Lost and Found.

I often look back on my life and think about the things that I have lost: Jobs, family, friends, relationships, objects. Loss comes in many forms. You may lose these things forever or by a sheer stroke of luck (or determination), “find” them again. Of course, losing your wallet isn’t nearly as painful as losing a friend. Wallets can be replaced and not to sound pessimistic but so can friends. Maybe not that particular friend, but people come and go. I think of people as the subway; you miss the first train but soon another one comes 5 minutes later. I had a friend tell me this was a rather shallow way of looking at life but I like to think of it as detached.

 In Buddhism, a lesson that is very hard for me to learn in particular (and still to this day) is to not develop attachments to people, places or objects. Attachments are said to cause suffering and every human being down to their simplest needs and desires are to avoid suffering and seek happiness. For example, take someone who dreams of traveling. They have a house full of possessions, live a comfortable life, have a stable job and are content but not completely happy because they aren’t fulfilling an inner desire. But because of their attachment to those things, they don’t have the freedom to travel. Rarely, you hear of people selling everything they own and making a risky, life-altering decision. Ask those people later if they regret it? Unlikely.

I’ve thought about just taking a year off from my life and traveling to the East to study with the monks. Shaving my long, black hair off (an attachment) and being alone with myself. Truly be alone with my thoughts for hours on end. I wonder what person I would then become if I were to make such a decision. Medication, doctors, therapists, hospitals, drugs, partying, none of it seems to work for me. It feels like a last resort decision.

Limbo.

It's like this every time after hanging out with you. I hate hearing about where you are going. It's like a small puncture wound straight to the chest each and every time. I'm silent and I know I don't say much, and I know it's selfish. Why am I getting like this? I tried running away several times and here I am back at square one only it's not square one anymore. I'm way further down than I thought that I would be.

You tell me to stop running away from my problems but it's all I've ever known. You tell me to promise you that I'll face them when you're gone. But honestly, I don't know how I'm going to react when you are actually gone. I'm already embarrassed that I've expressed this much to you so far and here I was the entire time trying SO HARD to just be detached from you. 

 Sometimes I lay in bed some nights and wish I had never even met you or that you had never contacted me. 

But that's just me wishing my problems away. Again. 

Radiowaves

Something I wrote in literally 15 minutes; an unedited free write session.

I don’t quite know what it was

that pulled me to you, you're kindness

or your fire

That’s where you belonged

in the dry heat

of some Arizona desert

“I’ll meet you in the radiowaves”

you said

like a fool, I believed you

Empty parking lots

melted frozen yogurt

clutched in our hands

Hushed voices in white light

a silhouette

watching in the distance

We talked of better things

living different lives

wishing for anywhere but here

You held my hand

and yet I couldn’t help

but still feel alone

On Call

Something I wrote. It needs to be strongly revised. I think it needs stronger imagery and less "telling". Also, copying and pasting this messed up the line breaks a little but whatever.

On Call

I set out to rebuild you from old memories:

a long wool coat that kept you warm

nights we traversed through back country roads, the leaves and snow

crunching beneath our feet

nervous fingers contorted to fit my own

          I set out to rebuild our relationship:

staring at the ominous computer screen

digging through a junkyard pile of thoughts, writings, conversations

scavenging my brain for where I erred

broken pieces of a year gone by

                I set out to rebuild our friendship:

after being locked away I traced my way

tinkered and hinged to make you see

that it was only me

and I alone

                Memories, letters, snippets of deep late night conversation

they will not have your eyes

they will not smell like your coat with my nose buried in your shoulder

they will not make me feel your nervous hands on my face

or the song that echoed in that empty parking lot

I meant to invent the old you

And then put you back again--

--I think you saw this coming

The Roller Derby Girls

A monologue of an experience. 

I don’t consider this to be the “worst” thing I’ve ever done.

But to some, it might be.

It was just another weekend in Baltimore.

I was at my usual scene—a warehouse rave next to the train tracks.

And by warehouse rave, I mean in an old abandoned bank.

The music inside was thumping so loud; I could feel it vibrate my organs. Sometimes, when the train rushed by, the entire building would shake and you couldn’t tell if it was the music or the drugs.

And by drugs I mean Molly.

And if you know what Molly is, then you’ve done it. Or know someone who has.

And so there I was dancing, probably looking like an idiot waving my glowsticks around when one of my friends grabs my arm and pulls me into a dark corner.

35 for you, he says.

I froze. I felt like an idiot and to prevent further looking like an idiot, I pulled out two 20’s and slid them into his hand.

I had never done this before.

But I was willing to try.

He goes off for awhile, comes back, slips me a 5 and 2 pills. I say thanks and he disappears into the throbbing crowd.

Suddenly, I find myself in a dirty bathroom stall staring at these two peach colored pills with what I think are doves stamped on them. The Dove from the soap commercials.

Clunk.

I felt the pill travel down my throat and dissolve in my stomach.

See, here is the part where I mess up. You are only supposed to take one and wait a good 6 hours before taking the second one.

I did not know this.

I waited 15 minutes, got impatient, and clunked down the second pill.

Within the hour, it hit me.

Time stood still.

I was rolling.

I didn’t think I could ever feel this good in my life. The colors swirled slowly around me, the music flowed through me, and I talked to everyone and anyone that just happened to walk by.

I was able to match my glowstick patterns with the music that was playing.

The music never sounded so good. I was in complete heaven for 2 straight hours and I wanted it to last forever.

I remember thinking why the hell don’t they give this to people with depression or anxiety issues? I had no anxiety at all. I was free.

That didn’t last long.

If you know this drug, you know that it is almost never pure. It is almost always cut or laced with something.

In this case, mine was apparently laced with meth and heroin.

I became nervous. Everyone’s faced started to contort into strange shapes with their laughter.

I squeezed and twisted my glowsticks so hard that one of them snapped and spilled its glowing, putrid bile all over my tank top.

I freaked out.

Since you are supposed to wait such a long interval before taking the second pill, I technically overdosed.

And seeing as this was winter, I was outside wandering around in weather below 30 degrees, rapidly talking to myself, hot as hell but for some reason shivering.

The train raced by me and I screamed.

Fucking TRAIN.

All the symptoms were there that I had read about. Paranoia, grinding teeth, rapid heart rate, racing thoughts.

Oh my God. The racing thoughts.

I thought about 100 things per second.

Which reminds me, that night I literally stared at the clock with a face mask full of Vick’s vapo rub to soothe me, Björk’s haunting voice echoing off the graffiti plastered walls.

I couldn’t breathe.

I stared at myself in the mirror because my pupils were as big as quarters and I just KNEW someone was going to notice and all I could think about were my pupils, and the THOUGHTS, and I CAN'T BREATHE, and goddamnit that TRAIN.

Then morning came. My quarter sized pupils were still there. I felt like complete and total shit, I looked like shit, and the rest of my day was just shit.

But it was worth it.

And I was hooked.

Up, Up, and Away

I feel like I'm exactly back to where I was a year ago--stressed, trapped, depressed, apathetic towards life.

I don't know what to do...I miss the year 2009. Probably the best and most complicated year of my life.

Squid ink skies with holes punched through, driving back roads, meadows, corn fields, trees, fallen leaves, graveyard, stargazing, being so cold I can't feel my feet; I feel as though that whole point in my life was just a backdrop of stars and chilly night time air. And no matter how hard I wish or dream, I will never be able to relive it. Too bad if I were to go back, I would only create a paradox.

I met wonderful people, had relationships with those people, and unfortunately broke their hearts more than once. Part of being Borderline is not being able to hold a very stable relationship. Hell, at this point, my relationship with my husband is on it's last legs.

Music for me has always been a marker for me in time. Like a bookmark. Perfumes are the same way. I will wear certain scents or listen to certain songs to take me back to those moments. I find myself crying, wishing I could go back and make things right. Change things around for a different outcome. But that's the problem with life; there are so many outcomes. I hate to say it, but this isn't the outcome I had dreamed of. I cry everyday hating this place, hating my life, and having no idea what to do about it. If I were to leave this place, I would only find myself missing it. Why am I like this? I react this way with everything and everyone. Maybe I just have too much love to give? Maybe I'm just indecisive? Or maybe I'm just destined to be alone and flit from person to person with the my only sole purpose being to change their lives.

Every time I have left someone when I started to feel empty, needing to fill that void, I would pursue another person or a drug or a bad habit. But every time that I had left, their lives changed for the better. They pulled themselves together and told the world "Fuck you" I'm going to make myself a better person. Is that my only purpose on this Earth? To change people?

I don't know anymore. I am in limbo.

Madness.

I don't really know what to write about at this particular moment, all I know is that I must write because it's 4 in the morning and I feel like I am colliding around in my head, tossing papers, trying to find the perfect topic to write about, yes! Something that will make me express myself and inspire others to think and wonder about this special topic themselves and I can already feel this turning into a ramble-type post because I have taken Percocet all night long and am in this hazy sort of state, a yawn opening up in my chest and swallowing the world around me. In my head, I see either my mind or my chest opening up and swallowing and stretching every thing inside of me like a black hole, colors, shapes, music, sound...all echoing and being stretched forever and I hear Pink Floyd (of course) while this is happening...in fact the only reason I said that is because I have a play list on shuffle and Pink Floyd just so happens to be on said play list and is playing AT THIS INSTANT.

Hearing this is my head, I have lost my marbles. Yes, I am mad as a hatter, chattering about, randomly spurting nonsense into a nonsensical world called the internet and it's twisted individuals. Sometimes I'm convinced the most horrid people dwell on the internet. Yes, I am on the internet and you are too if you are reading this. Not trying to call you or myself horrid, but when I say this, I can only imagine that you know what I am talking about. Then again I shouldn't judge; matter of opinion. Ahem.

Fuck. You know what I hope to be? Fucking superwoman. Maybe I have low self-esteem or that I'm not working through my issues. What I want is to become the woman who can do it all. The kind of person who can pay her bills on her own, do the laundry, keep the house spotless, make marvelous dinners, and go to school full-time, and do research, and write, and keep up with family and friends, and have the perfect relationship and keep my husband happy and wanting only me, and not take so many painkillers in order to be blissfully stupid-happy, and be the life of the party, and, and, and.

I want to be superwoman, and the fact that I'm not makes me hate myself and constantly wonder why I'm such a waste. Such a waste of space on this planet, a waste of air and resources.

The problem is my life is chaotic and yet I cannot live without the chaos.The chaos and me are one; Siamese twins.The ups and downs, this other dark side of myself that drives me to do the terrible, idiotic things that put my life and relationships in danger. The side that makes me drop out of school, quit work, and give everything up. The part of me that shuts my life down and creates a life of it's own with it's only purpose: to destroy everything.

But everyone forgets and claim I am better because I have managed to stay out of the hospital. No ther-rapists spouting their diag-nonsense at them letting them know I am a very, very sick girl. If I'm not chucking shit around the house, doing drugs, taking off in the middle of the night, slicing my arms up like a Virginia ham, I must be better, right?

God, they are so far from the truth.