I'm Tumbling head over heels.

Raison D’etre

So I’m doing NaNoWriMo this year, as I did last year, and this year’s book is about my life thus far. I’ll assume that if you’re reading this blog post you already know me, so I’ll skip over the details. You already know them. So for the past month Ive been pouring my life, my heart and soul into this book. It is my purpose, my raison d’etre—my mission, my noble cause. My goal in life is to use my life experience to help others who have lived similar lives as mine.

Last night I finished the third draft of my book and it left me with a very strange feeling; I wasn’t sure what to do next—where life should would and could take me having passed this auspicious milestone. It seemed that I no longer had any reason to be, to exist, that my book was already written and my message already out there for the world to see, what further good was I? And I wasn’t quite sure how to react. Happiness? Sadness? Laugh? Cry? I felt exhausted and exhilarated, jubilant and dejected, vibrant and despondent. And then I got my answer in the form of a NaNoMail.

I posted a description of and an excerpt from my book on the NaNo site at the very beginning of November, and a scant week later I received a message from a person in the UK, a friend of a friend, who told me that she respected my work and that, having lived a similar life, identified and empathized with my life and my cause. So I asked her, as is my practice when meeting people who have lived as I have lived, to please describe her life to me to be used as inspiration for my book and my goal. She told me that it was difficult for her to recount and, thereby, relive her painful past, and that she would message me when she felt she could. For two weeks I didn’t hear a peep, and in the meantime I finished my book; a bit late for inspiration, eh?

Today I received my answer and it was the answer to my questions to her and my questions to the world: what further is my purpose? She told me her story, albeit briefly, and it reminded me why I set out along my path, on the noble quest to free the world from the confines of social stigma and fear of public opinion: to enable others to free themselves. I have lived, for the past three years, in a prison of self-loathing and doubt, of public opinion and what others may say of me when I turn my back, of what the futures holds in store for me in a world controlled by the ignorant masses who see no problem with suppressing me and my ilk simply for our pasts and our families. After three years I have finally found the courage to break free from this incarceration and tell my story, shout it from the rooftops for all to hear in an incontrovertible and unsilenceable voice of reason and truth and acceptance. And to me there is no greater pleasure in this world than the joy I feel when seeing another person break free from that very same prison and march forth, head high and pride intact like a conquering army, into the world, ready to face any and every challenge life may present.

And her answer reminded me that the book was a means not an end, that the war has only just begun, that it was only the first of many, many steps along my quest. That I had purpose past the writing of my book, that my reason for existence was so much more than to say my piece and just leave; no. My purpose, my raison d’etre, my mission, my quest is so much more than my book. It is lifelong and eternal, it has been before me and will be after me and that realization is what gives me hope for the future, and a sense of purpose and fulfillment, that I am part of some greater cause, of some greater purpose, and that I could be responsible for helping others and improving lives and, by extension, the world. If that’s not a reason to exist, I don’t know what is.   

I don’t know what to say to you anymore.

I really don’t. I am at a complete loss for words. I know i should say one thing, but i can’t let myself say it. But it is for that very reason that I cannot tell you what i really feel. Do you know what I am? I am a tool. Nothing more than a stinking tool. I get used when people need me and then cast aside when I’m no longer necessary. I’ve always been a tool, used by so many people over the years that I’ve almost come to enjoy it. But never by friends. Never anyone I considered a friend. Never someone who I would lay down my life for. Never. I’m usually good at identifying good friends, and apparently that sense broke with you.

Took me a year to realize that it was I, not you, who was interested in being friends. As far as you were concerned I was serving a purpose, a need. Someone to talk to because your family and you don’t necessarily see eye to eye. I was filler. A placeholder. A distraction. Truth be told I needed the same thing, but the difference is that the distraction was not all I sought. I don’t use people, it’s just not my style.  I am loyal to people I call “friend”, loyal to a fault. I am at their beck and call 24/7/365. For a true friend of mine, and there are a few of those, I would do anything. But I know that when the time came, if there was something I needed, my friends would do anything for me as well. And that is what I define as “friend.”

With you, on the other hand, it was all one sided. I powered the friendship, I kept it going, I put my energies into it. Not you. Not one effing bit. When you needed something, anything, I was always there with a smile on my face ready to help my “friend.” And therein lies the problem. You were only my friend as long as you needed something. Otherwise, I was your friend, not you mine. One sided. I hate it. I hate it more than I have ever hated anything in my life, and as anyone who knows me will know, I have a lot to hate. But  I don’t hate you. I cant. Because as little as you may care for me, I care about you as much as I care for any of my friends. Which is what makes this so hard to write, and why I’m not telling this to you directly. In fact, I will not send this to you, and you will likely never read it. But I wish I could say it. Oh…I wish I could say this to you.

It’s not that I never want to talk to you again, I just can’t stand HOW I talk to you. I’m this pathetic lapdog, a clinging parasite, a vestige of a time gone by desperately hanging on to the thread of its memory. I am nothing more than gum on the sole of your shoe which just refuses to let go. I’m ready to let go. I just don’t want to. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish we really were friends. I wish that the illusion I built in my mind would actualize so that I don’t have to write what I am now writing. I wish we had never met. I wish that we could meet. I wish that I never talk to you again. I wish that I could always talk to you. i wish you would never have called me “friend.” I wish that you truly could. I wish I had never called you “friend.” I wish that I now could.

Know what the worst part is? Now that I’ve said all this…I accomplish nothing. Because I know that if you do indeed decide to play “friend” with me that you would be doing it out of guilt and not from any true desire to be friends with me. So if you ever do see this, and if you ever do decide to be the friend you claim to be, don’t tell me you read this. Let the illusion stand in my mind, because the alternative is too painful for me. 

My day just got interesting…

So I’ve been under a lot of stress lately -issues at home and whatnot- so I decided to take a day off of work to get some rest…just enjoy myself. So I’m sitting there playing Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood on my bed, when my mother knocks on my door and comes in. For those of you who follow my blog, you know that she is a fucking psycho bitch whom I absolutely hate. She hasn’t been welcome in my room for 3 years, and we haven’t spoken during that time. My choice. I’ve tried having locks on my door, but the splintered doorposts surrounding the portal attest to their ineffectiveness. 

Occasionally she attempts entry into my inner sanctum. On such occasions i slam the door in her face. Why she keeps trying, I have no fucking idea. Anyway, this time she tried coming in, so, as per the usual, I slammed the door on her. Even the dumbest creature eventually adapts to its environment, so this time she put her foot in the door to make sure I couldn’t close it. Foot meets slamming door, you figure it out. So i see her foot there, and I have no interest in standing there all day, so I let it open for a second or two, giving her the opportunity to get her foot out of the fucking door. Does she? Well, as I said, even the dumbest creatures. 

So she starts coming in again. So I close the door again. This happens several times. ADAPT ALREADY!!! Seriously, have a Darwin Award. So she finally gets her fucking foot out of my door and runs off to my grandmother bawling about how I broke her foot. Then she proceeds to run around the house (on her feet very soon…yup. foot is broken.)

As is usual in such situations, she calls the cops. 10 minutes later they’re gone and she feels stupid AND still has an injured foot. I took off work today because I wanted to relax. Yup.  

Sharing…is caring?

As i sat there watching the violinist move his bow across the strings of his well worn instrument, as i reveled in the moment, as the music washed over me arousing emotions that had lain dormant inside me for months if not years, as the guitarists picked at the strings of their instruments creating the most beautiful of harmonies, i smiled the smile of a person enjoying true satisfaction. Music has a power over me like nothing else in this world; when I listen to music I am transformed from a mere mortal runner in the great rat-race of this world to a spiritual being, bonding with my soul and my maker. Music completes me, without it I would go insane. Unfortunately I never learned to play any instruments (something i hope to remedy in the coming years) but music is nevertheless a passion of mine. When i listen to a song I am not simply listening to the general blend of instruments and vocals. No, the music comes alive in my mind as each element of the piece unravels in my mind creating a beautiful tapestry of absolute perfection and beauty. 

There is nothing in this world quite like music, nothing with the ability to make my heart feel. Joy, ecstasy, yearning, pain, anger, fear, love. Satisfaction. Happiness. Completion. Perfection. Music has a power over me like no man or woman ever could. It distracts me, draws me, ensnares me in its intricate twists and turns. I know that some of you will just think that I’m a bit of a nut for writing all of this, but there are some of you out there who read this blog who understand the true power of music. 

So there i sat, taking in the perfection of the violin music flowing over me, when suddenly I was overcome by an overpowering desire to share this extremely intimate moment with the world. It bothered me, after all this was private. My emotions. I debated myself for a few minutes and lost. Unable to stop myself, I pulled out my phone and updated my Facebook profile, telling the world about the stunning concert i was at. 

I felt so cheap afterward, as though my life was no longer mine but rather open to the world; at it’s whim. I really felt bad about sharing that moment. I asked myself, and i ask myself this question right now as i sit here writing this, why do I feel the need to share everything I do with the world? Is nothing my own?! Have I no say in my own life? Why must i be governed by public curiosity? 

I’m in no way laying blame on any one of you; the blame is not yours at all rather that of the institutions we have come to accept as the norm. Social Media. Trust me, I love Social Media; without Social Media I would a lot more messed up than I am today. But at what cost do we sell our lives and souls to Social Media? FourSquare, Footprints, Twitter, Facebook, among others. They rule our lives, depriving us of those very special and intimate moments that we alone cherish. I owe a great debt to Social Media and yet I feel as though it has robbed me of my individuality, transforming me into some kind of insecure creature constantly looking for approval and reinforcement. 

Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with approval and reinforcement, but at what point is enough enough? At what point does one have to say “NO!?” I think I’m beyond that point, although i hope and pray that i can redeem myself.  

DEATHLY HALLOWS TRAILER!!!!

seequinn:

thatdoctorwhogirl:

aproperpkmnmaster:

blastisbeautiful:

jessicaahwilson:

 

olololololololololololol!

olol’d. i did it.

(Source: mycatismyfriend)

I can’t do it anymore.

I used to be able to handle the world’s problems. I used to be able to carry it’s weight on my shoulder. I used to be able to provide that shoulder to people who needed it to cry on. But i just can’t do it anymore. It’s too much. I don’t have the support I need for myself, let alone having enough for everyone else. So to everyone who was counting on it, I’m sorry, but I’m done. 

I have a lot going on in my life. I try not to show it for the benefit of myself and for the benefit of others. For myself, I don’t like being seen as weak, and therefore hide my feelings from both myself and the world. For others, I hide my feelings to seem strong enough to support them. However I realize now that I have not been benefiting myself or anybody else. All I’ve been doing is slowly breaking myself down while simultaneously hurting everyone around me. Well I’m done.