Have Faith Little One
The concept of "faith" has always been lost on me, particuarly as applied to religion. It has always been absolutely ridiculous to me how religious people can take terrible events that happen to themselves and to others around the world and simply say "my faith says that God will see us through, no matter what." This is what I was told time after time after time, growing up without a Mother. I was a lonely, confused little girl who wanted nothing more than to have a family, and I suppose in a way I got one; my Grandparents. I was forced to have faith in them. My Mother, however, showed me through her constant abscence, and sudden reappearences that faith in her would destroy me; and it did. My Grandparents told me that when I was little, I used to pray to God for my Mom to come back, and that if it was "God's time" my prayer would be answered. I know better now. I stopped having faith in "God" and my Mother when I was 12, but the hurt didn't stop, only changed shape. Sadness gave way to constant disappointment and anger, anger that still has not gone away, even now. I placed my faith only in myself for years to come, until she came along.
Elizabeth Conner; my best friend. My bond with her was as close to religion as I would most likely ever get, and she made sure the faith I put in her would not go unnoticed. No matter what, she was there, and I did the same. Through other friends come and gone, lover after lover, even the one I thought was the one; she was there. Seven years this carried on, the only place I put my faith was in her, and I think she got tired of it. "Leave. Me. Alone" I read, the equivilent of a virtual restraining order and my soul melted into the lonely pit of my stomach. The concept of faith further lost on me. . .
As people, we need to have agency for our own actions, responsibility. We cannot simply pawn off our decisions, our faith onto an unseen entity, or another person we deem worthy, as they do not bear the consequences. The lesson is not learned by them, but by us. What matters most in this world is the faith we carry in ourselves, because no one can take that away. A broken, demented Mother that had no wish to care for a child, nor the woman you thought was your rock, only proving to be quicksand. Security comes when your faith is reliant upon no one, but yourself.
The concept of "faith" has always been lost upon me, particularly as it applies to other people.
Untitled. . .
January 4th, 2019 and a 39 minute drive through the back roads of Sebastopol, CA
On my way to a place you and I once went together, and oh, it was our anniversary.
My drive becomes dangerous as tears fill my eyes and my vision becomes more blurry than I would like it to be on a rainy day.
Have you ever gotten out of a bath and came back hours later to find that the last, small layer of water never quite drained from the floor of the tub? So imagine that, but with your eyes.
I have never cried like this before.
My voice, just as broken as the rest of me, could not assist in letting my emotions out of their cage, and my soul withstood another pang of helplessness.
I have never cried like this before.
I have never cried as if my very soul, was melting.
Seeping out from within me just as lava does from a broken, weeping volcano, and I’ve NEVER felt this vulnerable.
I HATE it.
Almost as friends, I followed the same dull silver colored Acura, for 17 miles.
I sit down on a fallen tree and the man standing chest deep in the middle of the freezing lake looks at me like I just hopped his back fence, and we share an awkward moment.
One hour passed and I had made a decision.
I drove back home, silent.
January 7th, 2019 and a message that I was not prepared for.
“We could do tomorrow if you like”
Air catches violently in my throat and my brain fails me.
“3 works for me, if that works for you”
“Perfect, see you there”
Left on read because I suddenly didn’t what the color green was anymore,
How am I going to prepare for this?
January 8th, 2019 and a 2 minute drive to the place I once called home.
To the man I once called home.
I’m going to throw up.
Burning a metaphorical hole through the staircase I know you will descend from and you make me wait.
Seconds tick by like years and finally, here he comes.
My organs begin to blend together like a fruit smoothie.
I’m going to throw up.
The door opens and I CAN’T LOSE IT NOW.
We tell stories and laugh, no shortage of inside jokes, and it feels REALLY GOOD to see him again.
We drift between places that mean something yet nothing. and I find myself comforted by a thought that once destroyed me.
Our eyes meet and I’m sure we’re both remembering the night our lips did the same, but it DOESN’T MATTER.
This is the man who made it his BUSINESS to let me down.
And now that I am where I am now, suddenly, I am thankful that he did.
January 8th, 2019 another 2 minute drive back to the place I NOW call home.
To the MAN I call home.
I cry tears of relief and regret, but it feels okay because I know this HAS to happen.
I’ve made my decision.
It’s a good one,
And I can do it.
Things I Don’t Understand: A Grocery List
I really don’t understand myself. I am intelligent, yet I feel useless and ignorant. I am talented, yet I feel invisible and insignificant. I am beautiful, yet I feel constantly inferior. I don’t understand my lack of patience with others. Although that isn’t 100% true is it? Simultaneously, I don’t understand my willingness to be pushed around and stepped on. How do I consistently contradict myself in such vital ways? Is this not indicative of cognitive dissonance? How can one be hard but also WAY TOO soft? Full of potential, yet so useless? I suppose I will wrestle with this forever.
I don’t understand depression. My mind becomes an empty elevator, while my thoughts flee to my heart and my emotions become lodged in my throat like a dripping garbage bag that was stuffed too full. I don’t understand how I feel as though I could conquer the world at 1pm, yet feel like a slave by 5. I don’t understand trying so hard to be grateful, yet remaining as bitter as the world’s last lemon. I don’t understand why good things happen to me if they are only going to taste of baking chocolate instead of victory. I don’t understand why bad things happen to me, when I’ve suddenly lost my taste buds.
I don’t understand my complete inability to find joy in things other than those listed below: cats, coffee, music, and the company of ONE other intelligent human. Without these things surrounding me constantly, I would be as flavorless and grey as bread and butter, or a coat of beige paint. I don’t understand my complete disassociation from ones I’m supposed to love. I don’t understand why I think SO differently and am forced into social exile. I don’t understand how I can be so outspoken, yet so uncomfortably unsure of every breath. I don’t understand how I can care SO MUCH it seems maddening, yet as little as the tip of a pen.
And all this, is just the tip of my pen.
The Problem of Space. And You.
The Earth’s magnetic field flips every 200,000 years.
The North and South poles did a somersault the night your lips touched mine.
This being said, you were my once in 200,000 years!
The Earth eclipsed the Sun as you and I leaned in closer and closer, singing “Forgot About Dre” daring each other to make a mistake,
We matched each other word for word, breath for breath, in more ways than one that night.
Everyone in the room knew a galaxy was forming in the very small space between us.
Now if you remember anything about me, you’ll remember that space is my biggest fear,
I jumped into you, like the eternal unknowing of a black hole,
And I swear to God, I was not afraid.
And like a black hole, you sucked me into you, I had no chance of escape
I did NOT WANT TO!
Your total darkness was the most comforting presence I had EVER FELT, home had suddenly become YOU and I was privileged to float in your darkness for the rest of my days. . .
I learned in astronomy that after a black hole sucks up everything it can, eventually it will run out of energy and collapse.
And that is exactly what you did.
When I fell for you, I didn’t know you were a dying star that I wanted to live JUST A LITTLE LONGER
Love me just a LITTLE LONGER
Try just a LITTLE LONGER
A little longer for me, was an eternity for you
You could not be bothered to try any longer and hit the self destruct
Self destruct was labeled wrong,
And I’ve collapsed into a singularity, without you.
Lonely and Your Bed
Studies have shown that the loneliest people spend the most time in bed. But doesn’t a person’s bed have everything that’s supposed to make them happy? Think about it. Your bed has warmth, soft things that make your skin feel even softer. Your smell, something you know is your own. And for some, their bed has the person they love. Of all things, shouldn’t this make people want to spend more time in their beds? It makes sense to me. So why do all these “experts” seem to know how lonely these people really are? I can guarantee you they don’t just tell people these things. No lonely people, TRULY lonely people, never SAY they’re lonely. Because they don’t want people’s fake apologies, “I’m always here if you want to talk”’s and “come to (insert supposedly interesting place here) you might meet someone”’s.
No. The kind of lonely these people are, and I am, is the kind of lonely that doesn’t want to BELIEVE they are lonely. The kind of lonely that is in constant denial of how lonely they really are. They try and convince themselves that they have friends and people that love them. And maybe they do! But that doesn’t change a thing.
Im beginning to think the word “lonely” is a personality trait. It sure seems to be that way. Because no matter how many friends you have. If someone loves you more than they could ever say, if you have an amazing family, despite all that, you still go home every night, and try to disguise the pain you shove so far down that not even YOU can seem to recognize it anymore.