theshamelesswanderer

The Musings of My Mind

Voices

“Hey, how’d it go? You didn’t let me see what you tried on!”

She looked hopeful, kind of excited. Knowing I was disappointing her, I gave my best friend a thumbs down sign and frowned.

“They just looked stupid, I didn’t feel sexy.” Hanging them back on the returns rack I turned to face her and put my hair in a ponytail.

“I’ll be right back, I have to pee. We’ll look for more stuff when I come out.

I locked myself in the bathroom stall and sighed as my eyes threatened to flood.

You’re pretty, but you let yourself get fat and now you’ve got nothing left. The clothes you picked didn’t even fit you. And you even chose bigger sizes. Ha!  You’re hopeless.

I stared at the toilet for a moment. My face drooped, followed by my shoulders slumping.

I walked the few steps to the sink and washed my hands. I tried to avoid eye contact, but the intense desire to torture myself yelled loudly.

Look at your face. A round face has never suited you, and yet, you pile it on. One meal after the other…One dessert, two desserts, three. You blame it on depression and stress and say that’s how you deal with it, but if you know the cause, why not fix it? Why you are still about to hunch yourself over the toilet bowl and purge yourself because you don’t like how you feel after three slices of pizza? You’re pathetic. All your friends run, they exercise, they can say no.  And there you are with no self-control, no good reason as to why you are the way you are.

 Once finished, I approached the toilet.

It’s sad, really, how fat you are. How much you let yourself go. People tell you you’re not fat because they know how it would make you feel if they were honest, but you’re fat. You wore a one-piece the last time you went to the beach, so what does that tell you? You have to suck in your gut over and over and over…because you’re fat.

I layered the seat with toilet paper.

It’s pretty funny watching you try to exercise or eat right when the first chance you get, you’ll justify having the brownie. You’ll justify not going on that walk, not working out, not doing anything but sitting on your lazy ass all day. You’re not depressed, you’re just lazy. Your pants don’t fit you, you can’t squeeze your dresses passed your thighs, and you have now reached the point where you can’t suck in your muffin top.

My fingers trembled. My jaw clenched. My stomach churned. My mouth grew wet and cold. I spit into the toilet and mentally prepared myself.

Do it.

I contemplated washing my hands again, but berated myself for hesitating.

Just get it over with.

I opened my mouth slightly, then widely as my fingers reached the back of my throat.

Why do you think you’ll ever be more than what you are now? You’ll never be great, you’ll never make a difference, you’re not special or different…you’re nothing. Actually, no. You’re a fat nothing.

So, go ahead. Get comfortable and do what you do best; take the easy way out.

My throat burned. My face was wet with tears. My eyes were ringing. I was disgusted with myself, causing more to come out than anticipated. All the while, I didn’t stop.

You’re useless. 

 

 

 

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Numb.

A box filled with anguish landed in my palms today.

Suppressed feelings of dreariness emerged and down the black hole I went,

Spiraling down into obscurity.

This cocoon of gloom never strays because it knows I never will.

I may flirt with tranquility, fluttering my wings into communities of others who don’t feel like me,

My doubt is pushed past, my fear ignored,

But the many masks of a dancing fool can never truly disguise

The numbness.

 

On the outside, I am holding onto a fantasy with bleeding fingers.

All the while, Emptiness cheers.

She twists and shouts along to the music of Hopelessness.

Somberness grabs Rejection, leads her into a dip

And my nausea sets in.

The spotlight shines on Burden and Grief as they

Seemingly float across my heart,

And the crowd goes wild.

I take deep breaths and try again to ignore

The boom and bass of Brokenness’ drum as it

Creates an entrance for the shrill cymbal of Numbness.

But the whole gang erupts in celebration, and I become small.

 

I melt into the box and allow myself to find comfort

In the most consistent emotion I try so hard to conceal.

The numbness breathes life into me and I oblige.

It reminds me I am nothing, and I harbor it in my head.

Deeper and deeper, down into the emptiness,

Tumbling past my corpse of what was

And falling into a pit of what currently is.

Unapologetic

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I lie at your feet like a begging child.

Hoping and praying that you’ll love me back.

I scratch at your back door like a stray cat,

Waiting for a morsel of affection.

I unapologetically give my all…

Imprudent and weak,

Feeble like a branch

And continuously in amazement of

What you have the power to do to me.

Sorrowfully disappointed with what I

Allow and ceaselessly accept.

I lie under your arm and

Listen to the sound of you existing…

Taking you in each time I inhale,

Exhaling expectations and things I deserve

Because I unapologetically love you

More than I.

You.

I lie next to you, watching your chest rise and fall with every shallow breath you take. You sleep soundly and peacefully, but I am paralyzed. My courage is rendered useless against my aching heart, beating only for you. I want the courage to walk, to run, to flee into the wind and taste the freedom of breathing without it hurting. I lie next to you, fighting the urge to cover your mouth with mine…line your lips with my tongue.

Hate him. Hate him.

I can’t. I can’t do anything but taste the resentment in my tears as they fall, fall, fall…building a wall between us that sooner or later, I will tear down. I lie next to you, broken and weak, surrendering the best parts of me to you and giving myself the remnants I don’t dare share with your light.

Leave.

And then what, I ponder. If I do, I’ll continue to be trapped within the bounds of my deep emotions, all of them spelling out your name. My thoughts imprisoning me with images of your smile…your beauty. I am defining insanity by continuing to give you peace while I run myself ragged, but I am stuck. I am frozen. I am awed at my fear of taking a single breath without you by my side. I watch you breathe deeply, wondering what tales are unfolding in the four corners of your curious little mind. A scream is caught in the back of my throat, a blow is trapped inside of fists, a better version of me lies within…but all I want to do is love you. I want to wrap your arms around me and feel your heart beating against my back. I want you more than I want me.

You’re crazy.

I know, I know. I’m weak, soft and foolish, defining insanity by lying here breathing while you torture me unknowingly. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do so I lie here. Paralyzed. Crazed. Afraid.

Hopeless.

In love.

Words

Sometimes I feel like no one can ever truly love me.

So when someone finally does, it’s like…

Really?

Well then, you must be the only one

And I must latch on to you before you realize that the sun has gone.

And as if the shades have been drawn,

Darkness has overcome, and that’s what was won.

But actually, it’s ‘who’ because the darkness is me.

Perhaps my mind has been brewed like coffee beans,

Because I believe that I’m screwed so up

That down looks like freedom.

It feels like it make sense, so when you say you love me

It’s like… are you sure?

Sometimes I feel like I’ll never let anyone truly love me.

The words sound so foreign when they tumble out of your mouth.

Doing kickstands and cartwheels, backhand springs of,

“You’re so beautiful”, hand stands based on “I’ll never leave you,”

Looking for the twinkle in my eyes as your tongue dances

While you reveal your love to I…

Am so messed up that I can’t even believe you.

It’s not you, it’s me and the thoughts that won’t let me breathe.

The ones that suffocate me with threads of hate, weaved

So intricately that even those of Ariadne couldn’t compete.

I try to resurface each time you open your mouth,

Each time I look into your eyes and the corners of your mouth raise up

With brightness and hope that perhaps…

I’m normal.

But the thoughts…

The persistence of this self-deprecation is much too strong

For your words laced with beauty.

They outnumber the “I love you’s”

That are seemingly dipped in diamonds and jewelry.

They rise up with vengeance and armor to combat your devotion to me.

So… again, I drown.

Again, I fall.

Again, I believe that you are just speaking.

That you are just trying to trap me into believing

That you, a person, a whole other soul could actually love me.

Now you’re just being mean.

I don’t believe you because I don’t believe me

When I say that I love someone like I…

Who is so messed up.

Screwed so up that my vision of freedom

Has now become distorted.

A.N. – This is more so a spoken word piece so while reading, the flow may feel off. Try to take pauses as you go along and allow the seemingly misuse of sentence structure be an element of poetry used at my whim.

11.5.2015

When does the void go away? When does the emptiness stop catching up to you, preventing you from finding what you’re looking for? And speaking of, what exactly are you looking for? I’m tired of these questions, I’m tired of the lack of answers, and I’m tired of the uncertainty. I feel like I’m surrounded by people who just get ‘it’, and for the life of me, I’ll never understand why I’m not one of them. I sound like I’m victimizing myself. I sound like I need to get the fuck up and do something and it’s not that I don’t want to, but what do I get up and do? Where do I go? I hate how this sounds. I hate pathetic and miserable I sound, and most days, I don’t feel pathetic and miserable, but today is one of those days when I do. Today is one of those days when I think about what I’ve done with my life and realize that I haven’t done anything. I think I keep trying to fill my life up with things that I think will give it meaning, but once I’m into it, I realize that it’s emptiness. Again. I have this thing that I can do and I know I can do it well, but what else? How can it reach people, how can it reach me? How can I take this thing I love and un-complicate it so that I can blow up my whole world? In a way that I’m comfortable, of course.

I recently went out and participated in a video shoot with some friends and my role in the video was to kind of direct the communication. Once it actually started happening and we’re in the midst of it, there was pretty much no need for me. It made me realize that anyone can talk to people, anyone can get other to open up, and anyone can do this. What the fuck makes me so special? What makes my work so special that people need to stop and pay attention to it? I had to ask myself some hard questions and I don’t think it really hit me until today. I want to do all these things and I don’t know how to start. I don’t know why I’m here, and as much as I want to find out, I kind of wish I wasn’t being put up to the task at all. As the years go by, I’m realizing that I’ll always be trapped in this state of confusion. Well, maybe not always, but I will for a while. I’m 22 and I act like my life will be over in three years and I can’t stop myself from doing this, being this frantic and fear-filled person. It sucks. I can’t help it. I envy all of you who grab life by the balls and just go for it. I envy those who just know. I hope I become that person one day. I hope I stop disappointing myself and my words. The solution is simple, I’m sure. But it isn’t and it’s a mind fuck and it’s been running me into the ground for years. In a good way, though. Kind of. In the bigger picture, I don’t know what I want to do.

I know I want to write, but I want to do more and be more for all the poor people out there who continue to let life score. Whose motivation hits the floor when they feel like they’re continuously running into a big, black door labeled ‘MORE’, and they simply can’t get in. The combination never worked before, so why keep trying or hoping that something better is in store? Why get up in the morning when all you’ll ever feel is deep sorrow in your core? The answers aren’t written in a book, they’re hidden behind big, black doors with unknown combinations that will never be recovered or restored.

Goodnight.

Loss.

I feel like I’m losing everything. I think despite everything that has happened within the last year or so, I’ve done pretty well with containing my emotions and not allowing it to stop my progress. Though, there are nights like tonight when it really just seems like everything has crashed and burned. On February 11th, my cat had a stroke. I dropped her off at the veterinarian so she could get spayed and I wish I could say that I had a bad feeling about it or like I felt like I was making a mistake, but I felt relieved. I was relieved that she would stop peeing in the house, that she wouldn’t go through heat anymore, and that I wouldn’t have to worry about her going out and getting pregnant. A few hours before I was told I’d have to pick her up, I received a call from her doctor and she told me they encountered a few issues during the surgery. When I got there, I thought my cat was dead. Her little eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling, and they were void of any vitality or buoyancy. She was hooked up to an IV, she had bandages around her little leg, and she looked so fucking dead. Right there in that moment, I felt my heart break. I felt it shrivel up and die inside of me. She couldn’t walk, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t meow, she couldn’t do anything. She wasn’t Lola. She was there, I could see her. But she wasn’t Lola. For the next two weeks, I lived in that hospital. I came in everyday, stayed until they closed, and I tried to get back what they took from her.

Things have gotten better, but they’re not what I’d like them to be. She’s still blind, she still has trouble walking and keeping herself upright, I can only give her water through a syringe, she still doesn’t meow, and she doesn’t know how to use her litter box anymore. There’s a bunch of other shit, but those are the major issues I’ve having trouble dealing with. You can imagine what my room smells like. Anyway, tonight is particularly torturous because she’s been having seizures all day. There’s medicine she’s supposed to take for that, but what I have here for her isn’t working. I can’t refill her prescription without the doctor signing off on it and she definitely would have, but I don’t even have any money to pay for her medicine. I sit here and I watch her die a little bit more each and every day and it just hurts so bad. I can’t explain the pain that courses through me every single day, but I imagine it’s worse for her. Everything about her is so sensitive now so I’m always worried something will happen to her. Maybe her lungs will collapse, or maybe she’ll die in her sleep, or maybe…maybe I’m killing her. I know this wasn’t my fault but it feels like it. When Lola came into my life, it felt like she saved me. I didn’t feel alone anymore because I had her, and she had me. I’m not at ashamed to say that she’s my best friend, but what happens when you’re faced with the decision to kill your best fucking friend? These last two weeks have not been easy. My mom has a heart condition and she was hospitalized last week because of it. During that, I would leave my house very early in the morning and come back late at night. I’d come home in the middle of the day, but Lola wasn’t receiving the care she deserved. That’s when I began toying around with the idea that I should euthanize her. And even just saying that, like are fucking kidding me? First, I lose my relationship, then I lose my dad, and now I have to figure out if I should kill my fucking cat? It’s just too much. I feel like I’m falling apart. I feel like I’m breaking into two pieces and I don’t care to salvage it. But I have to because I have school and work and my future and all this bullshit that I have to constantly fucking worry about when I just want to die all the time. I don’t want to feel this anymore. Most of my day has consisted of holding Lola as her tiny little body just convulsed and acted with a mind of its own. I know she wishes to be running up and down our house like she used to, playing around with anything that catches her eye, curling up to me at the end of the night so we can go to sleep.

I still curl up with her now and it feels just as real and amazing as it did before. Sometimes when we’re sleeping, she’ll try to resist the cuddle but then she’ll fall into it and just let herself go. She’ll nestle her little head into my neck and just lay there. But I never get the sense that she’s lying there peacefully. She always has this far-away look in her eyes and it’s like she’s thinking of her old life and that breaks my heart. Whenever she has a seizure, there’ll be a moment right before she breaks out into the full thing and she’ll look around frantically for me. I go to her and pick her up and kiss her everywhere but it’s like she’s begging me to make it stop. She’s waiting for her mom to protect her and I can’t. I can’t do anything for her because I took her life away from her. I’ve always imagined Lola in my future, and now that there’s a really big possibility of that not happening, I don’t really know how to make sense of anything. She’s such a good girl. She doesn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you, Lola. I’m so, so sorry.

Feeling defeated.

Evanescence

They sat on her front steps consumed by a loud quieting of emotions as the streets that lied before and beyond buzzed and roared with an excitement that escaped them. Neither of them had uttered a word since leaving the restaurant, but their silence spoke the truth they’d long been afraid to face. Lina always thought this moment would be filled with tears and hugs, along with the inability to let go, but all she felt was peace. It wasn’t unwelcomed, but it also wasn’t expected. She looked over at Dixon to find him gazing at her thoughtfully. Smirking, Lina grabbed his hand and turned away. They both sighed. Her mind travelled back to the start of their relationship and how they met. Closing her eyes, Lina imagined the way his hands used to feel on her back; always warm and always inviting the most vulnerable parts of her to come alive. She remembered how the sound of his laughter made her want to repeat the same joke ten times over again just so he’d make that same lovely sound. So she’d feel his body trembling, his eyes twinkling and ultimate contentment shining through his cracks and edges. Even in that moment, broken and filled with a promised life that would never come to fruition, she still felt an ease and comfortability she feared wouldn’t be found in another person. Right then, Lina desired the taste of his lips. She looked back over at him and squeezed his hand, beckoning his attention. When their eyes met, Lina’s mouth formed a small smile that she hoped would be reciprocated. Instead, Dixon sighed and said, “This is depressing.”

As if containing a mind of their own, Lina’s shoulders slumped and her hands slowly released their hold on Dixon’s. He protested and tried to revive the intimacy in that moment, but with three small words, it had disappeared.

Echo

Your voice echoes in my dreams.

The sound of your laughter haunts me

And finds me in each dream sequence

Making sure to remind me that’s the only place

It’ll ever frequent.

The sight of you is now fuzzy and gray.

It has disappeared in the restless fray,

Beside you and my heart…

Which are all along for the joyride

That continues to destroy the state of my being.

I feel you within me in some moments.

But in others,

You are what you’ve become

And that is when I unravel

And become undone.

Your voice…

It echoes in my dreams.

It slowly withers away

As the sun rises and dreamland fades,

New thoughts emerge,

But they drown in the waves of

Everything that depraves me

Of normalcy.

So I sit. And I wait.

For the sound of your voice

To romanticize my mind

Until dawns early light

Allows me to wake.

And you, yet again, manage to escape

12:46

“What does it feel like?”

“I think about that all the time. I don’t even really know how to answer that, though. I’ve heard it described as getting punched in the gut, but that’s not…that’s not how I would describe it. It’s just…a constant churning of sadness in the pit of your stomach. You don’t really notice it’s there because you go on about your life and your activities, but the second you even smell something that brings you back to that place, it’s over. Over time, you get the hang of it, but it’s a process. It just feels really bad, you know? Like, yesterday, there was a whole person there. They were alive and they were laughing with you, they were yelling at you and making you feel like shit, and out of nowhere, there’s this eerie silence that you can’t seem to understand. You know, you call them and call them and listen to their stupid voicemail because one day, they’re going to pick up. They’re going to tell you that it was all a really mean joke and they’ll be at your house in an hour. But that’s just the hope talking. I think there’s some self-hate in there too. Some sick need to torture yourself because if you actually loved yourself, you’d force yourself to face the truth.

“And what’s your truth?”

“I’m really sad. And I think that’s the only real feeling I’ll have for a while. “