You can always find reasons to stay. The trouble, it seems, is accepting the reasons that say you should go.
That's been mulling itself in my mind for a while now--well, more like various, half-formed versions of that quote have been swirling around in my mind for a few days, never quite settling entirely on the wording, like some sweeping flock of Starlings that can't seem to find a suitable resting place.
You find someone--someone who you could see impacting your life in a way that so few can--and you cling to them. Loneliness, hope, nostalgia of something you once had that you're praying will someday come back--it's not fair to that person, but you can't help but project, you know?
For years now, you've known it's time to move on. Time to stretch your wings and fly away, as the tired cliche goes. You know it's time to leave, time to find a better life, to quit waiting for something to happen while you're making plans for something to happen to you. But still, you try. And you pray. And you hope.
You clutch at the fraying threads of your life, things that seem like they will make it a bit bearable, for a while. Little excuses we make to constantly abate ourselves, to put us in the mind set of "this too shall pass," only it never does, and, after a while, you have to accept the fact that this isn't just a string of bad luck, it's not just a "bad things come in threes," it's not just a "bad year," it's your life, and this is how it's always gonna be, unless you change it. That person you've found, they're not going to fix it. They're the band-aid. They're the disposable umbrella in the hurricane of shit that is your life. You can't hide behind them forever, you can't expect them to make it better. They won't. You have to accept that, in order to have a different life--to have a better life--you have to make choices. Different choices, hard ones. Things that often mean breaking off some of the good things to get away from some of the bad.
Break a few fingers to get away from the trap. So that's what I'll do.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Sunday, November 25, 2012
People Don't Change
I'm not sure why, but for some reason, people always seem to think that someone will change once they start dating them. Like, they're the magical key to that person's heart, their soul, and their inner "good" personality just waiting to escape.
This is a lie.
A person is going to be a good person, regardless of who they are with. This isn't a fairy tale, it isn't Disney or the movies, where the kiss from a kind-hearted soul will free the prince from his (or her) beastly shape. The person who turns into a good person because of another is not truly being a good person at all. They're being manipulated on a sub-conscious level by their own mind and their personal wants and desires. They become what they think the other person wants them to be, so they change themselves so they can appeal to their prince/princess. They don't suddenly grow independent, or loving, or stop being a cheater. It's just not the way life works.
So many people go through life looking for "the one," that person who can fix everything and make it all better. The one that they can live happily ever after with. It's an awful, tragic belief to get trapped in, because it's never going to happen. Not if that person ends up being someone who you think will change when you get together. I know this from experience.
When I was 18, I got married and ended up getting trapped in a bad relationship. Not as bad as some, worse than was healthy. I knew that if I didn't get out, things would get worse and worse and worse until they ended (and not well), and eventually I left him. But--much to my regret--not before having an affair with a guy I had been in love with since high school. He was smart, funny, and was sympathetic and could identify with my troubles.
It was a terrible choice--I destroyed a lot of friendships and hurt a lot more people. I tried to make it work--first with my husband, then, after my divorce, with the guy I cheated with. The latter ended up not exactly being the shining star he seemed to be to me for so many years. He was angry, cruel and made a lot of bad choices while convincing himself it wasn't anything he had caused. I ended up losing both guys, causing a lot of unnecessary pain and now do not communicate with either of them.
The point is, so many people have unrealistic expectations of others, particularly those they cannot have. I've seen it, you've seen it in your friend's relationships, and yet you refuse to see it in your own life. This is not meant to be as accusatory as it sounds, I'm every bit as guilty as the next person--with a few more sins than the typical passer-by tends to carry. It's just a frustrating occurrence, one I see more and more often in people's lives, with more and more justification for their poor decisions.
I'm not sure how to end this, except to say that I hope that next time, you will take that person--that person you love so much--carefully remove them from their pedestal, and examine their personality as-is, not as you hope--believe--they could be.
This is a lie.
A person is going to be a good person, regardless of who they are with. This isn't a fairy tale, it isn't Disney or the movies, where the kiss from a kind-hearted soul will free the prince from his (or her) beastly shape. The person who turns into a good person because of another is not truly being a good person at all. They're being manipulated on a sub-conscious level by their own mind and their personal wants and desires. They become what they think the other person wants them to be, so they change themselves so they can appeal to their prince/princess. They don't suddenly grow independent, or loving, or stop being a cheater. It's just not the way life works.
So many people go through life looking for "the one," that person who can fix everything and make it all better. The one that they can live happily ever after with. It's an awful, tragic belief to get trapped in, because it's never going to happen. Not if that person ends up being someone who you think will change when you get together. I know this from experience.
When I was 18, I got married and ended up getting trapped in a bad relationship. Not as bad as some, worse than was healthy. I knew that if I didn't get out, things would get worse and worse and worse until they ended (and not well), and eventually I left him. But--much to my regret--not before having an affair with a guy I had been in love with since high school. He was smart, funny, and was sympathetic and could identify with my troubles.
It was a terrible choice--I destroyed a lot of friendships and hurt a lot more people. I tried to make it work--first with my husband, then, after my divorce, with the guy I cheated with. The latter ended up not exactly being the shining star he seemed to be to me for so many years. He was angry, cruel and made a lot of bad choices while convincing himself it wasn't anything he had caused. I ended up losing both guys, causing a lot of unnecessary pain and now do not communicate with either of them.
The point is, so many people have unrealistic expectations of others, particularly those they cannot have. I've seen it, you've seen it in your friend's relationships, and yet you refuse to see it in your own life. This is not meant to be as accusatory as it sounds, I'm every bit as guilty as the next person--with a few more sins than the typical passer-by tends to carry. It's just a frustrating occurrence, one I see more and more often in people's lives, with more and more justification for their poor decisions.
I'm not sure how to end this, except to say that I hope that next time, you will take that person--that person you love so much--carefully remove them from their pedestal, and examine their personality as-is, not as you hope--believe--they could be.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
The River Socks
Close quarters confine me. Friends, different textures and flurries of colors surround me, hugging me tightly, wrapping and twisting themselves around me before passing me on to the next party.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Bile
Her knees hugged either side of the toilet, her elbow resting on the seat as she held her forehead in her hand. Her mouth watered in that sickly, stale sort of way as she fought the urge to hold it back.
Hot, wet bile roiled it's way up her throat, pouring out of her mouth and leaking through her nostrils mercilessly. Her eyes watered at the acidic vomit that now had her body in convulsions, how was there always more?
Two, three, four more times her body clenched, flexed and released of it's own accord: her body was no longer her own. Each time that burning wet stew filled up the clean, porcelain bowl; by now the stench was wafting up each time she hurled or moved, adding insult to injury.
Shaking, she reached for the glass on top of the bathroom counter. She lifted it to her lips, lightly took a sip, and swirled it around her mouth collecting various half-digested food particles before spitting it out again, like some fine wine, she thought wryly. Still shaking, she unrolled a small amount of toilet paper, wiped her mouth, blew her nose—gingerly. She looked at her handiwork: small yellowed chunks of food, a reddish, sweet-potato-colored liquid mixed with what looked like saliva, and a bit of blood from her nose. Slowly shaking her head from side to side, half in bemusement, half in an attempt to come back down to the reality of the cold bathroom floor, she grabbed the bathroom counter, lifted herself up, flushed the toilet, and walked out the door.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Baby Cage
Today I read a few snippets in between calls of an awesome blog called Asshole Baby. This blog--while obviously about a loving father and his adventures in the hell fire that is fatherhood--is chock-full of reasons exactly why I am NOT ready to be a mother. Babies poop. They pee everywhere. They eat things. Lots of non-food things. They're a lot like my dog, actually, only they shed slightly less and you can't throw them in the kennel for several hours while you get shit faced off Long Islands and vodka Red Bulls run to the store for a few emergency items. Well...not unless you hook up a pretty sweet baby cage. Throw some blankets in there, one of those little water bottles they hang in hamster cages, only fill it with milk...*shakes self* No! Bad! No baby cage!
This is why I can't be a parent. Pity my animals.
This is why I can't be a parent. Pity my animals.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Brain Cancer
It's been so long since I've posted on here. Too long, in fact.
I promise, there are reasons behind it all.
As all two of my "followers" may know, my very dear friend Hunter was recently diagnosed with brain Glioblastoma. Only about 1 in 4 live longer than 2 years after their diagnosis, and an even more ridiculously small amount live past that. Needless to say, that and school have been taking up a lot of my spare time lately--something that I have precious few of, anyway.
It gets you thinking a lot about dark stuff--cancer. A lot of heavy, existential stuff that tends to crawl into your brain and pry it apart bit by bit, like a starfish going after a meal. Or the cancer itself. Just what is fair? Just what caused it? Just why did it happen right now? Things like that. You never really find the answers, of course. You never will. Thousands of people who were blessed with a whole lot more intelligence than I have are paid disgustingly grandiose amounts of money to just sit and think about these questions--and they're probably just as close to understanding the answer as I am.
What I do know, however, is that life's not fair. It's indiscriminate in who it takes and who it leaves, as long as it can bloat itself upon the trials and misfortunes of many unfortunate misfits. That's a rather bleak outlook on it, I know, but I guess it's hard to remain optimistic in times like these. Hard to remain objective when friends--when family--are being pulled away so rapidly. 2 years. That's not a long time, you know. Think about what you were doing 2 years ago. Now think about what you'd be doing if you knew that by this time--by tomorrow, even--you'd be drawing your last dying breath, having spent much of your time in and out of hospitals, your hair slowly wilting away from your body, along with your strength and ability to function as a normal, healthy adult. You can't run, you can't fight--not from this. It's a staggering concept to grasp. One that I don't think I'd do well to dwell on for too long.
Love you Hunter. I don't know how you manage to remain so upbeat, so optimistic, so--normal--through all of this. I hope so much to someday to be half the person you've always been.
I promise, there are reasons behind it all.
As all two of my "followers" may know, my very dear friend Hunter was recently diagnosed with brain Glioblastoma. Only about 1 in 4 live longer than 2 years after their diagnosis, and an even more ridiculously small amount live past that. Needless to say, that and school have been taking up a lot of my spare time lately--something that I have precious few of, anyway.
It gets you thinking a lot about dark stuff--cancer. A lot of heavy, existential stuff that tends to crawl into your brain and pry it apart bit by bit, like a starfish going after a meal. Or the cancer itself. Just what is fair? Just what caused it? Just why did it happen right now? Things like that. You never really find the answers, of course. You never will. Thousands of people who were blessed with a whole lot more intelligence than I have are paid disgustingly grandiose amounts of money to just sit and think about these questions--and they're probably just as close to understanding the answer as I am.
What I do know, however, is that life's not fair. It's indiscriminate in who it takes and who it leaves, as long as it can bloat itself upon the trials and misfortunes of many unfortunate misfits. That's a rather bleak outlook on it, I know, but I guess it's hard to remain optimistic in times like these. Hard to remain objective when friends--when family--are being pulled away so rapidly. 2 years. That's not a long time, you know. Think about what you were doing 2 years ago. Now think about what you'd be doing if you knew that by this time--by tomorrow, even--you'd be drawing your last dying breath, having spent much of your time in and out of hospitals, your hair slowly wilting away from your body, along with your strength and ability to function as a normal, healthy adult. You can't run, you can't fight--not from this. It's a staggering concept to grasp. One that I don't think I'd do well to dwell on for too long.
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