Thursday, July 4, 2013
"Why does her heart grow tired of all the worrying?", The small girl asks the reverend.
He responds by telling her that she has not confessed "those sins all pent up inside". The girl nods and looks one last time at the beautiful girl with the saddened eyes.
It is far worse when the heart breaks over time than all at once. It continues to bring us unhappiness when instead the moment of bliss shatters in one single moment. For many, the heart shall continue to beat, but to others it's just too much to fight. I'm often burdened by the thought that I will never stop suffering. I struggle with the concept that there will be more pain to come. the future holds no prospect of happiness, but instead a dark cloud of worry.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
"Hi" a guy in a black v-neck t-shirt and bright blue eyes comes up to me.
"Hi", I say trying to act cool
He asks me my name and then starts complimenting me on my outfit. I couldn't help but look at his arm band. It was silver chain with an inscription on it. He was allergic to something? Did he get seizures? I didn't understand why, but I felt something evil come over me. I felt possessed and upset. as he was telling me about his "cool band" called "the beefs", I looked at the glass of beer sitting on the table. All of a sudden I thrust the half full glass of beer at him. It drenched his torso, and he looked at me with the biggest look if shock. I didn't even apologize I just got up and walked out of the bar. I shuffled around in my purse for my cell phone. Shit it was gone. I shuffled around for my cigarettes. Good they were there.
The rest of the night was a blur. That's all I know.
"That's all you know?", the detective stared at me with a frustrated look on his face.
"That's it", I told him for the tenth time that evening.
It had been over 6 hours and I said the same strange story over and over gain. It was as if they believed me, but because it satisfied none of the gaps in the case I was fated to be scrutinized. I would rot here unless my memory returned. Wow this really was how people confessed to murders they didn't commit. How the hell was I going to get out of this?
Thursday, May 23, 2013
My therapist was a tall blonde, with a short straight haircut. She had thin lips and big eyes, as if she spent most of her time shocked at her clients, and part of the time disappointed. I could hardly answer her questions at times because she would just look at me with such a strained sense of confusion. Was I her only patient? I thought to myself.
"So why don't you just escape?", she said as she twirled her hair like she was flirting with a high school quarterback. I'll admit that I didn't quite know what to say. It woke me up though. Even after all the coffee I had that morning, I felt sluggish until she asked that question. For some reason I felt strangely offended. I had thought of this question countless times before, yet when she said it out loud, it sounded foreign.
"And where would I escape to?" I said trying to act as if her forwardness hadn't bothered me at all. I could see her eyes getting thinner as she tried to read how I reacted to her question. She was very obvious about it, and so it took her a while to compose herself and answer.
"Anywhere you want!", she exclaimed acting like a teenager all caught up in the moment. She was either very youthful or just immature, I hadn't decided yet.
The session ended quite quickly after she couldn't get something that she wanted from me. Her wide expressive eyes began fade, as her eyelids began to droop. She didn't look excited anymore, just disappointed. I wasn't at all bothered by this. I began think of the possibilities. I went over the details of my life with a fine tooth comb. I didn't feel very proud, or nostalgic. I was more excited flipping through a magazine. All I could think about were the vivid images of living: Surfing, meditating, hiking, diving off cliffs. I didn't want to be a tourist, I wanted to be completely integrated. I wanted to be free.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The nostalgic memories only bring back some of the warm fuzzy feelings I used to feel. After the accident, I am only left with those unsatisfying thoughts of how we used to be.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
I tried to read his face, before he even spoke. She was home, no wait, he's squinting, shes not.
"Yea she's home", hes says while giving that awkward strange look he always gives me. He's smiling but not really, and his eyelids look heavy and weak. I hate it. You would of thought that he had noticed the politely disgusted look on my face. Was he hitting on me? For some reason my naive thoughts won't let me go there. I think a lot, and I even chuckle to myself from time to time. Which is probably a good indication that i think TOO much. I'm not going to go there.
"Okay, could you let her know I'm here to pick her up?", I say while looking at the Jehovah's witness awkwardly look around with a nervous smile on his face, then look down at his watch and walk away. They usually come in two's, that's weird. I guess technically they can go out on their own and canvass at there own time. But who would want to? That guy of course, and a few very motivated people. Wow, shouldn't I be thinking of something else? Or should I not be thinking at all? I'm probably worrying now. Oh great.
By the time I was 17 I had already done many things. I had almost a dozen different jobs, I had all types of relationships, and my experiences were both empowering and shocking. My journey isn't easy to tell, and many people I'm sure, would be offended just listening to it. That part of my life, holds my deepest and darkest secrets. These are my adolescent years, this is my story.
When I went over, her older brother was arguing with a Jehovah's Witness at the door. The Witness was in a crisp light grey suit, he had nicely combed hair with just a small amount of gel and a large welcoming grin on his face. From his hand was a distressed leather briefcase. David, Marissa's 32 year old brother who still lived at home, was wearing the craziest button up shirt I had ever seen. Mice were playing badminton matches, strategically placed all over the garment. Hideous. It was just like me to analyze an outfit at the first opportunity. Was I that shallow? Maybe I'm just observant, or curious. That certainly sounds better.
"Hi Greg", I say while standing sheepishly behind the Witness.
They both stopped their bickering and slowly adjusted their gaze toward me. I smiled a quick small smile, trying to be somewhat polite. "Is Marissa home?"
Thursday, July 7, 2011
I worry a lot. I wish the word carefree applied in some way to my own personality. If I could find a way not to think so much I would; not to dwell on something so insignificant, then the next day it wouldn't even matter. Its hard to pretend nothing is wrong. People see me differently, they don't know. I don't even think I know.
I feel fragile; everything upsets me. I am so fucking damn irritated. I can't sit, or stand. My thoughts control me, and I wish I had an off switch.