A sip could change it all

I sit here, a drink in my hands. I cannot bring myself to partake of it.
A recovering alcoholic at the tender age of sixteen, although now many years have passed, I realise  my mental health is worse than before, and that this will not help me. However, I still cannot put this drink down. It will solve things, if only temporarily. Keep drinking. When your timer runs out pour another and you need not worry.
That’s not how it works. I’m wrong. I know this. But who will tell me so? I wait, but here no one confirm the truth.
I take a sip. A mix of bliss and nausea. A mistake. No. I can’t seem to see it that way. The sickness, the nausea. It’s in my mind. A drink can fix it all. Drink until you can’t hear no more and then the truth has changed. I have fixed everything. I fixed everything when I fixed the first drink, when I fixed the sixth, and when I fixed myself up the next morning. It’s all worth it in the end.
Right? No. No. A part of me will always argue back. The part of me that hated the taste. The sickness. The hangover. The cleaning up the next morning.

I am left nowhere. I have solved nothing. Do I take the sip, or do I not?I’m looking for a reason not to drink, knowing I don’t need a reason at all…. I’m not making sense. A drink could fix it all.

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A Little Note

So, I’m currently swamped with work and such a vast amount of deadlines that I barely have breathing space. I have two lovely drafted posts that keep getting interrupted, and it’s frustrating.

But it’s worth it to wrap up everything before the upcoming holidays, is it not? Because they can be completely stress free!

Hahaha, right. The family holiday totally won’t add to my stress levels, of course not… 

That One Person

You know when you have one person that just knows how to wind you up? I have one, too. And my goodness, I can only just manage to restrain myself whilst in their company.
So, why is this? To be honest, the person by nature is very loved. However, this person is extremely two faced. I honestly dislike it. She can be one of the nastiest people where all she does is criticise and insult you. She then furthers this by storming off at the ripe age of twenty-one, stomping her feet on the way out, eyes flooded with tears.
Yet, seconds later when she wants to borrow something, wants a favour, or anything of that sort, she’s all smiles and her voice is laced with honey.
Surely this is reason alone for me to get a little agitated from time to time, yes?
But sadly, there is more. She can also be very clingy. It used to be to the extent where she would not hang up until I reciprocated her love with words, however that is not in my nature. But since earlier last month, when I gave her a sensitive bit of advice, she began to trust my opinion so strongly she does nothing but ask for help. From which colour and style of dress she should wear to the coming Christmas party all the way to what underwear she should wear on her date. So what’s wrong with this? If you could possibly ask me this at this stage, I can do nothing but stare at you blankly. I believe that I have enough grounds to have a sense of dislike at the very least.
There are a lot of other things that are a put off when it comes to her, however that is all I shall leave it at for now.
Blood is thicker than water, they say. I guess I must put up with her, I mean… She is my sister after all!

People-watching: Do you like it?

I know I do. But why? I really should write that post on strangers, I feel it’ll be quite strongly linked to this one as well. 

For starts, where would I watch people, I hear myself asking… myself?

Well, self. There are a few places quite good for that, such as public transportation, food courts, malls, cafés, stores in general, from park benches, and many, many other places.

Now I know this may sound extremely creepy, but… Well. It’s fun, isn’t it? There could be several enjoyable aspects to people-watching. A really good one is creating a backstory, I find.

Picture this: You see an old man with a cane, limping. In his hand he holds a lingerie stores’ bag. You could have so much fun with why it is that he came to be carrying such a bizarrely unfitting item.

Now for the more innocent (or less perverted) of you, there are still plenty other circumstances that could befall you, entertaining as ever.

However, there is more to people-watching than just ‘backstorying’. I myself am an aspiring artist of sorts, and I truly enjoy a good facial structure. Have you ever heard anything so ludicrous? Well, now you have. Or rather, you’ve read it. So when I define someone as attractive, on a non-interactive level where I do not know them personally, it is because I would really like to approach them and sit them down in my studio. No matter how outgoing I can be, I still can’t bring myself to do this. So I just watch their expressions, draw them out with my eyes, and run home to have a little scribble. I then place the scribble on a page in my scrapbook and kiss it. No, seriously. Okay, maybe that was a joke… 

Another really good reason to people-watch is to simply kill time. It’s fun, there’s no denying it. The best part is (YES, it does get better than this!), it takes no effort whatsoever, and you don’t need to interact with anyone (except maybe the bus driver or the waiter/cashier).

So, do you like people-watching? I know I do.

Dear Mr. Sleepyhead,

Do people we see on a daily basis always have an impact on us? I ask this because very often there are people you see daily that you don’t interact with socially. However, it may be someone you see on the way to or at work and you share a brief smile, or just greet each other. But how much impact has this person had on you?

  • My previous job led me to take the same bus to the metro every morning. Every morning I got onto the bus there would be one empty seat next to a man that was sleeping. He would often wake up and dazedly  looked around, see me, smile, and drift back off to sleep. Before I knew it, I had created a name for him in my head. Strange enough, right? Mr. Sleepyhead. (How creative of me, I know.) And so I would always know that I was on time in the morning if I were on this bus with Mr. Sleepyhead.

Now naturally because I’m still young and studying my job wouldn’t have lasted forever, and in time I stopped taking that morning bus.

Before answering the question, though, I’ll lay out two more examples of daily interaction I have with people I’m not socially acquainted.

  • Each day in the hallway of where I currently study I meet a person. The smile, make an effort to great me and ask how I am, and I reciprocate. The conversation is always short, and some might think it meaningless? But again, I place this under the light of the question. Does this almost daily greeting impact me? 
  • And lastly, when I go out in the evening for a walk, I always seem to find myself going down to one of the local food markets. When I do, I pass by one of the stalls close to the entrance where a man works. We seem to share a gaze more than often, however I will admit that it took me a while to bring myself to smile. (maybe because he’s attractive, or maybe because I’m just too shy at times. I’m not generally in a good mood when I go for a walk.) However, gazes become longer. And each time we pass ways, that always remains.

So to put things in a way I can answer the question I posed:

Mr. Sleepyhead’s impact was not one of importance, surely, however I remember him after months have passed, and it clearly holds meaning. But what is that meaning? Is it simply because I’m always too scared to fall asleep on public transportation in fear of missing my stop? Or is it because there is something calming about his or any other sleeping face? To be honest, I don’t think I can ever know this. Yet I ask myself in order to throw around ideas. Surely there is a reason that you hold memories of strangers amongst all the dear memories you have of the ones who mean the most to you.

As for the person in the hallway (let’s call them Smith just for laughs), I seem to find that the half a minute long conversation we have seems to brighten my day. It’s always nice to receive a smile from a near stranger (link to Sleepyhead?), and perhaps that is why. A simple question such as “How are you?” is one I often have trouble answering once asked by someone I am well acquainted with. If I’m not okay do I lie, or do I tell the truth. Almost always, I find myself lying because I don’t want them to pry. However, with a stranger it’s like you have to return the gesture of a smile and reply as cheerily as you can. And for that reason, maybe at that very point in time, I am a little happy.

The man in the food stall, I’ve never approached him. I don’t have reason to, as he sells things I cannot eat. However, maybe someday I can breach that gaze and spark a conversation somehow. If I ever do, you’ll read as much, honest. But for now,  it is a mere gaze. However cheesy it may sound, the eyes really are windows to the soul. Having someone look so directly at you can be so very nice at times. I’m often intimidated by this because I feel people are reading me. Because you’re being looked at directly at a time when you’re merely passing by, it’s as though no matter how busy the world is and how many people there are around you, you’re still visible and noticeable to someone. They don’t even know you, but in a sense, you share a closeness in those few moments you make eye contact, like a little nod from one soul to another.

Perhaps I’ll do a post on strangers in the near future. I find them oddly fascinating. If we’ve ever met, I bet you were just the same.

Warning: this post has no eloquence, it is a rant. I’m slightly fogged by the content, I presume.

I have two questions I want to sort out today:

  1. Why is it we can’t chose who to love?
  2. Why do we continue to grieve?

To put things in a sense where it can be understood, let’s name a few people.

  • Person one: My best friend, let’s call him Kane.
  • Person two: Someone I loved and lost, let’s call him Slade.

Right. Three years ago, October 3rd, 2009. I was at a party and met a boy…

And so began our winding relationship. Long story short, he was much older and far more serious. We went out for thirteen months, had six breaks ups of which five were my choice, and the sixth was mutual. I could never leave him, it was small things that tore us apart. Age difference, his friends, our lifestyles, my parents. But finally, we had to end things because he had to move to another university. And even then, we were never really over, because sometimes, he would fly eighteen hours just for a day with me. It was close to what people call love. However, he got CNS lymphoma, a cancerous brain tumor, and there was no hope. He had kept it from everyone, and it was that way until his sister found a letter from his doctor stating how long he had left. So then what? We were apart, he died, and I howled like a child.

At the time, like several of our other breaks, I was seeing someone else. That ended three months later because I could not accept Slade’s passing. It was difficult for me, but I had such a supportive group of friends. Between dealing with Slade’s at-the-time pregnant sister and his to-blame sorry excuse for a mother life had become a living hell. But through it all, one friend stood out as someone I could hold on to in order to feel stronger.

I’d known Kane since the June after I’d met Slade. Kane was someone I’d see daily, and we were very close for a lot of reasons. We were bros, y’know? And during the time we’d known each other, we grew closer than ever. We drank together at night, and we gamed together during the day. Talked, shared music, laughed. It was bliss. But we could never speak of Slade. Or anything that was related to feelings of any sort. Kane was not very… in touch with his feelings. So we never talked of sad things, or feelings, because he would grow so awkward it would just be silence. Deafening silence. So, that is how we grew close. Not through the grief, but through the happiness.

Point being, about a year after I’d known Kane and about half a year after Slade had passed, I left my home and moved away, as people do. However, I’d often here from people who’d ask who my current best friend was that I’d light up when I spoke of him. I laughed it off a lot, because I never even thought of thinking this way about him. But then someone put it as I saw it. Over the past few years that I knew him every sign of possessiveness had been jealousy. Every sign of love had involved longing. And every failed relationship that lasted two days or four months (other than Slade) was to fill that gap. Soon after this it was confirmed by the fact my best friend told me he had asked this girl out. I hated it, I made excuses about it being that he wouldn’t have time for me, but this was untrue.

Thing is, when you’re this close you can be honest. I had never kept anything from Kane and would not begin now. So I did. When I went to visit at the end of that year I sat him down an told him how I felt. He laughed it off and hugged me as I knew he would and that was that.
We’re still best friends,however, it hurts.

So. That’s about all the background you need.

Now for the actual post.
I don’t know why it is that I love Kane. And this is what I dislike. To be honest, he has more faults than anyone else I know, yet I love him more than all those people. Perhaps it is because he does not need perfection in my eyes in order to appear as someone whom I can love.
Then there is the matter of the depersonalization and depression. I never once felt like I didn’t know myself whilst I was with him. I feel that way at all times except for two occasions. The afore mentioned and when I’m at my workplace.
I think being myself and knowing who I am at these moments allows me to grow fond of the time spent. However, I must not be able to let go of my feelings in hope of hanging on to my identity. Happy, joking, immature, all the things my rationality sees I am not.
I don’t wish to take this any further as the longing itself is painful, so I will conclude my first answer here, despite not having answered the question directly.

Now, Slade has been gone all of 757 days at the time I wrote this post. By now I should relatively feel comfortable enough to settle back into my life, however I do not feel that way. I continue to grieve day after day, however, in less obvious manners. But when is it that we transcend grief and being to feel fond of the memories we hold dear to us? Of course, a natural answer would be when we are ready, but when is that? When we are ready to let go of the pain we hold? I don;t believe that is so. Perhaps it is better to say it is when the wound has healed and the scar has formed. It is then that we either choose to use scar serum – we forget everything in order to revert back to life before the wound – or we wear it with a story to be left untold, and we continue to live life, fond of the reason that the scar had the chance to appear. We may have loved and lost, but we did love after all, didn’t we? Those memories will always be far more joyful than the ones that keep us grieving. It takes a long time to reach this stage. Far longer than it takes us to heal.

Time heals everything. You just have to give time the chance by keeping well and safe, remaining in time. Despite how you feel at times, it will be worth it. There may come a time when you meet a new person than perhaps heals that wound far more than time could. And without even meaning to, maybe. That is what Kane was to me, a healer. While there are many flaws about him, he healed my wounds and moved me on. To this day, rejected or not, he is my best friend and I will never stop fighting for our relationship. Distance does not affect my feelings.

Note: this post is long and almost pointless to read. However, it allows me to acknowledge the two more important people in my life while I find a way to move my thought processes forward.

Rainbows

Is the rainbow always worth the wait? Often through the harder times one song stuck with me for several reasons.

“If you wanna see the rainbow, you gotta sit through a little rain.”

However, I never looked at the song as anything more than literal growing up. I love the rain, and would sit through it any day, promise of a rainbow or not. However, it was only upon reaching an age of superior maturity did I realize what this rain could do. However, is it worth all of the rain? There are several reasons I would answer against this.

Firstly, there are times when it will rain, it will pour, it will storm, and the heavens will cry… but there won’t be a rainbow following through alongside the clear skies. Heck, sometimes it will stay cloudy for days on end once the rain has come to an end. So why sit through the rain at all? This is because there are no other options, unless you can afford the next ticket out.

Secondly, the false promise of a rainbow is ill befitting. There are times when you do not have hope. You have fallen so far that you can no longer afford to build up hopes that may come crashing down upon you, as you have not the strength to once again rise to your feet. This is the stage I am currently at. I have no room for optimism due to the fact that there comes a time when you have been let down so often you no longer want to create the opportunity to be lifted once more.

My last and final argument of substance is that if I wanted to see a rainbow I would just create my own. Grade school science teaches you how to do so with a prism and a little light. Whilst it’s arguable that perhaps this rainbow won’t be as beautiful as the one nature creates, sometimes you have to make do with what you have rather than wait on chance to provide for you.

A lot of people get to the solutions of a problems without telling you how it is that you reach this outcome (I will attack this in a later post), however, why don’t I tell you? First, get some paper and some glue tack. Then, get yourself a prism – you can find affordable ones online. Maybe you even have one lying around the house, crystals are quite beautiful pieces to have as decorations. And then follow the link here.

Heck, here’s a kids one that only need a glass of water, some paper, and some sun.

You’ve created your own rainbow; you’re worth something as beautiful as the rain, the sun, and science.

Am I?

Why is it I believe I’m insane? My rational side has difficulty seeing that. But when I’m not being rational, when I’m not quite ‘myself’, it’s clear I don’t quite have my sanity. It’s as though my sanity was once a pristine pane of glass, and somewhere along the line cracks began to form. I could almost hear them. Then, as time passed, the cracks grew and the glass was waiting for one last tremor to shatter it. My last ‘low’ was like a hammer to this glass. Since then, hanging on to it has felt like grasping shards of glass that pierces through my skin and makes my palms bleed.

I feel like I’m insane because I often have no control over myself, maybe because of my depersonalization. The mix of that, with my anxieties and depression as well, it’s like ingredients to a deadly serum that presses against your ribs in hopes of cracking them in order to crawl beneath your skin and, after a while, tear out from the inside. This explosion waiting to happen is like a time bomb sitting in a brown package on the stoop of a home. However, this time bomb is not set by an alarm. Rather, it follows the time of a Soul. A Soul that may or may not pick up this bomb. A Soul that cannot leave its home without making this decision. So it is trapped. Does it attempt to leave through a window, or does it walk for that door? And when it does move toward that door, what does it decide? This Soul has no means by which it can access to help, it is the only one that sees this package. Sitting there, ticking, intimidating… but not going off and somehow ending the misery.

The Soul takes a seat by the window and watches, contemplates.

“If I pick up this bomb and bring it into my home and open it, it will go off. It will be the end of this house and of me, and I do believe I’ll be happy. However my rationality disagrees. Perhaps if I were to…”

The voice begins to fade out and echo. The Soul walks to the door and opens it. There is no package, only Oblivion. It was all a lie. However, which would be better? Oblivion spent trapped alone, or death?

Taunted by the darkness and emptiness, the Soul still cannot leave the house.

*

This Oblivion that is encased in my ribs reaches through the bars of its prison at times, piercing holes through my skin.

However, what will happen when there is no more room to pierce another hole? The Oblivion wants to cause more damage, to explode like it has always wanted to. The skin is weak enough and the bars of its cell brittle. When is the right time? The Soul is currently leaning against the door, in hopes of strengthening the distance between them. Then trying to move every piece of furniture in front of the door, and sit in the attic alone, waiting.

However, the Soul is missing one item of knowledge. That the Oblivion can become stronger. It is already stronger than the Soul, and the furniture sitting behind the door is a mere hindrance. The Oblivion grows more as the helpless Soul struggles to find a way to keep itself calm. It rocks back and forth, sitting in that attic,  just waiting. Matching its movements to the rhythm of the time bomb that still seems to be ticking in its head.