I Don’t Want to Live in This World

I hate this world that I’ve created.

I hate that I moved across the country with big dreams, none of them being fulfilled.  They’ve been destroyed so much that I’ve let them go altogether.  I don’t even write anymore.  I probably don’t even exist anymore.

I hate that I moved to the south and have encountered far more entitled people than I ever did living in a resort town.  I hate that I feel that I can do nothing right.  I hate that I don’t have anyone to depend on, so I’ve learned to depend on myself.  I hate that my heart aches for a church like the one I left behind.  I  hate that I can’t find that here.  I hate that every promotion brings more misery, instead of confidence.  I hate that I complain so often.  I hate that I’m depressed.

I miss my home.  I miss my family.  I miss my friends.  I miss my mom.  If I had known that moving here would mean losing her, I never would have come.  I miss that she made me empowered.  I wish that I had appreciated it while she was around.

I don’t want to be alive in this world anymore.  I know it’s supposed to get better.  I know it always has gotten better.  But I don’t like the in between.  I don’t like that I’m in the in between again.  I don’t like that I’ve gotten so lost, that I’ve disappeared completely.

The Case of the “I Don’t Matter”s

I’m experiencing an increasing case of the “I don’t matter”s.  So much that it’d probably be easier to disappear.  And I don’t need people to try harder or act smarter or to learn to remember.  Because it’s me.

And it makes me think.  Maybe no one really matters.  I mean, people matter to each other, and it’s my fault that I have no one.  I’ve never really learned to have anyone.  But in the largest meaning of the word, no one matters.  We are all just blips.  Time keeps going, and the longer time gets, the smaller chance our existence will impact anything.

I feel really abandoned, but I’m the one who abandons.  I’m the one who packs up and moves away.  I’m the one who doesn’t stay in touch.  I’m the heart breaker with a broken heart.

I went to a friend’s family’s thanksgiving.  I traveled to be there.  On the way home, I realized it probably would have been better for everyone if I hadn’t gone.  My being there changed nothing.  I was just overwhelmed.  Because I don’t like lots of new people.  I don’t like feeling stuck.  I’m not good at socializing.  Why do I think that because there is a holiday, I need to spend it somewhere, when I’d be happier at home?  I don’t matter.

I entered into something I didn’t mean to enter into.  But it wouldn’t matter if I was here or not.  They can argue over everything without me anyway.  And there would probably be fewer arguments if I didn’t show up, because I’m too liberal, apparently.  Anything I have to say just gets interrupted and forgotten.  I don’t matter.

And when people say that nothing is going to change, it always changes.  When they say you won’t get dropped, they’ll have excuses for when you do.  Because it’s impossible to articulate anything real at all.

I feel alone.  But I feel alone because I don’t know how to express what is inside of me.  I don’t know how to make anyone understand this grief that has built up.  I don’t know how to be anyone else.  I don’t matter.

Anti Permanence

I’m in that state again.  You know, that state.  I poured out too much of myself.  And now I’m just done.  Hopefully just for a little while.

I decided to play through some old songs.  Songs I wrote when I was nineteen.  Songs from that time in my life.  And it made me think.  It’s always dangerous to think too deep, maybe.  I started to think about the people who used to be in my life.  All the people I’ve talked about forever with.  And it makes me think about how there is no forever.  Or there is an eternity.  So maybe I’ll see them again.  But not in this life.  Not now.

I took a nap.  I only take naps when my mind is in it’s current state.  That state.  And when I wake up I usually feel worse.  It makes me want to sleep forever.  And really, how much easier would it be to sleep forever?  It’s one of my dreams in life.  To sleep forever.
But I know that I’ll get up tomorrow and be fine.  I’m always fine.  And in my transient lifestyle, with my anti permanent friendships, relationships, and homes, always being fine will always be permanent.  In the ups and downs, I will always be okay.  I don’t even have anything deep to say right now.

This isn’t quality.  I’m not quality right now.  I joked earlier today about quantity versus quality.  Right now, I feel like neither.  Because my mind is in that state.  But.  But.  That state isn’t a permanent one.  My life has lacked permanence.  And right now, I choose to be thankful for it.  As I’ll get out of this too.

Please Let Go

Words so cryptic, as if she’s done this before
And she has
Done this a thousand times
Every time terrified
That it will be the last

Rehearsing in her mind
Every moment up to the ending
Although no one else has the script
So it never goes quite right

Her heart addicted
To what comes across as manipulation
Trying so hard to push and pull away
Reeling them in anyway

Don’t tell her to hold on
As you hold on
Hands cut on the brokenness
Please let go

A Mess Worth Loving

I just saw the move Suicide Squad.  And this blog is not about that.  But it made me think.  There are so many psychological things going on in that movie.  I think that’s how I can tell good screen writing.  It’s  a mess.  There are so many levels in the simplicity of the story.
I just rewatched Avatar: The Last Airbender series.  That’s another show with so much psychology.  Everyone is a mess.  Everyone has a dynamic.  It isn’t just good over evil.  It’s more than that.

I love messes.  It’s probably because I’m a mess.  I’m a psychological mess.  I live in organized chaos.  And I can hate it, hate me, keep trying to change myself, or I can accept myself.  Just like I’ve accepted every mess of a person that has walked into my life.  And we can’t deny that we all have a little mess in us.

I have a talent for finding broken people, the messes.  It’s like I have a mess magnet in my heart.  And my heart loves them loves them loves them.  I don’t even want to fix them, I just want them to be accepted.  I crave acceptance and I try to hand it out like candy at a small town parade.  I would be lying if this acceptance has not hurt me in past, but it’s still all I know how to do.  I don’t want anyone to feel the hate that souls, my soul, are so capable of churning up.  Hate will never make the world a better place.  Who cares about disagreements?  Hate will never change anyone into who you want them to be.  Love might.  Acceptance might.  And if it doesn’t, it won’t matter, because love always wins.

It’s so funny to me that this is my philosophy on life, when I am so quick to turn it around on my own self, my own people, my background, my roots, where I came from.  I get so angry at Christians because in my eyes, I still expect them to judge me.  I still see the judgement toward those who have chosen a different lifestyle.  I still hear the judgement in their voices when political disagreements become apparent.  But aren’t we supposed to be Christlike?  Aren’t we supposed to be loving, just like the God that we say we follow, that we say created us to love?

I want to accept.  While I expect to be unaccepted.  In every walk.  When people get excited that I decide to show up somewhere my mind is blown.  I don’t expect it.  It almost makes me want to leave.  Because I’m a psychological mess that loves psychological messes.  As soon as I hear your brokenness, your struggle, your story, I’m likely to fall into your soul.  I’m likely to want you by my side, in my heart, near me, with me.
And I know it’s time that I take a step back.

Today I took a step in a different direction.  I forgot my notebook when I went to church, so I couldn’t write, which is my protection, I think.  Yes, it is my identity, but I’m vulnerable without it.
When the music started playing, it suddenly occurred to me to join my friends on the floor, rather than staying in my seat.  I haven’t been that person in years.  Because of my fear.  I’m constantly expecting to be watched.  Because I don’t dance.  I don’t jump around.  And when I lose myself, I’m more likely to be still than I am to be some spiritual craziness.  I’m more likely to be like Mary, lost at Christ’s feet, than I am to be like David, who danced before the Lord.  I always expect judgement in that.  But it is my reality.  Stop judging me for my reality.  Or maybe you’re not.  Or maybe I don’t care anymore.

Blogging Everyday in July|Delirious 40hr Work Week

I have an interesting coworker who is interesting (I phrased that that way on purpose, mom).  He is interesting and he says interesting things and he thinks interesting things, and I think it’s because he’s a deep thinker.  He also asks me deep questions.  And I try to get give him well thought out answers.  Also, right now, I’m deliriously tired, so if none of this makes sense, that is why.  It’s like Sara on drugs. Seriously, go watch my snap chat story.  Just kidding, I’m rambling because I’m tired.

Anyway, the interesting coworker gave me the idea to write about the 40 hour work week.  We had a conversation about how it’s no longer sustainable.  One family member used to be able to work 40 hours a week and take care of his family.  Now, I’m the kind of person who enjoys being able to work, so if I get married I expect us both to work.  |
My coworker believes the 40 hour work week has been turned into something to keep creatives from being able to do what they love outside of work, because they’re too tired.  Which might be true.  But I like to find jobs that I like.  However, I currently am not in love with one of my jobs.  And I work 60 hours a week and barely make it.  And I’m delirious.  If I say anything else it will be unintelligible.

Maybe I’ve made a mistake.  Maybe I’ve gotten in over my head.
I’m done with being cut off or cut out.  I’m done with being misunderstood.  I don’t follow pop culture or church culture or people who might have something good to say.  I know who I follow and what I follow.  I’m not trying to be a constantly negative person, it just feels wrong in my heart when something gets over spiritualized.

I’m not making sense.  And I might never make sense again.  I might never do anything again.

Cyclical

Currently wondering what the point is
As I seem to always find myself back here
If life is a never ending cycle
How do I break it?

I don’t want to end everything
Just this, right here
When my heart turns to ice
And no one can hear me anymore
That’s when I know I’ve disappeared again

I don’t ask to be invisible
When they look at me they see right through me
And not in a good way

I thought I was known again
Crisis averted
Yet that was a false positive
There’s no point in making plans
What am I worth?

I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I am worth more than this
Believing that doesn’t make anything change though
So it’s time I stopped trying
Maybe