Only By the Night.

What is the longest time you ever waited for someone or something?

Why did you wait?


All things can come to mind, but usually the first thing that sporatically comes to you as you read that sentence, is what you truly want or desire at this very point in your existence. Wherever you are--whether you are at home sitting at your desk, pondering the question on your drive home, or simply lying in bed with the question; curling up with it, getting to know it's secrets as you would with a lover.

At that very point, as space and time stand still in your mind, you should consider carefully--hell, PRAY that what you want is worth this running, PRAY that what you're running toward is what you want.

Then ask yourself this: Does it bring you pleasure? Or does it bring you happiness?


Then only in your heart will you know the answer to that question.

...

Everyone's hearts are my pinatas.

Evil

"Risen from ash...I eat men like air."

I'm looking through my books of scribbled notes of poetry, calculus worksheets with notes in the corners, watching my train of thought over the course of a long year--that went by rather quickly. Like I discovered a wormhole while driving my red Pontiac Sunfire on these sad backroads of Maryland, propelling me into the future a year later, knocking me on my ass. 

I find this scrawled violently in one of my notebooks. The thought just reared it's head one day while in Astronomy (my notes were regarding quasars) and I remember quickly scribbling it down as some form of foreign inspiration transfixed in my mind.

I come to the sudden realization and horror that what I wrote is true. In my life, relationships are like rubber bands. They stretch and snap back so many times that eventually something breaks and there's no way to repair the damage that has already been done.

Why am I writing on relaitonships so much lately? Maybe it's because I was hospitalized for a suicide attempt,or diagnosed with a Borderline Personality, or desperately trying to push my future husband away from me? Maybe this has caused me to look back at all the people i've wronged because of how I am. How i've hurt them. How I respond in relationships. And how I'm potentially destroying the current relationship i'm in now.

Beginnings have always been easy for me, and yet, after the entrance into my mirror of a life, you would know something wasn't quite right.

Am I evil? Or just fucked up beyond repair?

......

What would GOD do?


That question is always in my heart.




A can of kerosene is always the answer.

Up, Up, and Away.

Time and time again, I find myself looking back on all the relationships that I've had. The heart that broke mine that caused all the hearts that I broke in return. A long list of men, boys, Earthlings that expressed emotion towards me; a different kind of love with them all.

It's like picking up a new book to read. All the stories are different and yet they consist of the same equal parts that create a story. A beginning, a middle with a climax, and an ending (to put it in the most simplest of terms). Each book that I open and begin to read, I find myself getting lost in, delving into the mysteries of the characters and their surroundings. Their emotions and their reactions to situations. But as I read the last sentence as the story comes to an end, I can't help but feel dead and empty inside. A whisper as I finally close the book and put it back on the shelf.

The loves in my life are like those of the great stories I've read. I've read many books--hoarded them even, and i've had many relationships. However, there are only a select few books that will forever stay with me; their stories on repeat in my head. There are only a few past relationships that will forever stay close to my heart.

You know who you are.

I'll Take You Anywhere You Want...

What is the definition of "Home"?

According to Dictionary.com:

noun, adjective, adverb, verb, homed, hom·ing.


–noun

1. a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.

2. the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.

3. an institution for the homeless, sick, etc.: a nursing home.

4. the dwelling place or retreat of an animal.

5. the place or region where something is native or most common.

6. any place of residence or refuge: a heavenly home.

7. a person's native place or own country.

It doesn't mention "Home" being a person or an object. Can your "Home" be a person or an animal instead of a dwelling area for a person or animal?
 
I am often confused by the meaning of the word "Home". I have always been told from a very young age that my house that I live in is my "Home". That my city in which I currently reside in is my "Home". Except, my entire life I have always felt this to be the complete opposite. I have always been what you would call a "drifter". I drift from certain groups of friends, from boyfriend to boyfriend, never finding my place. Being a 19 year old female, this isn't considered unusual behavior.
 
It is, however, unusual behavior when you start to lose yourself and who you really are. Hurting others and yourself, searching for something to not make you feel so empty and alone anymore. I thought "Home" was supposed to make you feel safe, secure, and give you a sense of belonging?
 
Sometimes, I fear wonder if i'll ever find my "Home". I keep expecting "Home" to be a person or some special place that is just for me and me only.
 
Only time will tell.

Something.

These are just some of the writings that I scribbled while in the psych ward:

-These people are all searching for something, their emotions just spill out of them in waves: a thick, billowing cloud of blueish, black smoke rising out of an old brick chimney in that time of fall where all the leaves are completely vanished from the trees and everything is dead and cold and silent.

-In each of their stories, I see a part of myself as I am sure maybe the more sane people here see themselves in as well. Regardless of age, race, background, we are the same. There is that little voice in all of them/us.

-Wayco (we called him Wacko), a paranoid schizophrenic that none of us got along with is really just trapped inside of a body. A mound of flesh, blood, organs, a bag of bones that just clank along with the everyday movements. And a heart that somehow keeps beating, pounding his mind into a small room in his head. A heart that somehow with the all the pain and stresses of his delusional world, keeps on beating as if propelled by something unknown. Why do I find that this is true sickness?

-I have thought about all the men I have slept with. The 7 of them. And I wonder when I am with my current love if while under his body, in the brief moments that I look up at him, does he see all the others that have panted above me, in my eyes?


More random to come.