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I wrote something last night that was entirely word-painting, -mapping, -etc... I’m not even sure what to call it, but it's a downpour of my “heart.” If anything is to wholly represent my current skill of word-painting and what I can do when creatively stricken by an unhealthy overabundance of conscience; let the following be my flying white flag.
This is a true step towards what I want to become. I can’t get much more vulnerable than this, without cutting myself open.
Written in three intervals between the hours of 2 and 3 AM, the morning of March 1st, 2010.
Part One
It could be said that because I’m constantly asking myself in a disgusted tone, “What the hell are you doing with yourself that’s worth anything, Alexis?” that I’m on the right track to becoming something worthy of breathing.
No matter how what goals I meet or how loved I feel, the same question tumbles in my mind on a constant rotation of rationally assumed skewed axis. I feel sub par to what I envision I could accomplish if I just pushed myself marginally harder, and I feel unloved to the utmost degree, at certain times because I reject it. This doesn’t come from ignorance, I believe, although it very well could and might. Though, from my selfish perspective, it’s coming from the flip sides of what it means to ignore.
Admittedly, I’m ignoring my accomplishments and ignoring what love I do receive. We accept the love we think we deserve, perhaps the two intertwine and exists as an explanation for why I feel so unworthy and unloved. It sort of makes sense, in an Alexis-going-insane-and-terrified-of-abandonment-without-a-future kind of way.
I know I’m trying to be superwoman because I’m walking on my finely wrung tightrope. I’m not sure what to do other than be scared as hell for what might happen next. I could be annihilated, devastatingly so on my own accord. It’s just terrifying trying to keep my eyes open to the darkness with my ever-existing blind spots.
Part Two
My drive has reached its exit, my GPS has landed, my lighter has been extinguished. My borrowed Nabokovianism has flickered out.
I’ve reached the point of lacking sight of purpose in writing by means of releasing the floods of emotion welled up behind my drying dams. No matter what there’s going to be a “Fuck you” scrawled on my stones, and no one’s got the time to rub them out. More importantly, no matter what I do tonight, I will sleep eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but eventually.
I will wake up and it will be “okay,” relatively speaking in the sense of I will still be breathing.
Thankfully, the world doesn't regard on whether or not I deserve to.
Part Three
If I’m resentful of writing, why do I feel like I’m going to explode at any moment with a rainbow of metaphors?
“What am I truly upset with?”; that's the question I should be asking myself right now. Am I bothered by my mental core, or my personified sea of red? If the latter, I’m letting it affect my psyche. It’s tearing me down and clogging my skin. I risked getting cut further open from my willing slit. Initially I meant it, presently I still love you.
I’m scared of showing people I hurt myself over them, I’m afraid they'll assume they know what's best for me and then abandon me. I’m terrified of being left. Why does everyone believe they know what's best for me? I wonder what makes my judgment so mute.
This is a true step towards what I want to become. I can’t get much more vulnerable than this, without cutting myself open.
Written in three intervals between the hours of 2 and 3 AM, the morning of March 1st, 2010.
Part One
It could be said that because I’m constantly asking myself in a disgusted tone, “What the hell are you doing with yourself that’s worth anything, Alexis?” that I’m on the right track to becoming something worthy of breathing.
No matter how what goals I meet or how loved I feel, the same question tumbles in my mind on a constant rotation of rationally assumed skewed axis. I feel sub par to what I envision I could accomplish if I just pushed myself marginally harder, and I feel unloved to the utmost degree, at certain times because I reject it. This doesn’t come from ignorance, I believe, although it very well could and might. Though, from my selfish perspective, it’s coming from the flip sides of what it means to ignore.
Admittedly, I’m ignoring my accomplishments and ignoring what love I do receive. We accept the love we think we deserve, perhaps the two intertwine and exists as an explanation for why I feel so unworthy and unloved. It sort of makes sense, in an Alexis-going-insane-and-terrified-of-abandonment-without-a-future kind of way.
I know I’m trying to be superwoman because I’m walking on my finely wrung tightrope. I’m not sure what to do other than be scared as hell for what might happen next. I could be annihilated, devastatingly so on my own accord. It’s just terrifying trying to keep my eyes open to the darkness with my ever-existing blind spots.
Part Two
My drive has reached its exit, my GPS has landed, my lighter has been extinguished. My borrowed Nabokovianism has flickered out.
I’ve reached the point of lacking sight of purpose in writing by means of releasing the floods of emotion welled up behind my drying dams. No matter what there’s going to be a “Fuck you” scrawled on my stones, and no one’s got the time to rub them out. More importantly, no matter what I do tonight, I will sleep eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but eventually.
I will wake up and it will be “okay,” relatively speaking in the sense of I will still be breathing.
Thankfully, the world doesn't regard on whether or not I deserve to.
Part Three
If I’m resentful of writing, why do I feel like I’m going to explode at any moment with a rainbow of metaphors?
“What am I truly upset with?”; that's the question I should be asking myself right now. Am I bothered by my mental core, or my personified sea of red? If the latter, I’m letting it affect my psyche. It’s tearing me down and clogging my skin. I risked getting cut further open from my willing slit. Initially I meant it, presently I still love you.
I’m scared of showing people I hurt myself over them, I’m afraid they'll assume they know what's best for me and then abandon me. I’m terrified of being left. Why does everyone believe they know what's best for me? I wonder what makes my judgment so mute.
3 comments:
As you question yourself, I can see so many others doing the same. Questioning your existence and the things we do as humans is just being human. Our pasts are just that. Our future is open for the journey of life. You do have the right idea, sometimes it is just hard to accept and take the next step. Your future is so bright, and you will understand why I have said so many things to you that you don't really understand now. One day I hope you will think back and think of these things and how they will fit into your life. Every day brings us closer to who we are and who we want to be, but sometimes we have to take a step back into our thoughts, and we can see things in a different way than we have before. Hope this makes sense, if not now, it will as you journey though your life. Love you
As someone who also understands what it is like to have a drive constantly coming from somewhere inside that says "DO something! Become something more than what you are. You are better than this." I understand the frustration you feel at times. But I can tell you from experience that it is good to sometimes just sit and appreciate how far you've come. Take a look at where you are now and compare it to where you would have been had you NOT made some good decisions and life changes. See what I mean? Now, the next time you feel the frenzied pace has you on the tightrope…take a break, relax and take a look at how high you have climbed. Even if a “stage” of your climb has been fraught with dangers, pitfalls, and setbacks…you will have reached new heights. And before you know it, you will be higher than you ever could have imagined. I have heard the view from the top is great!
I am not usually one to carry one with bad analogies, but I think this one has at least another paragraph in it. Each time you decide to take in the view so to speak (as described above), spend some of that time alone, but remember that those who love and care about you can always be found at your base camp. While the path itself may be dark (sometimes terrifyingly so), exhausting, and seeming impossible to traverse…there are those of us who love you that will always be there to shine a light (a pilot light perhaps ), help you re-fuel, and maybe even point out a shortcut around those nasty jagged rocks.
We both know I would be lying if I told you that life wasn’t full of people who will abandon you in times of danger and hardship. The world is full of those assholes and they deserve exactly what they get. Leave their asses standing in the shadows below and don’t even bring them into camp. They can’t give you a boost, but they will certainly slow us down so they aren’t coming along if you know what I mean. They aren’t worthy.
Which brings me to my final point before I crawl up into my own sleeping bag for the night: You will noticed that I tried to keep this from being a comment that was all about “me” and my life…but that near the end I started to say us. This was not an accident. Looking back on my life, I can tell you one thing that is most certain: You can climb alone without a base camp, without anyone else, with an attitude that says you don’t need another human being. It can be done. Most people can’t do it, but YOU can. I know it with every bit of my being. But you will always climb faster, smarter, and higher with your important people right there with you. Select them wisely and don’t ever forget that a group of people just like you can kick a whole lot more ass than you can alone….And that they aren’t the kind of people who are going to let them leave you behind. They may not make it high as you, but are sure as hell going to try!
Thank you for sharing with us all that you do.
Love,
Dad
@ Claudia: Thank you for your encouragement.
@ Anonymous: Your comment means so much to me, and I will reread it many times in the future. I apologize for taking so long to reply, although you know I read it.
Even though you think your analogy was poor, I loved it. It makes sense to me, you know how my mind words. This pairs perfectly with the waters flowing through my stream of conscience. Thank you.
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