You said I could tell you anything.
I withdrew because I was worried I wasn't worthy of you.
I felt I added nothing to your life.
Once I made these admissions, you said you understood.
However, you drew back.
You said that when I needed you the most is when I should have shared more.
Once I expunged my demons, you smiled, then abandoned me.
You continue to ask what's wrong, while still ingoring me.
And this is why I say nothing, keep it all in, and suffer silently.
Funniest thing I've heard in my 38 years on this planet:
"I think you're a good person."
And the speaker wasn't on illicit drugs.
However, he stared at a brick wall as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him, whispering these blasphemous words into my ear, covered by wisps of hair falling down from my ponytail, therefore being sprayed with foul-smelling spittle.
How I envy his blind faith.
My heart aches knowing that I've caused the slightest bit of difficulty for you. I cling to the words you've spoken to me in my pathetic desperation, as you appear to be the only one that believes I have any worth. I wish circumstances weren't as they are.
To make myself clear yet again...
My challenge entry for "The World in 15 Words" was, admittedly, yet another of my self-loathing rants based on the way that I perceive things simply because of my own emotional insecurities, but after reading this article, I'm beginning to believe that I'm not that far off the mark...
The World in 15 Words
The world is a mound of shit
That perpetuates itself
By continuing to allow life
Rantings of an unsettled mind
I've been struggling the past few weeks with many internal issues. With my sense of self (or lack thereof), of purpose, fulfillment, accomplishment, and even matters of my own satiety with life. Or the fact that I feel that I have failed in some fundamental way myself and those that I care for. Does that mean I have? Not necessarily; I am merely acknowledging that these emotions exist. I wish that I could pinpoint the cause of my frustration and dissonance. The only reason I’ve come up with is that I haven’t been writing as much as I did in the last month or so.
I have purposely not done so, because there is such a morose tone to most of my postings. And I don’t want to be “that girl”, the one who rarely has anything uplifting, humorous, or generally worthwhile to contribute to society. The depressing, negative woman who feels that life is futile and we are all here merely to inhabit space until we die.
Writing is my release, my way of letting loose those frightening emotions so they don’t become reality within my own mind. And I fear that because I have used my writings as my crutch, my solace, that I have distanced myself from the ability to deal with the real-world thoughts and feelings that I have, to the point where I worry that I am not able to process them in the way a well-adjusted person might.
The isolation I feel is both self-imposed and enforced. I don’t attempt earnestly to be around others anymore. It is too great of an effort. I have such little tolerance for those that do nothing more than gossip about what the neighbors are doing, how selfish so-and-so is, and what someone had the audacity to wear to church. I’m always reminded of the saying, “Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, and small minds discuss people.” But then, I find myself being a hypocrite, and the cycle of anger and frustration begins yet again. Even using words the way I do appears to me as though I’m trying to put up a front, to make myself appear more knowledgeable than I am, when I’m truly struggling to find the right words to express myself beyond the usual “sad”, “broken”, “frustrated”, etc.
So how to break this circle? I have no solution other than to return to what I was doing before I entered this morass of unexplainable, intolerable sensations that wash over me like turbulent waves upon the beaten shoreline, pulling back more than they deposit every time. So, please allow me this indulgence and forgive anything I may put out there that is displeasing. And if you cannot, then I apologize for nothing other than the fact that you chose to read what I’ve shared, because I can’t bear more responsibility than I have already placed on myself.
Have you ever thought about your true number of partners?
When I mean partners, I mean that any part of their body penetrated any part of your body other than kissing.
If you need more detail, you need to stop reading this, because you just won't get it.
As a "challenge", I was asked to list, but not share, the partners in my lifetime.
It was meant as a joke, but it really did get me to thinking.
Most of us know The Rule of Three: multiply whatever number a woman gives you by three for the real answer she gives so she doesn't seem like a slut, and divide the number a man gives you by three because he has to look like a stud.
How many people can honestly name each one they've had?
I know of ONE person that can unabashedly not only make this claim, but even if you were to multiply her number by three, the amount would be paltry by today's standards.
And it isn't me.
I am fully aware of why I have, in my past, behaved in the manner I have.
It's not because of some deep-seeded need for approval. Though I do have "Mommy and Daddy issues", I was not physically or sexually abused.
Simply put, I'm an egocentric, borderline sociopath that feels I am above others since people were simply put here for my use, amusement, entertainment, and eventually, my disposal at my discretion.
But it is laughable and it makes me ponder the state of our society where each gender has certain expectations, but neither lives up to them without either fudging details or being accused of falsehoods when they speak the truth that doesn't want to be heard.
I wish I had the fortitude to stand in public and both proclaim and denounce my prior actions, but I never will because to reveal myself publicly would ruin the image I have so carefully crafted through years of deception, manipulation, and sublimation. But at least in this forum, I can speak with (relative) anonymity and release the ridiculousness of my thoughts and actions (cloaked in shadow to the best of my ability) into the world.
Within a group of 8, yet I'm the outsider, the one who doesn't quite fit in. I'm relied upon to make the plans, know what's going on, document everything, and be the authority figure that will be ignored by grown people behaving like spoiled children in a candy store. Trying to drag them away from the bright, shiny lights of the casino, from the spirits of the bar, or from the blustery rage of ocean winds on the 10th deck where they can spew forth their cigarette smoke and drunken obscenities with abandon to get some form of nourishment within their bloated, booze-soaked bodies so they can proceed with wild abandon their rampant disregard for the gift of life they each possess.
Not that it was all bad; there were a few bright, shining moments. For example, having the opportunity to photograph fallen statues covered in moss and concealing dragonfish in Roatan, Honduras. Holding a parrot that took a particular liking to me in Cozumel to the point that his owner tried to sell him to me at a cheap price because the bird became attached so quickly. Or the beauty of watching the sunrise over the horizon of the Western Caribbean waters early in the morning, before the hungover zombies rise to pour coffee down their gullets in preparation for another day of debauchery.
Adrift in the sea, on a vessel carrying 2,600 people, yet I am alone. Cut off from the one who keeps me centered, the only one I care to talk to. And then, to return to the monotony and frustration of real life, expounded by the fact that no matter how I try, something will always come up that will turn things upside down. I guess it just is not meant to be for me to see the joy and beauty that is my life. I had high hopes, too.
You know that feeling
You get when you’re about to
Do something naughty?
I feel it right now
Because I am about to
Put it in my mouth.
Sitting there, teasing,
Glistening, beckoning me
To do as I please.
You’re not good for me
My body and mind say so
But I want it now.
I know I shouldn’t
But I just can’t help myself
Give me that doughnut.
To believe or not to believe
I am full of so many emotions at present that I truly feel I will burst if I don’t release them in some manner. I posted a little over a week ago about the tragic accident that claimed the lives of three young boys that had barely had a chance to live.
At least, according to “human time”.
Because, per the Gospel, we only see things in human terms, not eternity. We are here for as long as it “pleases God”, and when we depart from our earthly bodies, as long as we have been baptized and accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior who died upon the cross, then was resurrected three days later to rise and ascend to heaven and absolve all who believe in him of their sins, they are assured eternal life at the side of God, and their earthly forms will rise again at the end of days.
To everything, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven, right?
We should be jealous of those that have passed and are assured entrance to heaven because they believe. Or because we believe it is so.
We should remember that we are all here for only a short time, and our lives are not ours, but simply borrowed. Our children are not ours; they belong to Him and he only “lends” them to us.
Regardless of the physical pain, the emotional pain, the worry, pride, humiliation, joy, and all other "human" emotions we experience.
And when the most devout, best lived Christians lose their youngest children in what can only be described as an “abomination”, a “freak accident”, an “Act of God” (see?), they should take comfort in the fact that their children, having been baptized, have obtained eternal life.
They believe, without proof.
Without hope, grief becomes bitterness, which then becomes hate.
So, while they believe their loved ones are sitting in the lap of God, basking in his Glory, they are stuck in Hell on Earth, missing the physical, emotional, and spiritual presence of their loved one, until they are (possibly) reunited again in the afterlife.
But they should find solace in the fact that the one they’re missing is in paradise.
We have “free will”, but His will overrides ours. Therefore, if He so chooses, anything that you choose to do can be overturned.
Murderers could be prevented from killing. Abortions could be unsuccessful. Any number of bad things in the world you can think of that occur due to “free will” could, in theory, be stopped.
But it isn’t, because it is “pleasing” to Him.
Sounds sadistic to me.
Maybe it's all in the semantics.
Maybe it's Man's interpretation of His word.
We shall give Him all the Honor and Glory. We shall worship no one other than Him.
Sounds kinda selfish, doesn’t it?
Why should we not honor ourselves and our loved ones; our family, friends, and those we hold dear while we are around to enjoy them?
If we weren’t supposed to do certain things, then why were we able to think them up? Is that part of our "free will"?
In fact, if we’re only here so we can get to Heaven, what’s the point of us coming here in the first place?
This is not just a pissed-off rant because three little boys died unnecessarily and we are all supposed to be comforted by the fact that they’re no longer suffering the “sins of the flesh”. I have been dealing with these issues for over 20 years, and the point was REALLY driven home in the last week.
I just don’t get it.
I probably never will.
And if there IS a Heaven and Hell, I guess I’ll be looking up at all of you when my time comes, waving and going, “Shit…they were right all along.”
And if not…I’ll never know, and neither will you.