Music Week (Day 1)

November 20, 2010 § 2 Comments

As usual I have about 15 incomplete posts just waiting to be finished and published, but I want to do something different today. If you hadn’t noticed already, to me music = life. If I’m not listening to something, then I’m almost definitely singing to myself or drumming out beats. And if I’m not doing THAT, then be sure the secondary voice in my head (not the one thinking and saying stuff, but the background one) is doing the same – playing a song, or singing, or making beats. I used to think everyone felt that way, but I get surprised time after time when I talk to people who like music fine, but it isn’t their main squeeze, you know? Anyway, every day for a week, starting today, I’m going to write the lyrics of a song I’m really feeling. It could be the whole song, it could be just a verse or the chorus or whatever. It may be a favourite song, or it may just be something I listen today every once in a while. Whatev.

 

SLIP OUT THE BACK

Fort Minor

I’m no hero, you remember how I was, you know

All I ever did was worry, feeling out of control

To the point where everything was going end over end

I’m spinning around in circles again

This is where you come in

All of this to explain to you why

I had to separate myself away from yesterday’s life

Please remember this isn’t how I hoped it would be

But I had to protect you from me

That’s why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

I know you felt unprepared

But every single time I was around I just bring you down

And I could tell that it was time to be scared

That’s why I slipped out the back before you knew I was there

And I know the way I left wasn’t fair

I didn’t want to be around just to bring you down

I’m not a hero but don’t think I didn’t care

Slip Out the Back by Fort Minor

The Rising Tied

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There Is A Cancer In Me. (via So It’s A Wednesday…)

August 11, 2010 § Leave a comment

I love this. It’s so beautiful. I’m lucky (?) enough not to suffer from depression, but for some reason, a number of people that I’m really close to do. And I’ve seen how it affects their lives, and the lives of those around them. And so, even if I don’t actually suffer from depression myself, I’m definitely coping with it.
Anyway, I liked this. Oh, and check out Cissy’s blog, will you? It’s definitely interesting to read 🙂

There is a Cancer in me. There is a mutation festering in the core of my being, putrefying my organs at an agonizingly slow pace, corrupting me.  It has warped my vision so that I no longer see the world as I should.  Everything has transformed into undefinable blurs of evil and anarchy before my eyes.  It has twisted and molded my young body into something old and used.  It feeds off me leaving me weak, drained, open to any and all kinds of infe … Read More

via So It’s A Wednesday…

Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

June 8, 2010 § Leave a comment

You,

I’ve known you since I was five. You’ve had a countless number of positions in my life – classmate, neighbour, partner-in-crime, family friend, lover, best friend… You mean more to me than you’ll ever know because I’m unable to express the emotions you invoke in me. 13 years of friendship down the line, I’ve written you more letters than I can remember, but I’ve never written the most important one. An apology letter. Maybe one day I’ll stop being such a chicken-shit and I’ll actually show this to you, because that’s the least you deserve from me…

I don’t even know where I should start with this. I know I’ve hurt you almost beyond repair. I see it each time you look at me, and it kills me. Yet I know I don’t even deserve to let you know how much you hurting cuts me up. That’s my punishment, my karma, for everything I’ve done.

We’ve had a lot of adventures over the years, haven’t we? Our first alcoholic drinks 🙂 I think we were 9 then. Vodka neat. We were such ninjas 🙂 And we were what? 10 when we smoked for the first time? Remember how we promised each other that we would NEVER ever get addicted to cigarettes? We were supposed to be there for each other in case the temptation ever became too much. I failed you, and I’m sorry. I see you inhale pack after pack, and I hate it. It doesn’t help that I don’t want to be just another person on the list of lecture-givers and so I barely say anything about your habit. I’ll say it now though – I HATE that you’re a smoker because I know what it’s doing to your body. And I know if you wanted to quit, you could. But you don’t really want to, do you? Not enough anyway. If I could take it all back, that first trip to the shop, that first puff, I would. In a heartbeat. Maybe if I’d never been so willing, maybe if I’d had the common-sense to recognize it as a bad idea, maybe you wouldn’t be blackening your lungs every day. And maybe it wouldn’t make a difference either way. I’m still sorry though.

I’m sorry I could never see just how deeply depressed you were. That I was too selfish to see how much YOU were hurting, that I could only see how WE were struggling. I’m sorry that we fought so much, and that you cried so often. I’m sorry that I never took your threats of suicide seriously enough. And that night when we were sitting outside and you told me how you were going to end it all? That night when it finally hit home that you were not even remotely kidding? I’m sorry that YOU had to comfort ME. And that I never coherently told you why you were too valuable to lose. What if you hadn’t changed your mind?? I think about that sometimes. How you’d never have known just how much you meant to me and to everyone around you. I was your best friend, and I should have been able to MAKE you see what I saw. That was my duty, and I failed you. Again.

I keep repeating the same words over and over – I’m sorry. I hope that doesn’t make them lose any meaning, because I really am. Sorry, I mean.

I’m sorry that I thought that you only had to make the decision to keep living once. I thought healing starts immediately after the first conscious decision. But it doesn’t, does it? I ignored all the signs after that. I mean, I knew you were still depressed, and it only made more sense when you were actually diagnosed, but I don’t know why I thought that suicide was no longer even an option. You broke my heart when you told me that it was still a very possible ending to your story. You know that, right? I’ve never felt more pain than I did then. I now know that heartbreak is a physical thing as much as it is emotional. And I know sometimes you think I’m indifferent to you, and that’s why I have to say this now. I can imagine nothing worse than losing you. And that time you run away and your dad called me, I thought you had done it, and I felt like I was dying. I love you more than I love myself. And it’s a deep blinding love. You need to know that.

I still stand by what I said though. If nothing helps, if the pills and the friends by your side, and therapy and anything else you try don’t help. If you truly feel there is NO other option. If it ever reaches that point that it is truly and honestly beyond you, I free you from accountability to me. Because I’d rather carry the weight of that hurt on my shoulders for the rest of my life, than to have you carry it. I don’t know how to put this in a polite way, but I know you know what I mean. Because I’ve said it to you before.

I’m crying as I write this. And I’m scared because I know I’m about to reach the hardest part of this apology. And I know that this is long. But I don’t think we’ve ever been able to minimize on words when we needed to be honest with each other. And I need to be honest with you now.

Most of all And finally, most importantly, I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you the way that you deserved to be loved. I’m sorry that you had to suffer with me and all my numerous issues. I’m sorry that I’m so closed up, and I’m sorry that I can’t let you love me the way you want to. Because I’m not worth it. I know you feel like you should argue with me on that, but there’s no need to. I’m simply stating a fact. I’m not saying I’m undeserving of love, I’m saying that I’m unworthy of YOUR love. And that’s why I always run from you. I’m sorry I broke your heart, I wish you knew how much I hate myself for that. It was, and still is, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I push you away because I want you to stop loving me. Because I NEED you to stop loving me. I wish for once you’d stop being so stubborn and hard-headed.

This letter is so mixed up now. I think it says everything I wanted to say though – that I’m sorry for failing you as a friend and as more, and that I recognize that you deserve so much more. I just need you to recognize it too. And if you open your pretty eyes and look around you, you’ll see that there are so many people who want to and can love you the way you should be loved. I’m here for you. And I’m trying to change so that that statement actually MEANS something. I want you to read this, and you will. You’re the only person I’d consider going un-anonymous for. I’ve already written the email that’ll link you here. It’ll send on your birthday. September 13th 🙂 I hope that this doesn’t open up any old wounds, but I know we’re similar in that our old hurts never quite heal over. So I’m writing this so you can get closure – so you can see why I do what I do. You said you’ll wait for me. Please don’t.

Happy birthday.

I love you, and I’ll never stop.

Me.

Often it is the most deserving people who cannot help loving those who destroy them.

– Herman Hesse

A Reflection Of Just Who We Are Today.

May 9, 2010 § Leave a comment

I’m one of those people that’s perpetually behind on the news. About 3 weeks or so ago, I was on some site – probably yahoo! answers or something, don’t really remember – and this girl was very expressively stating her views on parenting methods and children these days, etc., and she brought up the Phoebe Price case. This was the first I was hearing of it (although it happened in January. Oh, the shame!) so I google-whored my way out of ignorance.
I tend to emotionally-distance myself from all these tragic tales, not because I don’t care, but because sometimes that’s what we have to do to keep living in a world filled with so many injustices. This got to me though. I don’t know if you’ve heard her story? This is a break-down of it:
She was an Irish girl, who had moved to the states about four months before. And you know how there’re ‘hierarchies’ or whatever in school, right? The popular kids who feel like it’s their right to sort of rule the school? Okay, this is the part of the story I’m sort of hazy on ’cause I didn’t think it was too important, so don’t quote me – a guy that one of the ‘popular’ girls liked was into Phoebe. And I guess they slept together or whatever, and this girl got royally pissed, ’cause Phoebe didn’t ‘know her place’. (bit I’m even hazier on) she also slept with another guy, I’m just not sure how exactly he ties into the story…
Anyway, all this resulted in Phoebe being called a slut, and all those other nice words teenagers keep throwing around, and it escalated into serious bullying. Not only did they torment her in school, but also in the cyberworld (because aren’t facebook and twitter and formspring and all these other social networking sites all so pleasant?). And I mean TORMENTING her. In school. Via her phone – they used to text and call her constantly [she changed her number at least 3 times. Hopeless]. On the internet… There was just no escaping them.
She reported the bullying to the school authorities…nothing. A group of students saw what was happening once and also went to the school authorities…still nothing. Her MOTHER reported her concern over the bullying…more nothing. Once even, apparently, there was a TEACHER present who witnessed the bullying…you get the drift. Fun, eh?
On January 14th, I guess she’d just had a particularly gruesome day. As she was walking home from school, one of the girls drove past her, threw a can out of the window at her, and yelled a final insult. That must have been the last straw because “Phoebe kept walking, past the abuse, past the can, past the white
picket fence, into her house. Then she walked into a closet and hanged
herself. Her 12-year-old sister found her.” (I’m thoroughly tempted to Harvard reference, but I shall refrain)
I don’t know what frame of mind she was in that day. Obviously, she must have been suffering from depression. But I’m assuming it wasn’t pre-meditated because she didn’t say any ‘goodbyes’ and she had the dress, the date, and the excitement for her school’s cotillion which was only 2 days away.
And I’m also making no judgements about her sexual activities. The 2 boys were charged with statutory rape (she was 15. Did I mention that?) but I don’t know enough to state whether or not it was what she wanted.
BUT HERE’S WHAT GOT TO ME –
She was dead. Tragically young, it could’ve been prevented, et cetera, so a memorial page was started on facebook. And they abused her on it. On the page created in her memory. She was DEAD, and they were still saying how she ‘deserved’ it. One of the girls put ‘accomplished’ as her status the day phoebe killed herself.
And 2 days later, they were all at the cotillion laughing and generally having a gay old time.
Now, I know humans can be…how shall I say this politely?…messed up. I KNOW that.
But I still don’t get this.

What Is The Difference

April 9, 2010 § Leave a comment

between your heart breaking, and your ego being, not bruised, but shall we say horrifically damaged? Yeah, I like that. Horrifically damaged.

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