So I'm here at Dupont and Spadina at Jenny's place, watching Sex and the City and very much appreciating the whole not-being-alone thing. Because the being-alone thing really isn't working for me these days.
I needed a wake up call. Thank you, thank you, THANK you Jenny.
The antidote this time is severance.
Here. We. Go.
You know when it's hard to find the words? When it's hard to even identify the feeling resonating within you? When it seems the only way to describe something is with no words at all? I feel like that a lot these days.
There are flashes. Blinding moments of transcendant bliss. Maybe it's tripping up the sidewalk hand-in-hand at midnight. Maybe it's racing through the air, your legs pumping and feeling like you're kissing the sky. Maybe it's under the covers, drenched with heat. Maybe it's revelling in the lightness of laughter on your tongue. Maybe it's standing still. Moments that you hope to god would remain infinite, that you could just wrap yourself up in and live there, impervious to the venom outside of your sheild of happiness.
The venom. Snakes that sleep in the cracks in the pavement, in the clouds above your head, between the sheets. And then you get stung. And through your veins courses a poison so potent that your lips turn blue and your hands won't stop shaking and you can feel your insides deteriorating with every breath you take. And you're shivering and sweating and swearing you don't know what you did to deserve this. And most of the time it's nothing. Nothing but wishing you could hold onto those instances of sheer rapture. And you'd try to suck out the poison but you feel so leaden with grief that it's a struggle to simply exist.
But somehow, you get up off the floor. And there's an angel somewhere, and it's one of those times where you can't find the words, but you want so badly to show them your gratitude. To repay them for fixing you when you were sure you were damaged beyond repair.
There are no words.
This is what you do:
You carry on.
And those moments of exultation seem even brighter now that you've seen the dark.
Forgive me LiveJournal, for I have sinned. It has been 8 weeks since my last entry. These are my sins:
I ate a disgusting amount of cake in the span of 48 hours. And I loved it.
I skipped class today. And yesterday. And last week. With the intent of writing my 6 to 8 page essay but never actually writing a word. Instead I watched videos of cute puppies on youtube and episodes of South Park I'd already seen before.
I believed that I might actually be good enough for you.
I let my hurt rip from my throat and spat the poison at you.
I wanted us.
I wanted you.
I hated her.
I woke up.
Life is just a field of poppies right now. Wilting as I stumble through.
It kinda hit me just now that university has begun. I mean, like this is a permanent situation I'm in. I sit on the 53 and sway on the Yonge line four mornings a week and trudge to some lecture hall/class and endure whatever the professor spews at me and escape the room only to spend 1 or 3 hours, depending on the day of the week, feeling like I must be the lonliest person on this rock we call Earth and then drag myself to yet another lecture hall/class and survive yet another shower of words, half of which I either don't listen to/don't understand/don't give a fuck about and then I slouch into an empty subway seat and try not to fall asleep and make the shortest phone calls in history between Summerhill and Rosedale and then shove onto the 53 and hope I make it off alive and then stumble down Old Kennedy which feels as far as Marathon at this point in time and then wait for your call and then wait for you and then be with you and then fall asleep way too early and then stay up way too late.
And then do it all again.
And well, if that's not intense I don't know what is.
May the Freeman be with you (and me),
It’s been a while since I wrote anything that meant something. Not to say that what I’ve been writing lately has been meaningless. In all honesty, I haven’t been writing much at all. I remember when I’d write every single day. There was inspiration in everything. I’d see something sweet, like kids climbing trees, or a couple just... looking at each other. I’d see that and a lovely little string of words would come together in my head and I’d need to get them out. I’d witness something terrible, like a kitten on the side of the road, or a fire on TV, and the sorrow would weigh on my heart and I could feel the words forming on my tongue. I’d wake in the night from a dream or a terror and I’d scribble it on the notepad I kept by my bed. I lost that book. Must’ve fallen off and got swept under the rug.
There’s so much... life, so much death, so much smiling and sobbing and sleepless nights and kids growing older and I don’t feel inspired by any of it. Something happened to me this year. Something happened. I don’t know when or what or who it was but... but that something, that someone... they really screwed me up. They got such a hold on me that they made me turn away from myself. Writing is who I am and... and I just... stopped. I just cut myself to pieces and left all of the parts that matter in the corner of my room, behind all of the books I bought but never read. I feel like... these past few months, I’ve been walking around, a ghost, a weird shadow of whoever I am... whoever I was. I feel like... sometime in the past twelve months... Caroline died. And I know that’s morbid but I can’t explain it otherwise.
Maybe she didn’t die... maybe she just got lost. Or maybe she’s just sleeping. I’ve been so tired lately. Or maybe... maybe she’s just... waiting. Waiting for... that something, that someone, that moment that will just breathe life into this fading girl. Because she’s fading fast, and I know they say not to go towards the light, but I’m so tired of being in the dark. It’s cold in the dark.
I WILL NOT BE ATTENDING YORK UNIVERSITY, GLENDON CAMPUS THIS SEMPTEMBER. I ADVISE YOU TO GET THE FUCK OVER IT.
P.S. I love this song.
I wrote you a letter. I know you read it, but I'm not sure if you read it. You see, I didn't mean everything that I meant to write, but I meant everything that I didn't mean to write. The little bits of truth that crept onto the page and hid between the lines without me knowing. A 'we' disguised as a 'me'. An 'us' crouched behind a 'you'.
I've never had a problem with keeping my emotions on display. Why hide what I feel? I never saw the point. But I've never met anyone like you before, who could wound me with a single glance, or provoke a smile where there wasn't hope for one. My feelings were my armor. Now, in your hands, they have potential to be the weapon that takes my breath away in the best and worst of ways.
The problem is, I'm fairly certain we aren't in the same boat.
Because despite my tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve, no matter how blatantly obvious I am about what's going through my head, or how radically honest I am with you, I feel like I don't get anything back. It's a one sided conversation. At least that's what it feels like sometimes. I don't know what you're waiting for (because we really don't have much time).
What do I have to do?
The dirt feels at home beneath my fingernails and the grass stains have missed my knees. The drain has been thirsty for a cocktail of muddy water. This all feels so familiar.
But familiarity doesn't feel right anymore.
God, this is what it does to you. This is what was wrong with me. This is what it did to me. Back then. And here I am again, listening to the same doubts and regrets run laps around my brain and wincing as they pummel my heart.
No. They're not the same doubts and regrets. This is a whole new breed. A whole new level. Because this time I was so sure. This time I thought maybe... I thought maybe...
Well it was a foolish thought. Maybe's usually are.
Hello. Are you there? It's me. I'm just wondering how you're doing. I haven't seen you around in a while.
I think back on the time before I knew you and it's the strangest thing. I can still remember when you walked around the corner and smiled at me. I still remember the first thing you said. And that time you scared the fucking shit out of me, jumping out of no where. Thought my heart was gonna stop. And the time we met in that empty hall and you told me your nightmares and I told you I couldn't remember the last time I'd dreamt. I dream every night now. And I can still remember your voice on that day where everything went wrong, and you walked me home and sat with me and made me feel important. I haven't felt that in a while. And I remember you always showing up at exactly the moment I wished you were there. And that long night where I sat up and thought about you until you called me the next morning. And then the note. I still read it most nights. I don't believe it most nights.
I'm not sure of anything anymore. Except that you scare me. You scare the shit out of me. You have this uncanny ability to make me say all of the things I don't want you to know. It's scary because I'm not sure if you want to know them either.
I suck at this writing an entry everyday thing. I failed already. Failure seems to stalk me lately.
Yesterday... I went to work. It was dead. I worked all three departments. Was bored. Was depressed. The music sucked especially. Moreso than usual. Went home. Slept. Woke up. Rode my bike. Listened to Tegan & Sara for the first time in a long time. I've missed them. Met up with Sam. Bought a Monster. Drank a Monster. Read. Went to sleep. Couldn't sleep. Went online. Eyes hurt. Tried sleep again.
Woke up this morning. Watched Juno. Ate Mr. Noodle. Went to Shoppers. Bought new nail polish. Went home. Tried to play Guitar Hero. Files erased. Again. Watched Breakfast at Tiffany's. Cried. Tried to talk. Couldn't do it. Rode my bike. Sat on the hill at Bennies. Cried. Then on the swings. Tried to talk again. Couldn't do it. Talked to Julz. Don't feel better, but I do feel enlightened.
I'm gonna do this thing where I post a quote from somewhere, a book, a movie, a conversation I had. Just to kinda reflect my day.
"Listen...you know those days when you get the mean reds?"
"The mean reds? You mean like the blues?"
"No... the blues are because you're getting fat or because it's been raining too long. You're just sad, that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?"