, it is just a few of those days infiltrates their way in.

They wiggle about under my skin, whispering bitter nothings and caressing the hidden away from everyone parts of me.  None of this is real, none of this is supportable evidence in wake of the events that have come to be but it all could be.

Sweet delusions whispering falsified information, whispering beliefs long since forgotten.

Or I had thought forgotten.

The little delusional lies don’t stay for very long. Often they’re chased off by the things I perceive as truth, my own self defense mechanisms.

The after effects take longer to escape from. It is a slow kind of agony, purging away the lies, the disappointment, the hurt. The hurt is what takes the longest to escape from. It seeps into every thought, emotion, every word, every little syllable.

It is unfortunate because I am terrible with communicating with people. I don’t know or I don’t feel comfortable at all telling people how I feel. So I wind up keeping it to myself and just being a huddled crying mess later on. How can I explain to you why I hurt so bad when I don’t know how to put it into words? When I feel like I am so disposable and that everything feels like a step farther out than I’ve ever been, not that it’s bad thing it’s just that it’s overwhelming. I need for things to progress slowly because I am bad at change.  And I am hurting.

When I hurt I am much more defensive than normal. Everything seems like it’s a good reason to dispose of me. It’s not that the relationship itself is to blame, it is a bunch of neurosis on my part. When you have been disposed of more than once, for someone who is younger and basically the same looking ( roughly), the worry of being replaced is always there. Despite your best intentions it is a fear that I will have for quite a while more. It is a real fear as I have been replaced, when I wasn’t expecting it. And it gives my hurt a hand hold.

So tomorrow I hope to not hurt as much. I will do the best that I can do to bring light to my dark. And hopefully it will alleviate some of the hurt, if not all of it.

À bientôt!