Thoughts

It’s fair in fact that vulnerability breeds a bit of sadness in the soul.

Though making you bold, it also feels like weakness in the way that you squish a bug with your finger tip- feels of my feelings in your hands.

Fragility.

While often a mark of strength and growth, vulnerability has a way of letting the ego rear it’s ugly face in the moments of love and care.

Where we should be showing compassion and understanding, it is too frequently an easier solution to respond with annoyance and frustration.

I see the emotions come out in myself and while fierce and strong, I recognize them as emotions not true to what I hold within my heart and my mind.

Instead I see them as feelings of weakness in that they allow me to short cut the situation by sticking within myself and my own beliefs rather than exploring the reality that my partner, friend, colleague is valid in their thoughts and feelings as well.

These relationships do not deserve the bitterness that resides in my bones, nor the annoyance that I allow to fluctuate in my responses.

I recognize myself in these moments as a woman without control over what she is doing. Lacking the strength to feel and see what is beyond her own self.

Weakness.

I am thankful for the patience those who love me instill within me. So rarely responding to me as I have to them.

Role-models.

My largest goal as of now is to work consciously towards the way I react and respond to those around me. More so those I love, as they are often the ones to receive my wrath should it occur.

So thank you, to those who know and those who listen. Those who love.

I will continue to work towards my best self for not only me, but for you as well.

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Push

Really, we’re all in our own heads. There’s no sharing this or that with what’s contained within.

We all (and I mean me) push and push, sometimes for things we aren’t even sure about. Is it a push for power or a push against anxiety? The question remains the same.

I’ve fought and fought and remained complacent.

I’ve discovered and renewed and remained the same. Continued with destruction as if the day did not explode with the same tracks before.

Is it a fight for power or a fight against anxiety?

The question remains just as the behavior refuses to change.

A cop out full of disgust. Weakness disguised as decision. A fucking sheep in a wolf. The opposite.

Maybe we destroy ourselves for guidance, inspiration, new skin, new views, something beyond what the fuck is now.

Chicago on 35mm film

Expand

There are more peculiar things than what you’ve already seen. Broader seas than the depths you believe to be ‘too deep’.

Insanity – we know the spiel. Same and same and expectance and the same. Insanity.

Migration proves itself throughout history as not only a reaction but a reason.
A cure.

Diaspora. Hegira. Exodus.

The passage not only to, but from.

And here I remain.

Remaining for fear, for comfort, for happiness I still have yet to create for myself.
Here I still remain.

When does history stop being made and start being repeated?
Here, there, and back again- forward always, and always circular.
*
What we’re really asking is, what pushes those driven by fear to break that chain?

Where is the epiphany?
Are they weak? Broken? Not worthy of what they have made worth of?

Where does their next page lie?
“Why, in their own hands, I assume.”

See, no one saves anyone around here.

We break our own chains or we die fighting against them while bringing us to a new version of ourselves in which history is dead and we are new.

Not repeating. No longer circular.

So again, the question changes:
What are our chains?
What holds us tightest?

That is what needs to break. To expand. To excel.

Exceed past the comfortability of our realm.

Passing

A girl on a train. Is she where she wants to be? On the way to where her heart will ache or will it heal?

Each story that passes has a universe of it’s own. Beginning, middle and end. Which part are you at?

Are we simultaneously existing in all the beginnings, middles and ends of new, current and old stories? It can’t be that the three are mutually exclusive- not once touching another.

No, see it has to be that they each coexist together in the existence of each stage. Each story that has yet to form is forming and has completed it’s form.

The beginning being not only the end of the old but the existing of the current and the forming of the new. Mutually inclusive and existing in every way.

Seeming empty in thought does not mean empty in heart, in love, in hurt. With each soul passing you by, how can we think that our strengths are greater or our weaknesses weaker? How do we allow comparison to be fed?

Is there a way to see and share what we possess, what we hold and what we are? To be raw, not only outwardly but with oneself as well.

Shielding no eyes to the truth of our hearts, our minds, our souls.

A girl on a train, what’s she thinking anyways?

Every day forward. One step, then another.

Every day, another day.

Yet here we are with feelings of another.

The feelings of that day, not of this.

But here we are with feelings as strong as ever.

Do we pass or just charge right through?

Does it change whether hurt is involved or pain is not touched?

The way we move as if that past is behind us, just to have it sneak up on us at night.

Like the cool side of your pillow, just waiting for the next turn.

Do we grow within the cracks, or have the cracks seeped into our souls?

Breaking apart the very solidity we believe to be untouchable.

Have we been looking at things all the wrong way?

Maybe the reactions are here to prove more than the action set in motion to begin with.

Maybe looking within is more of a way to look without, while still holding strength within oneself.

Like a mirror with infinite space, seeing all that has passed you and beyond.

Maybe the past isn’t as distant as we think.

Currently.

I do not feel challenged in my current state of being. No discomfort or progression seems within my reach of where I stand today.

A list to push & a mind with purpose is what I need to form. My perseverance has faltered over the years and though I seem to have lost a true reason for my existence, this does not mean that this reason is lost forever without any future of being formed.

Reminding myself that any day is a new day and every day I can begin again has been my true challenge. While I believe this in my mind, my heart has been the most dismissive of what I need within myself.

Wake up, work, go home, pray for death, sleep- repeat. I imagine the death of myself as easy as putting documents through the paper shredder, I’ll just hop in there too. Pronto- no more me. It’s not that clean, not that easy.

I wonder about how the news would travel if my death were to occur at this time in my life. Facebook. Maybe an Instagram post or story by some of my friends? But those known only to me, without any mutuals between us- how would they know?

Weird.

I’m not suicidal, and I don’t say that to convince you or myself. More of a reassurance to anyone reading this that probably shouldn’t be. I’m also not here to let anyone know that I’m doing okay or for this to be some outwards call for help. I know who to call if I need help. This is just for me.

I haven’t been writing because really, I’ve had so little to say. My thoughts have not been wandering to the depths they normally live and my heart hasn’t felt pulled in any direction outside of it’s own. I haven’t been worked up or talked down. It’s been a stagnant few weeks. I’m doing my best just to remind myself that a few weeks isn’t an entire life unless I allow it to be.

The thoughts of doing nothing and allowing my life to transpire within this stagnation are present and they are real but I am fighting. My largest hurt in these thoughts is looking forward to myself in ten, twenty years from now and seeing how deeply I sold myself out by not pursuing anything. Though I may not know exactly what I want to do, me not doing anything is just adding fuel to the fire that destroys my soul.

More than anything I want to provide myself with a future where I feel proud of myself and my accomplishments. Not like the fraud that I often feel like these days. Though I know my power is real and the talents I possess are in fact mine, I feel disgraced knowing that I don’t push half as hard as I could and as I should.

Discipline has escaped me and respect has started slipping.

Dreams of stress and betrayal have consumed by nights. Sleepless with heartache caused by imagined failures and impossible problems clouding my mind. My eyes are not open to where these feelings of guilt and betrayal come from. The souls I meet in my dreams are recognized and real- why have you come to visit me here?

Regardless of the dreams that come to me in my sleep, these are not real and they are not me. Let this serve as a reminder to self that I am, and always will be, my present self. All things past and future combine with my present to create this being that walks freely in her steps and speaks calmly with her words.

This is me and I am still fighting.

Idiot or Asshole?

Maybe I’m fooling myself by allowing to be fooled.

Allowing myself to be the weak one when that’s not the role I play.

Anger serves no place for me now. How do we get past that? We as in me, not you and me.

Meaning is what I need in my actions. Wishing more of my life felt like anything, while it feels very close to nothing.

The person other people see, I do not feel.

I can’t stop pushing for things that are already on edge. Already chipping away and I can’t stop hitting with a hammer.
Ready to shatter myself before I let it go. Why am I like this?

Never always, but always particularly particular.

Obsessed from anxiety- why am I feeding this?

Am I the idiot or the asshole?

The more I ask the more I realize the two are not mutually exclusive.
The more I see I am both, the more like both I feel.
The more weight I hammer onto myself.

Choices.
I make them alone.

Never has my hand truly been forced- My challenges come from within and I am good at digging.
Digging and burying. Burying all that I no longer want to see, no longer want to feel.

Feelings don’t work like vision though.

You hide something behind the curtain, it’s out of sight.
You hide behind a curtain, but still I can feel your heat.

Like emission from a plant, I smell your scent.
Your existence in the presence that you carry remains.

Maybe lonely is all I am and heartbreak is what I use as my disguise.

I’m always the rock with nothing to stand on.
Holding strong for all I love while I continue to tumble, tumble, tumble down.

People don’t seem to notice you falling when it’s what you’ve always done.

People don’t seem to notice your pain when you often feel it.

That doesn’t excuse your lack of care.
That doesn’t excuse the blind eyes you share.

I vow to never disappear as some have disappeared upon me.

For me and you.
And no, not “you” you, but “you”, all of you.

I vow to be stronger for me.

But what does that even look like?