Meet me there

I find myself now despising my heart, and wishing I could shut it off, turn it into something dumb or numb, something silent and simple but not predatory. I don’t want to go into detail why. It just hurts to love and care sometimes, disproportionately so, about people, about…. Maybe fucking everything sometimes, or about just making what I can better, and to feel alone in it, or to feel among the minority.

Tonight I am also confused. Reflecting upon ambiguous moments (sometimes they are the most haunting), feelings I’ve had that seemed disproportionate to the circumstances, and unreachable people. No one owes me their caring really. Or not many. Not a damn thing in this life, except maybe the people who created me, and one of them is dead. But still. I wish I could know. Reflection: An answer can’t change the ending. Whatever it may be for any situation. Or has anything firmly ended yet? Except what’s literally dead?

I check the news every day. It feels as if the whole world is nearing its expiration date. Souring. The ironic thing is that despite it all I can feel my own growth, an awareness of my ability to more easily access my strength, my diamonds, nothing breaks me in the end - but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to be here, honestly. I resent a lot of this ride. I don’t want to be here at all, having this life, having any life on earth, even now, but I am still grateful for what is good. I am 35, we’ll see where I’ll go.

I miss my dad. I don’t even care about some of his chaos. I have my own chaos, we understood each other better because this. Ironically. In the end I just stared at his. I was his daughter. I was in an impossible position. I don’t know if I could have saved him. It wasn’t my responsibility, honestly. He saved me. Absolutely.

I have been thinking of the job I had before my current job, how much I cared. How draining that was. How much I lost. How easy it was to lose myself there, to care about outward success as if it really meant a damn thing. It didn’t, it just fucking didn’t. Beyond making a living, having an income, and of course helping people, it was money and noise and it all sucked me dry. Sucked me VERY dry. Turned me into a vampire.

Yet I know this as well: I am not ordinary (although yes, it is true that there may be no such thing). I can feel it when my eyes are closed, when I am alone. When I notice my breathing or catch my heartbeat, it doesn’t feel physical to me, it feels spiritual. I don’t think it is this way for most people. I can’t laugh at a joke that feels a little too cruel. I also can’t hold in my laughter at weird things sometimes. . I talk to myself all day, in my head, everything is a story. I say things others dare not say (with mixed consequences). I am not completely good. I am not pure, no one can be. I will not pretend to be. I am a failure as much as I am a success in some ways, but I am loved very much, and know that that is the more important thing.

Right now I am also thinking about someone’s eyes. Someone I used to know. They were so kind. And sometimes I imagined their eyes were saying reach me, reach me. And this person won’t see this. And maybe it was all in my head. And I wish I could tell them god, I was trying to reach you, but I didn’t want to scare you. You never met me there, and that’s okay. But I would have kept trying because we are different. Both of us, we are special (that wasn’t in my head). It was your energy, something a woman’s body knows.

So that was it, that was all of it. You would have never owed me a damn thing. I am sometimes so depleted, I don’t want the world, would drink the poison just so I could sleep this away. The best I can do is publish my writing. But I am so damn whole.

Falling asleep now.