The Faces

 

A random painting based on sketches I did some weeks ago.

These Tears Are Never Enough

Alright. I think I’m finished.

For real this time. I will never stop getting in my own way. Trying is useless; from what I”ve already done, it doesn’t even look like I know how to try and give things a real chance.

Today my mother and I almost got hit by a train. We were in the middle of a railroad crossing when I noticed the red lights were on indicating a train near, but the gates hadn’t fallen soon enough. I told my mother to back up the car, but as I said it another car pulled up behind us, blocking the way. I looked at the right and saw the train moving closer and my next thought was of not getting  my foot stuck in the tracks, because I was set to unbuckle and get out of the car. But my mother told me to hold on and she sped the car forward. Afterward she said “those people behind us are probably saying that was a close call for us…”

There’s no point to this story except to say I should have gotten out of that car and walked face forward into that train. The last two days I can honestly say I’ve never felt more infuriated with people as a whole. The waiting I’ve had to do, the nasty attitudes…I would love to reverse the mistake all life and creation has turned out to be.

I want to get this over with. Thinking about what I’ll miss or who will miss me or who I’ll hurt is not going to save me from failing at life or from causing myself more pain by trying to make it. Survive for what? I am not understood, I will not be missed.

One of these nights I’m going to try. I’ll go as far as I can. And if it’s not good enough, I’ll consider it practice, and I’ll try again. With the medicine all gone from me, I do feel more like my old self again. My old, suicidal, depressed for no reason, self. But this time, no longer waiting to feel better.

So alone it hurts.

 

The stitches I pull open
Bone, tainted by the breeze
Moments infected pass with ease
They say ‘I know it hurts but breathe’

My darkened spirit sounds the trill
Another self I’ve got to kill
Pray tell; it’s a quick two or three
I bleed–the panic quells to peace

Between the breath and beating
I say I need no more
Now dazed, half awakened
And watching my blood pour

I protect them from their fear
The nightmare swimming in this mirror
I feel my angel turn away…
This time, the end,
Be near

 

I’m going back to what I usually do. Post my art and crappy poems and leave it at that. My personal life sucks and is not interesting and hearing me bitch about it is a huge waste of time. I’m eventually going to kill myself anyway. It stays with me and pulls me toward it; One day I’m going to get there.

“Sing so soft, as if she’ll break….”

 

The title is a line from Regina Spektor’ s song “Lady”. I love the mood of that song. I know I probably seem a little stuck on her music, but she has a lot of variety, and I’m amazed at how she arranges some of her songs.

Anyway, I don’t have anything new to say except I’m working on two new songs. The lyrics suck, but the music I guess is slowly coming along…lol. I’m embarrassed that I even try, but it’s something to do for now as I wait to be contacted for volunteering at the hospital (I’ll have to do at least 100 hours in a year, which will be no problem since I have nothing else going on..).

Below are some older poems I wasn’t too excited about, but didn’t want to trash either. More bits and pieces of thoughts I threw together one day to ease a bad mood. The new things I’ve written are almost done being edited.

For Sanity

Quiet disposition-
Looks to dreams of the unreachable
In melancholic melodies, played beneath my fingers
In discontent, as written in a hidden script of
Characters; strangers who hurt themselves
But, I never quite figured them out.

To draw somber eyes-
Soft glistening breaks over the souls iris doors
Imagination was not enough
Once numbness dyed every new life experience
When time clearly asked me to waste away
To die, or decide on which risks I’d take.

On the edge thinking deeply-
On a sunset I prayed for the will to meet
For my fallen blade to mirror a perfect resolution
As in the stories, characters and how they would fold
As in the sad drawn eyes, of their streaming tears
That ask why the passing days forget their purpose.

In the way the keys sang a most painful song-
Each note gave its understanding without pause
Why desperation creases my brow…If God
Could only tell me how, to live and what to say
Why he can not force belief
For all things to be okay.

A Way

Cut,
Dragged,
Swallowed down
I’ll fix a sure way out

Crippling, well placed mistakes
Tonight shall have their way
Finished tears will seep and choke
Sorrows of unseen years

Risen ailments’ wave, at crest
Soon comes my flood of
Darkness

The End Is Better

I cancelled another therapy appointment. I don’t think I’m going anymore. If I can’t pinpoint what I need and what I’m in this for anymore, it’s a waste on so many levels. I’m in some kind of pain, but there’s nothing anyone else can do to help me out now. It feels like I’ve looked at all sides and I’ve heard the possibilities. There’s been so many attempts to get me to believe in the positive, but every time, I easily let it all slip from my mind. It’s weightless to me.

I didn’t know how to approach ‘getting help’ when I did finally speak up. There was nothing but a fear that has remained at the core of what I am now. It doesn’t allow me to say what I should be saying in therapy. I can’t let go. I can’t share my darker thoughts because for years I’ve felt that speaking of them is a dangerous option—one door would lead into the next and I’d surely lose all the control I only ever hope I have.

So, I cheat myself by not telling my therapist the whole truth. And I’ve had enough; I’m sick of myself. I hate how much time and money I’ve wasted, and I’m disappointed that I have not yet learned, after all this time, how to accept help. I tie it so much to meaning, while knowing I’ll never have an answer–for why I should live, for why I should care. Help is something I don’t have an idea for how to have it really sink in.

I’m tired of going through days where it seems I’m always about to fall asleep to what’s going on. Being blank about it. Watching up close but not fully taking part. There’s no desire to. And if I decide to let go all together, it feels like I know exactly how I will fall and where I will land. It’s quiet and I’m alone, surrounded by a calming cold; finished and resting, and on my way to being forgotten about.

Got Away For Awhile

 

 

I went to the Underground Railroad Freedom Center this weekend with my mother. It was worth the trip and we plan to go back soon to check out other parts we didn’t get to look at. It’s a huge place with a lot of information about the past regarding slavery in America, and about the civil right movement.

My mom had been hesitant to go to the Freedom Center ever since it opened in the city. She thought it would make her sad to see so much about slavery, the images and all, but it’s not too grim at all. I was excited when I heard about how involved a lot of people were back when it was first opening, especially after the hype about Oprah giving money to the project. The artifacts were cool to see and there was this amazing mural I plan on getting a picture of next time I go. The only thing that disturbed me was reading this sign near one of the exhibits that explained how people used to justify slavery. Calling it a “neccessary evil”, and saying that the “white lifestyle requires it”… Anyway, it was a pretty good day.

As far as my mental state, I would say I’ve just been plain out unmotivated. I’ve got to get myself together somehow within the next few hours though to get ready for my interview tomorrow.

Here’s a poem I just finished. Writing is going well too. I’m not as stuck on ideas, but I’ll see how long that lasts.

No title once again…lol.

Sky of graves
They are deaths twinkling through the dust
Its stretch in all directions of one beginning gust
Honest hope does not extend their ray

Our spot of warmth: the glitch in a comfortless dream
Results in rippling jewels, fevers, come with a fearful cold
Folding in, falling through–a demise all its own
A life ending desire; creation to retrieve

Foresee the end spun and sifted far within
All is dying—tells the ancient art
Our venom tainted natal chart
Smoke of ghosts above, absorb the sin

 

 

The Folds

 

I don’t think I ever shared this painting. It’s not great or anything, I know, and I’m not sure of any real meaning for it exactly but I found I was unusually interested in the petal folds of roses and other flowers. The folds are symbolic to me in a way, because I always think of something being hidden there, something terrible being covered and disguised by something beautiful and secretive.

Elusive Blue

 

 

  This butterfly was the hardest to get a  photo of. I took a chance and shot at random caught it with it’s wings open. It happened in the shade so this image is edited for the color to show up better. Below are more poems. I swear I’m working on better material. I just wanted to post something today.

Bloodstain

I, the beat-less piece of shade
Of life; I wish I could escape
But once again, they accept
My excuse as truth, so

These nails dig into the wrist
Over and again. Until this burning
Is a bite. Until the biting is a breath,
When the seconds slow to rest

And bloodstain my contemplation
Telling me I am what’s wrong
It shoves me to the brink and
Scolds me for my holding on

———————————————

Emend

I am darkened enough
A sore in this dimension

The spare can never ask.
Not when, where or for what.

But I am not for shame and
Do not scream or look away

As in this moment, pain will own
And I will not deflect

 

Incomplete

I finished my last class of the course today. The tests went fine, even after a sleepless night before. I still can’t believe I survived my ten days of clinical training at the hospital. Everyone in my class will be getting their certificate, and three out of the nine of us will be getting an extra ‘perfect attendance’ thing (which includes me).

The relief I felt about being at the end began to die away though as I went home on Friday after leaving the hospital for the last time. Now that it’s all done with, I’m feeling empty again. All that I’ve done doesn’t seem like it’ll be enough still, to change anything. Honestly, I feel like I have to escape this. Get myself out of this life and out of having to decide and push myself, for what I don’t even want. My mother and I took a walk this afternoon and I was about ready to burst into tears, like I did that one day back in class. The doubts that nearly stopped me before are quickly finding their way.

I’m trying to write again, hoping I’ll regain something more familiar and comforting from before I threw myself into the stress of the last three months. I feel like I’m drowning, or as if I’ve forgotten that I know how to save myself—I’ve forgotten what to do.

I’m not happy with my life right now. And for some strange reason I feel disappointed in myself; failure digging itself through from the inside out. I don’t understand why.

There’s an opening for me to see the dermatologist on Friday about the unexplained rash I’ve had recurring since the middle of April. Maybe it is just my nerves. Or a sign that I really am losing my mind, but haven’t fully realized it yet.

Not Really Even There

 

I had to go back to see doctors about this rash on my arms and legs. I’ve been telling them it seems to be an allergic reaction to the sertraline (generic of Zoloft) I’ve been taking. But first they wanted to brush it off as bed bugs (hell no is that the problem) then it was a ‘fungal infection’ they suspected. Now they finally want to believe it could be an allergic reaction of some sort. I go to the dermatologist on the 23^rd this month.  

What really surprised me though is when one doctor basically had me embarrass myself, by telling me to take my clothes off to get a better view of the rash. Then when he looked closer at my arms, he pointed out “hmmm, you cut yourself”. I had a flash of heat come over me. Then I just kept telling myself ‘Get through this. Those scars are not what I came in here to talk about’. He wasn’t a prick or anything, but it still felt uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything further about them beyond stating the obvious. I’m surprised at how truly numb I’ve become to how other people react to seeing them. They’re never going to go away, and I wouldn’t want them to. So I’ve decided that when I do go to the dermatologist about this damn rash, I’m just going to come out with the truth and tell them not to be surprised with the scars on my arms. I’d rather be the one to state the obvious rather than have someone else open their mouth about it, about my situation of which they know nothing of. I’m over having this tie me down like it has. Being so scared….I have nothing to fear about being left with scars. It’s other people who are afraid it seems, because who in their right mind would want to hurt themselves like this, right? I wouldn’t want to be around me either, honestly. But I can’t really hate myself for doing something that has literally saved my life a few times now. That’s probably the hardest thing for anyone who’s not been through it to understand. Maybe I am just insane. Trying to defend myself from who knows what…

I’m still looking for a job. My week of clinical training is going alright. I’m proud of myself for getting as far as I have–to the end without missing a day. I mean, I don’t feel anything inside, but I’m aware that I do deserve to feel proud of myself, even if it’s not really there, if that makes sense. My mother says she’s proud of me, my instructor says the same thing (surprisingly), but I don’t trust it will get me anywhere. I am stronger for having gone through with this course, no doubt, but isn’t it really just a loss cause in the end? How far can I really get in life without having something inside to hold me down, to be my reason? I just feel silenced in an extreme sort of way. I feel very dead.