depression

All I want to do is leave
And all I want to be is asleep.

Thoughts seem to complicated to form- I am existing in a jell-o stream of consciousness, my mind barely able to hold its form.

I tell myself
Hold fast,
suck it up
you'll love again.
You'll get yourself together one way or another.

My voice echoes off of the hot walls- my eyes give me away.

I
am
a
liar.

A farce.

I sleep in a heap of uncertainty.
Throw shit around to create activity in an otherwise placid day-
O, the joy of an activity!

A shell, found on the beach of some disgusting tourist town (it used to be something different, it used to be fun).
What slipped out from in between, leaving me halved and hardened?


Oh this life, Oh, this day.

Life, fill my day- death has taken its stale turn.

Awkwardness- Coffee Shop Style

I saw you at the coffee shop today. We talked and exchanged a few nice words, like neighbors do.
[If your house burned down, I would stand across the street- watching it burn with you. Maybe I would give you some furniture and maybe I would let you crash on my sofa].
-I feel a bit like an expensive insurance company-

Maybe it's a simple "hello" and "how are you" from your perspective- all is well and you go about your day- not a second thought given to the girl eating the bagel and drinking the orange juice.

But when I see you, I see red. I think red. I see your living room. My regret. The pain I went through that just numbed you to the point of absence.

What a big, festering, bloody mess we made.

You were important. I was important. You were a rebound. I was the same.

We are not friends. Don't even try to pretend.

"You look angry" you say to me now.

"I am just FINE" -most obvious lie. Ever.

I am. I am angry. I am hurt. I am broken.

We aren't friends anymore, kid.
Neighbors. That's how we know each other.

A wave on our way to work.

Someday, I will need to borrow a cup of sugar, can I call you?

Cover Ups

I recently had a tattoo covered up. The tattoo that I had covered was a symbol of my marriage- it was a sparrow carrying wedding rings. I got it when I was 19 years old to celebrate my engagement. It cost $75, is about 8" from wing to wing, and was done in the shadiest tattoo joint I have ever stepped into in the North Georgia mountains. I almost passed out when I got it, and I almost immediately regretted it. Even though I was about to get married, the tattoo just seemed too...permanent.

When I told my friends about my plan to cover it up, they were split almost 50/50 (not that others' opinions have EVER made me think twice about a decision that I feel strongly about). Some said it was too soon, and that I should wait until everything was final to cover it. Others thought that it was a good idea and some suggested that I should make it funny. I decided to wait a bit AND not do anything as a joke. Joke tattoos are best reserved for drunken frat boys anyway.

The truth is- it is a shitty tattoo, with colors that I HATE (pink, teal, blue). It reminds me a lot of an airbrushed Spring Break '98 t-shirt. And no one wants to wear their senior year t-shirt forever.

Breakin' Up is hard to Doooooooo-ooo

I recently met this girl who is going through a very drawn out break up. She is completely losing her mind over it. She has posted on social networks pleas for his love, quoted sad song lyrics as Facebook updates, stays in more nights than she goes out. So much of me wants to shake her by the shoulders and make her realize that this is NOT the end of her world, and that things will eventually be okay- if not better. But, I have realized that would be very hypocritical of me. There was a time in my not so distant past that I felt like my life would be over without a particular someone in it. Basically, I've been there. We have ALL been there.

Another person I met recently I know only as "Hobo Fucci" (pronounced "foochee"). Last year, his wife cheated on him and left him, and they are currently in a custody battle over their dog [ for the record, Hobo Fucci TOTALLY deserves the damn thing. He cooks her a breakfast consisting of eggs, sausage, and toast every Sunday. I think anyone willing to get up early just for breakfast with a dog should have dog-custody]. Anyway, Hobo Fucci was the saddest guy I have ever met. His words were full of "Whatevers" and "she was a bitch," but his eyes betrayed him. It was very difficult to hold his gaze most of the time because you could almost feel his pain.
Then, there's my story. After being with one guy for seven years, I immediately immersed myself in the life of someone else. I dealt with my pain and shame by essentially ignoring it and creating another mess. I became friends with his friends, picked out his furniture, and boy, did I fall hard. Only fools rush in, right? Now things with this guy are sort of messy at best, and at worst they're really awkward. Instead of dealing with my shit, I created more shit, and pretty soon there was a shit storm. Most days, I feel really embarrassed about the way I acted with him, and made drama where there needn't be any.

So, why do we do these things to ourselves? Whether it is jumping from relationship to relationship, lying to complete strangers about your readiness to move on, or pouring your broken heart out in front of hundreds of your "closest" Facebook friends, what makes us so insane? What makes us so inconsolable? And why do we all need to go through our own stuff to realize our own foolishness?

CS Lewis said,
"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken."

So, unless you love nothing and no one, you will certainly have pain in this life.

I sat here for ten minutes trying to think of an eloquent way to put my feelings on this subject into words, and the only think I can think of to say is that it sucks. The one human experience that we all share is the thing that was surely break up.

Unfortunately, though, there is no formula for avoiding heartache. I wish I could look people in the eye and say, "Do this. Drink this, and do a somersault, and you will avoid all emotional baggage." But life is rarely that simple. Every person has and needs to figure things out on their own. If I needed to feed my dog home cooked meals on a regular basis to feel better about my life falling apart, I would do that. If I needed to tweet about my tears to get over them, you better believe that's what I would be doing. But those things just don't feel right to me. What heals me and what heals you will always look a little different- that's what makes things so beautiful.

So, I may not know a sure fire way that works for everyone's brokenness. There is no x + y= z way out of things. What I can do, though, is get myself right so that I can be close enough to others to know what THEY need. I guess that's the whole point anyway, right? You WILL get hurt if you are a human being. You WILL cause hurt if you are a human being. We just all need to learn to deal.

Weird, Nervous me.

I went to a show alone. While driving there, I got lost- and I have been to this venue 20+ times. I parked a few blocks away even though the parking lot was empty, and it took me 10 minutes to get out of the car. I don't understand, really, why I as so nervous. Going to a show all by my lonesome was on my "2011 list of goals," so why was it so difficult? This (of course) got me to thinking...
I guess it's because I put myself out there. It wasn't the music or the place. It was the lingering feeling that I could somehow be rejected. Maybe people would talk about me like I was a weirdo:
"Why is that girl alone? Gosh, she must not have any friends. Who does that??"
The funny thing, is, though, that didn't happen. I had a good time, and the band was decent enough to see again. If I felt awkward, it was only my own insecurities that made me so. I think, also, that maybe everyone should try to do something that scares them (side note: I am aware that phrase may be used for a cheesy bumper sticker, but it's all I could think of). If you live your life only doing things that are comfortable, then your life can be boring. And who really wants that?
So my minuscule "adventure" taught me this: I enjoy taking risks. So, I will be more direct. If I want to do something, say something, wear something, damn it, I am going to. I will do things that scare me if it is something I genuinely want to experience.

So...what scares me? Sharks, for one. But I don't live near the ocean, so sharks are not really a big deal for me right now. Other than sharks (they have sharp teeth, superior senses, and can swim WAY faster than us, by the way), I suppose the thing that scares me the most is being alone. I am a very emotional person, and sometimes I feel like I don't experience things unless I share them with someone. Almost like it's not real or didn't happen if I can't be like, "Hey, remember when we ______? That was ______." The problem is, though, I don't want to NEED other people to experience things.
I also don't want to isolate myself just for the sake of being alone, because that seems a little to reactionary and dangerous. What I will do, though, is do things even if I have to do them alone. I need to be okay with being by myself from time to time, and hopefully the times I spend with others will be even sweeter.

My friend Athena said the other night (Valentine's Day), that she was completely okay with being single. I tried to agree and say that I was too, but I guess it's going to take some time. Athena inspires me!

Snipe Hunting

When I was younger, my mom and aunts would take us out to fields and go snipe hunting. It is a basic enough concept. Snipes are birds that run really quickly and can't fly. They run away from loud noises and are virtually undetectable to the naked eye (which is why it is so important to have an experienced adult with you at all times). I remember taking hours out of our days to hunt in the fields around our Granny's house with my cousins. Although none of us had ever seen an actual snipe, we all KNEW that one day we would catch one. We were an army of one, with a singular mission: to capture the illusive snipe. After years of running around like fools, we came to the consensus that snipes don't exist (technically, they DID, but we extinct for about a century). Eventually, snipe hunting felt less like a mission and more like a con.
So why am I writing this?

Recently, I feel like my life has been a snipe hunt. I feel like someone said "Hey, if you run through this field, you will figure your life out. Trust me." I seem to be trying different ways of "catching" myself, so to speak. Even this whole project of trying different activities every month seems like it could end up being just another tour around the cornfield. I don't want it to be that way, so maybe I can just decide that instead of trying to find myself, I will try to find things that myself likes (what the HELL does finding yourself really mean, anyway?).

Just some thoughts for this rainy day. I will probably conclude this tonight.

Running.

Okay. Two weeks into the running thing, and I am super bored of it. This past week has been a bit weird health wise for me, so I have not been running as regularly as I would like, but by Friday AM, i should be hitting the pavement again (that's a phrase, right?).

Needless to say, I have had a lot of time to think about what my next activity will be. I am thinking something with a LITTLE less of an impact. I saw a sign for Tai Chi in a coffee shop. Maybe I will give that a shot. I wonder if I will be the only one under 55 years old. For now though, I need to get to work. Maybe this weekend I will have time to work on the blog for longer than 5 minutes.


What a crazy couple of weeks these have been! I am SO ready for a day off where I don't feel like just sleeping the entire day. I took a 5 hour "nap" yesterday.

Alone is not a dirty word.

Basically, I hate being alone. And recently, I find myself going solo a lot. And I figure that if I am going to be alone a lot, I need to get used it. I would like to eventually LIKE being alone, if that's possible.

...is that possible?

Last night, I was laying in bed, and was thinking about relationships. Like the VERY beginning of a relationship, when both people are trying to figure out what the other likes to do, and you spend time with that person doing things that you would not have done on your own. Eventually (in most cases), you end up liking those same things. Maybe you end up hiking or biking or LARP-ing. I think the point is that you would not have known what you were missing out on if you would have never met that person. Even relationships that don't make it have this one plus: you normally come out a more interesting person.

Here's the thing though. I don't want to have to wait for another person to figure out what I like. I have done that my entire life. I tend to look like/sound like/have the same ideas as the person I am spending the most time with. This does not just go for romantic relationships, either. I am a sponge when it comes to friendships. You know that girl that got her hair cut just like you in the third grade and wore the same kitty cat applique sweatshirt with the puffy paint? Yeah, that was me. And even though I (regretfully) wear far less puffy paint these days, I still desire to be liked so much that I have somewhere along the way forgotten to develop my own interests. Not that I blend into a crowd. I would not say that about myself. And I genuinely like the things I say I like. There are just days that I feel like there is not an original thought in my head.

These words are extremely uncomfortable for me to type ( I just had to take a 10 minute break that included one cigarette and two trips to the bathroom).

I need to figure myself out before I can ever let someone else give it a shot. I am going to try new things this year. What better year for it, anyway?

So, what's first? It is winter. So maybe a winter-time activity? What are winter time activities, anyway? I don't have a lot of money to spend on sporty stuff. I do have a good pair of running shoes and some warm pants or whatever. Maybe I could try running this month. It might be a good way to think of the other activities that I want to do when I actually feel like being outside without moving at supersonic speed. Here's a rough draft of the things that I want to try:

-Knitting
-Kayaking
-Fishing
-Rock Climbing
-Jazz Music (listening, not playing)
-Guitar
-Kickboxing
-LARPing (I mentioned it earlier for a reason)

And here are the rules. First of all, I can change my mind. And if I don't like something, I am not going to pretend like I do. Second, I can't take anyone with me on these adventures (does knitting count as an adventure?). If I meet people while doing these activities, that's cool. The point is not to isolate myself, it's to broaden my horizons to new things that I would not try without a bit of prodding. Only this time, it's self prodding (Note to my dear friends: thanks for the understanding, I love you guys).

January is running month. From January 13th to February 13th 2011, that's going to be my activity. When I am bored, I will run. A little Forrest Gump action never hurt anyone, right? Here goes nothing.

new-ish. story.

They say there are always regrets. At the end of everyone's life, there will always be things you did that you wish you hadn't, places you wanted to go but never did, and things you just never got the chance to say. And, I don't know, really, but I would guess that a lot of last thoughts are of those regrets.
My life, though, has relatively few regrets. Today I am 73 years old, and there are only three things that were significant enough to remember in all my years. I guess you could say that for the most part, things were pretty mundane for me. I've lived in Baltimore for my entire life, and I have enjoyed it. I learned to walk, talk, read, kiss, and love here. After I married my husband and we had our own children, I watched them do the same. Some people might say that living in one neighborhood for your entire existence is worth regret, but not for me. I found the knowing to be the best part of my life. I know when things open, close, come and go. I know my neighbors (well, those who are still around, anyway), and I think there's a lot to be said for knowing your neighbors these days.
There are some things I remember, and a lot of things that I do not. It is also funny to me what your mind chooses to remember. For example, I remember the smell of the strawberries on my wedding cake, but find it hard to remember the color of the Bridesmaid's dresses. I remember the sound of my first daughter's cry, and the look in my husband's eyes when he held her for the first time. I remember the taste of my daughter's tears and I kissed them away after telling her that her Daddy would not be coming home. Some days, I feel like I just sit around, constantly flooded with memory triggers. From the steam wafting off of my morning coffee to a young couple walking hand in hand down the street. I guess that's what happens when you get older. You sit around remembering and trying not to forget. I know a lot of my friends in the neighborhood don't like to talk about the fact that we are old, and that our time is running out. I guess for me it's a little more practical than that. I've lived, and I will die. And so will everyone that you come into contact with. All that you can do before that time is try to pass along the lessons you've learned to anyone who will listen. Or any piece of paper that happens to be blank, as is the case right now.
Regrets. I have been remembering my regrets today. I saw two young girls playing on a corner earlier today, braiding each others' hair and singing songs about it. It reminded me of my childhood best friend, Sarah. We grew up together in Highlandtown. She lived three doors down from me, and was always getting me into trouble. I guess you could say she brought out my rebellious side. We would go down to the shipyard and try to throw rocks at the barges coming in (which was, by the way, impossible). One particular day, I had gotten it especially hard from my mother after she heard about Sarah and I spitting on some boys in the park, and I was not looking for any more trouble.
"Sorry, Sarah. My mom says we can't be friends."
Sarah did not respond, just hung her head and walked toward the water.
And that was the last time that I ever saw my best friend. The details are really vague in my memory, or maybe I just never knew them in the first place, but her body was found in a ditch three days later. I have always thought that if I could have been there, maybe she would have made it home that day. Maybe I could have helped her out of whatever crazy situation she had gotten herself into. That's what best friends are for, and I was not there. I don't think that I can ever get to the point to not regret that day. The other two things that I regret are not nearly as sad as this, and for that I am thankful.

Conclusion

It was unseasonably cold the day of the party. Luckily, I had not planned on getting into the pool, although I was a bit upset about possibly missing Veronika in her bathing suit. My mom had me help with the banana pudding, and my brothers were making hamburger patties. Somewhere between slicing the bananas and layering the Nilla wafers, I found myself having easy conversation with my mom. We talked about school, and how I had learned to tolerate it. She asked me if I had any thoughts on college, and I told her that I had not thought about it, but I knew I wanted to get the hell out of this town. I think she was a little taken back by my use of “hell,” but did I guess she decided to let it slide. She asked me why I had been wearing makeup, and if I had taken any of her eyeliner. I hadn’t, but I don’t think she believed me. After a little while, we were laughing and talking like we were friends. The weird spell was broken when my brothers got into an argument over if the raw meat looked more like brains or intestines. I personally thought that it looked like the inside of a stomach, but I didn’t want to interject.

The rest of the day passed without consequence. My mom was frantically running around the house making every thing look perfect. She gave up on enlisting anyone else’s help after my dad hung a sign slightly askew on the living room wall. I spent most of the day in my room trying on different clothes. I had a feeling this was not quite typical for boys my age, but I needed to look good tonight. I settled on a plain white t-shirt and jeans (which I had gotten new, but spent three hours making them look well worn). After putting on enough eyeliner to look a little bit like David Bowie, it was time for the party. I headed to the back yard, took a seat, and pretended to read a book. I needed to look like I was not interested when Veronika showed up with her family.

When she did arrive, I had been staring at the same page for almost thirty minutes. I would not go so far to say that she did not know I was there- it was my house, after all. I think she must have just been distracted, because she didn’t speak to me. For the entire evening. I gave it till 9:30 and headed upstairs to my room. I fell asleep about 2 hours later, and never woke up.
I slipped into death quite apathetically. No fighting, no protests, no thoughts about the life I was losing. I suppose I would have liked to go in a more dramatic way, to offer some contrast to the monotony of my existence (maybe a car accident, head trauma, or a gunshot?). But that was it. I died in my bed, a virginal 16 year old David Bowie look alike in fifty dollar jeans.





*Note.* I thought long and hard about how to kill this kid. It just did not seem right to do anything too dramatic, because his life was so simple...and, like most of us, boring. It really depressed me this week, and I didn't publish the conclusion for a while, because I was sad about the state of his life. After thinking though, this was the absolute right way to tie it all up.