Chaos or picket fence?

I want the white picket fence and the beautiful sun shining on my freshly cut green lawn. I want the children, brown haired and blue eyed, giggling on the swing set as they reach new worlds with their imagination. I want the perfect marriage: husband coming home with flowers and wearing a glowing smile as I embrace him passionately every day. I want the white picket fence to surround my perfect world. But do I really? Part of me craves insanity accompanied by multicultural chaos, swaying the bright green leaves into the violent wind and pulling the perfectly aligned grass out of its roots. Part of me is exhilarated by the thrill of the vicious storm that lies in my heart and becomes reality. The frenzied flashbacks of fleeting pain are paralleled by the outrageous lightning bolts of blistering fire. I love the confusing mixture of emotions erupting through the blood pumping out of my heart as I am both horrified and amazed by the systematic storm underlying in my heart and sky. Storms are the most powerful and pacifying when our internal pain, sharp and throbbing, is being expelled in the roaring screams and shrieks of the clouds. It is easier to relate to chaos when it flows directly out of your subconscious soul and into the world.

She lay there.

She lay there, still as a portrait. There was a simplicity to her beauty. Her eyes glistened with innocence and her smile reminded me of Christmas morning. Or the first signs of love. or the overwhelming smell of freshly fallen snow. Her skin was soft, gentle as the warmth of a mother. Something about her mesmerized me. Perhaps it was her simplicity or her innocence. or Perhaps something deeper. Perhaps it was her soul glowing through the outskirts of her body, shining through the purest pours of her skin. And perhaps, it was something deeper..

Prey vs Predator

My thoughts become paralyzed at the first sign of an outburst of anger. His defiant voice strikes me into weakness. The symptoms are obvious, but not often expected: anxiousness, tensed facial expression and demeaning comments. These debasing eruptions have been so common and influential to my state of happiness, or rather, lack of happiness, that the sound of his angered tone destructs my strength even when the anger is not directed toward me. Similar to how a child who has eaten a high quantity of vanilla ice cream may throw up and forever become nauseated by the smell of vanilla, I am forever incarcerated by the demons that arise from the slightest reminder of his voice. At that breaking moment in which time stops and I realize the events that are about to take place, I shelter my breaking heart in my soft, sensitive self-esteem. I prepare myself for what I can truly never be prepared for: the dissection of my personality, the deterioration of my soul. As it begins, I detach myself from the voice that controls every aspect of my utter being. I detach myself from the shattering soul that I literally feel crumpling inside the tense confines of my stomach muscles. And eventually, it ends. At some point, it must end. And the hardest part of the entire encounter is undergone: I must pretend to forgive him. I must try to forgive him. But it never really ends. It never completely goes away; it always comes back. It’s an endless cycle of preying on the innocence of others, depression, and being asked for forgiveness, being forgiven, and pouncing on them at the next opportunity you get. Forgiveness cannot be continuously granted, so be careful when you’re taking chances..

One day, I will not be your prey.

bunch of old stuff.

1) I need to regain my faith. Somehow, I must regain my faith. I have lost myself in the open fields of temptation and sin. It feels as though I am entangled in the vines of desire and drug like escapes, as my mind is wrapped around euphoric fantasies. The thorns of fear continue to pinch me just enough to have awareness remain a constant pain in my mind. I’m caught up in the defiance of the Lord and this destroys my every hope to become a good person with God’s guidance.
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2)I want to die just to get out of this misery; this unexplained misery that’s constantly clouding my emotions; this constant end of all feelings. And occasionally a bubble of pain, or intellectual darkness travel to my surface, but it just makes me wonder..shouldn’t I be glad to be capable of numbing my emotions although I cannot turn it on and off as I wish? Shouldn’t I be glad to be able to escape pain? And at the same time I feel it so strongly, rooting from somewhere so deep inside of me that it corrupts my entire system. I wonder why it kills me to feel, but kills me more to be numb. I wonder why I have been chosen to live with all others must live with, but also have permanent disruptions of happiness and continuous chaotic turmoil of emotions within me. I wonder how I’m supposed to live through all this. The moment a bit of happiness arrives, it vanishes before I experience and enjoy its perspective to the fullest. How am I expected to live? How am I expected to make it through? To be honest, at times I don’t think I was meant to.. I don’t think I was meant to be capable of handling all this, and at times I feel it will get better. That I will be fixed, that someone will save me, or I’ll save myself. But through my years I’ve come to realize, I cannot fix permanent prints inside of me; someone else will not save me for longer than a moment; that the same person who saved me will put me in further danger; and that I am too weak and emotionally disturbed to save myself. But still, shadows of hope remain. But slowly they are leaking out of this ocean, and soon I will be forced to take matters into my own hands, which aren’t reliable ones.
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3)I don’t even get lost in the world..just in something as simple as myself. If I did not tell you of my depression, if I did not show you..how would you know? You wouldn’t. My friends haven’t noticed for months. I don’t want to bring you down with me, but I don’t want to go down alone. That’s how damn selfish I am. I’d rather bring you down with me and torture myself at the bottom for you to see than to go down alone. I know I’m mentally sick with my constant unstable emotions. I wonder sometimes if I make myself sick. You’ve asked me “If you could, you’d get better right? If I found a way, you’d try your best to get better right?” And I answer yes, of course, Of course. But the truth is, I’ve lived so long with this sickness I do not even remember how to live without it. I don’t know how to live without it. Who would I be without this disease, it’s as much a part of me as my soul. Being subtly yet dramatically depressed is a part of my personality now. But this part of me is worthless if I do not let someone know. If I do not express my sorrow, my anguish to someone who loves me it is even more dreadful inside of me, longing to be let out. It’s more than the need of attention, It’s my constant need and crave for more love. but how much love is enough? How much do I need to please me? Am I able to be satisfied for more than a few moments, that pass all too quickly? I feel my soul crumpled inside of me.. I imagine my body curled up in a ball, against a hard, cold wall. I picture my thoughts flowing hectically through my brain as they send shimmers down my veins. I am often too caught up in myself..
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4)Mind’s were meant to scatter; to be shared and passed around. It’s sort of like that game telephone, pass along your thoughts and see what you end up with. Everyone picks up something else. I feel as though society started off generations ago with a positive group of thoughts, and they all morphed over time into the disgusting thoughts of today’s society. It only took a few dirt bags to reword this world’s thoughts into the moralless pit that the majority have fallen into. What worries me further is that people truly have become brainwashed by the power of these overwhelming thoughts; these thoughts that lead the soul into temptations and desires that are self mutilating and destructive toward others as well. No, I don’t believe the whole world should follow one train of thought. I don’t believe everyone has to agree. But I do believe that everyone should try to follow good morals, to do what is right rather than what is selfish, to do what they can to improve themselves and the world around them. Morality is only contained by few; Those few will go far in this world full of deceit. Sometimes, I truly wonder if humanity will be able to recover from such an increasing morality crisis. But then, I gather my faith. I have to have faith in humanity’s ability to improve. For as all know, without hope, there is no possibility left..
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5)
I forget what is real and what is not. Not that it matters. Reality has long only been a fabrication of my own mind. Promises were meant to be broken, I suppose, just like hearts. The only difference is, hearts mend. Promises just fade away, lingering into empty phrases. But I still believe every one of them. How foolish can I be, how naïve have I become? It seems as though no matter how many times I learn this lesson “the hard way”, I will never fully believe that people—mainly those I associate with—could be so callous and ungenuine. I do not lack trust, for I always trust whole heartedly. But, there is a constant battle in my body that is continuously ignored. It’s my heart against my mind, and my mind against the world. My heart, fragile and naïve (and I do not use naïve in the sense of inexperienced, for it has long endured heartbreaks, my naiveness has survived plenty of cold winters filled with pained precipitation) utterly believes that no one can truly inflict me intentional harm. My heart believes that everyone deserves to be trusted, for everyone makes mistakes. But my mind believes its own wisdom and troubles me with flashbacks of past treachery and warnings of wandering deceit. But I long for closeness; I long for love. The only way to receive love is to love unconditionally. And so, I always do. Once I love someone, I love unconditionally, regardless of my past or theirs. So—who is to win this civil war in my soul: my heart or my mind? It seems as though my heart will always win because to follow my mind is to run from possibilities of love, where I should stay and become love’s acquaintance.

This is old. Indifference?

An abrupt reluctance to associate myself with the living and sense of reclusive desire forbid further conversation. I don't recognize myself anymore, and I begin to wonder if there's a time in everyone's life where this occurs. Pictures of memories are memories of another lifetime; of a life that was never mine. An empty void that once was only a mere fraction of my body has overtaken and spread throughout me. Now, I am nothing more than an empty casket of flesh. I've lost all sense of time. Every moment is another endless nightmare of continuous torture. Every moment is a lost thought, an emotionless love that faded. Moments are timeless. Although each second feels like several days, the days are empty and meaningless.. each passing moment seems as hopeless as the last. Whirlpools of logic less thoughts run through my mind as I witness the world pass me by. I let it pass me by. My thoughts are often silent and unheard. No one can understand me, I won't let anyone understand. This feeling is to unbearable for me to accept it as common . No one can feel this like I do. These feelings isolate me and set me apart from the rest. I see the hands that hold mine, but I do not feel the flesh. I witness this world, my world, go on as though I’ve dreamt it. My dreams are endless and exhausting. I'm left with less energy than before my rest. The night is never long enough, and the days are just waiting for the night. I wish I could sleep myself to happiness. I like to think of myself as handling this situation with honorary standards, but I know I let myself moap into depression. But even as I try to escape the feelings I face, I'm left with the same depressive emotions I feel otherwise. I have no will to go on, no determination to succeed. I accept my failures as they've become frequent. Conversations are just words without thought. Orders are another argument, another headache. Hunger emerges from the often overlooked space inside my stomach. I never struggle to fill every last molecule with unhealthy and destructive food. I eat my feelings away. It passes the time. There is constant hunger I can’t ignore; sudden addictions and cravings I can no longer resist. I’ve lost my self control. I’ve got no will to control. I’m just there, aimlessly floating among the world. I ramble in my mind with phrases that don’t make sense. But they do. They make complete sense. To me. Everything I knew, I don’t know anymore. I forgot. I forgot everything. All knowledge that pumped my mind, all talents I once had, have vanished along with my desires. My eyes know how to lie to others. I know how to pretend I'm okay. I'm always okay. How are you? Fantastic. I'm fantastic. I can be confident and fearless, as emotions are unfound. I can be cold and harsh, as my anger is bound to my soul. Each weekday awaits the weekend and each weekend awaits a plan. The plans come and go, and are lost in time. Along with me. I get lost in time. I get lost in the moments. They're so blank and empty. I'm so blank and empty. I forget the moment before, I forget the moment of. I lose the next moment while inside my mind, traveling through it. I don't know when this will end. I'm dead inside.

Rainy Summer.

It rained almost everyday that summer. It suited our hearts; it suited the whole year. The chaos of politics and the drama of new liberal movements seemed to devastate our memory of what had happened that year. The rain had captured the very mood that all had tried to escape through the theory of a wonderful, relaxing summer. It never fails to amaze me as I observe the importance of weather and its ability to so powerfully and undoubtedly affect an entire population's temper. Everyone suffered from some sort of pain--unequal to anything they had ever experienced in their lives. Everyone around me was suffering. I felt detached, yet not oblivious. I observed with neutrality; avoiding my natural instinct to incline my own mood by feeling compassion and sympathy for theirs. I enjoyed my general isolation from all their emotions. I knew of it--yet I ignored it. I did my best to avoid deepening discussions of how dreadful the world has become, how dark the skies have been for us all; the very same discussions that I used to long for. I used to long to be heard and to be believed. I used to long to Not Be Alone. And yet, no one is ever truly alone. In a world of billions of people, how can anyone ever be alone? How can any experience be solitary and completely unheard of? It is impossible. But yes, I was alone that summer, ignorant by choice of all the mischief of my surroundings. I was alone in heart, in mind and in grace..but in most of all, satisfaction. The hounding rain and exhilarating thunderstorms were terrific beyond belief. They excited my very being to a point of pure entertainment. You see--it is not the weather that so justiably controls our temperate moods, but it is our interpretation of the weather. And so, it rained almost everyday that summer. It was a beautiful sight, really.

Share your love.

So I guess it's about time i write something. I feel like writing, anyway. It's been about a year since i first came accross my favorite book and jumped into a world that I could never belong to. Nic Sheff's book, Tweak, is a beautifully written story about the tragedy that he forced his life to be. Recently, I bought the book for a freind of mine who really loved it as well. It turns out the paperback versions have an alternate ending, an afterword that was written long after the actual book was written. It also turns out that this "afterword' was the first entry to his blog, coincidently on blogspot as well. I began to read this blog of his, embracing myself in his world once again. I can honestly say that his writing engulfs my interest in a way that no writer has ever been able to achieve before. Although his issues are much more severe and significant, I feel like much of what he says I can relate. And in this way, I belong to his world.
I've realized I'm quite obsessive by nature. And maybe this is because I love so wholeheartedly. Once i love, that love cannot be removed from me. The love pixels are engraved into my one and only heart. After reading so continuously and detailed about drugs and the people who have suffered from the addictions, I've noticed that many of these drug addicts were genuine, good hearted people with initially good intentions. They became lost in their own insecurities, in their own fears about not being able to be loved. It's almost like those who love so genuinly are doing so in an attempt to be loved just as much as they love others. I truly believe that without love, a soul cannot flourish and fullfill its ultimate potential in the human world. We are dependent on the security and comfort that only love can give and so, we search. If we feel we lack love, then we need to fill the empty void with something. Be it sex, or drugs, or self mutilation-- it is just an attempt to feel that security that love provides. Love is the answer, love wholeheartedly. Love all.

It may help the world..
Just a little bit.
Just enough.

Lookin Back

Looking back and reminiscing, even by looking through old home videos, i realize that my brother and I were not all that different as children. And it has become apparent to me what has really affected my life in every aspect. I always thought each of my problems were individual, but now i realize how they are all related. I was an ambitious girl motivated by curiousity. I gained my independence by fulfilling my attachment to the world and all its wonders rather than the people around me. But i still loved. I loved endlessly. I wanted to be everything and experience everything. I longed to learn. I went in search for adventure and I never let fear hold me back. I loved myself, as most youngsters do. So why did my brother become the ambitious champion and scholar wen we were both on the same path? Why am i significantly but not unwaveringly behind? I believe that this is because my spirit was broken before my personality was fully developed. I was broken by everyone around me, begining with all those I trusted as my freinds, with all those kids i grew up with. My brother was never forced to question his personality as i was, because everyone had always loved him. But there was something wrong with me that apparently everyone in my grade noticed. I have yet to understand it. But there is one thing i do understand now, It was not my father that broke me, for he loved me for who and hwat i was. It was i that had changed after the merciless and shameful defeat that my peers brought upon me, pushed upon me. And it is my fault for letting them break me. I canot help but feel disillusioned and robbed. I feel that those cruel children robbed my ability to love myself for so long, my personality that i had so long been proud of. Those children robbed my happiness and my dignity. It's taken me years --and I'm still not even close to being fully healed--to even begin to regain all that was stolen from me.

Its Not Your Fault.

It's not my fault, its not my fault. But somehow, it is. If i am made the problem, don't i eventually become the problem? Regardless of if i originally was a mere scapegoat or an object used for the projection of anger and humiliation, do i not eventually become the indirect cause of further anger? Was it not expected that after years of convincing me that i am nothing more than a worthless, selfish flaw, atleast a part of my personality would cringe and twist into the form of that imaginary being? Is it not natural for my mental health along with my selfesteem to detiorate into dust? All i really know is I am content with who i am and no one has the right to change how i feel about myself. There is one thing i have always preeched and believed whole heartedly, as i have learned the hard way, that one must not allow someone to manipulate one's self esteem. Although it is a natural consequence of emotional damage, I refuse to allow more of my personality and self esteem decay into a dimming light. I have the potential (and it took me sixteen years to see it) to be someone incredible. I have the essential tools necessary to move on in life, whether it be a natural given or developed. The only thing that holds me back is my sensitivity, depression and fear of failure. I may not know the details of who i am or who i am to become, but i do have a vague understanding of what i believe in and who i was meant to be. My morals and faith were built on a foundation of love, self reliance, and respect. By faith, i do not necessarily mean my faith in God or religion, though that is a big part of my life. By this term, I am reffering to my faith in the human spirit and its capacity to restore the soul; to my faith in myself and my strength. As long as i have my faith (be it in any form) I will have a path to follow. As long as i have my faith, i cannot be blamed for my imperfections. As long as i have my faith, I will not be manipulated or scarred once again.And if you have suffered of anything similar to what i suffered--then all i can tell you is this: It is not your fault, in the same way it was not my fault. It is not my fault i was chosen as the object of ridicule. I could not control my enviornment. But what i could control is what i made of it and who i became.

Robots.

I've always had an odd obsession with robots. Part of me has always questioned whether or not humans are forced into the boxed chaos of a mechanical life. I mean, isn't it possible that we are just the production of tyrannical motives and subjects to the limitations of power? Isn't it possible that we are robots of the generations before us, programmed to find a way to succeed, and conciously unaware of this? Are we all destined to live in the confinements of an absolute good and bad --decided for us-- where there is no measurement in between?
I think that my fascination with robots arose from roots deeper than this logic. It is there indifference, their inability to love or hate, their inability to question, that drags my interest toward them. I feel a sense of sadness for anything that cannot feel love; that cannot think. Despite their constant purpose of succeeding, there are always flaws--even in these loveless machines-- and these flaws can consequence their failures. Though they lack emotions, I can't help but feel a sorrow sympathy for an unloved failure. I can't help but wonder, behind all the superficial motives, there has to be some sort of emotion there, some sort of feeling awaiting its chance to arise. I do not think that it is that they are unable to love or hate, i think it is that they are forbidden to do so and so the fear begins. To love is to fail, and therefore it remains hidden. And it saddens me that these emotions are plastered under piles and piles of superficious blankets that leave love forever buried.
The questions priorly stated can only be answered through one's particular philosophical roots, but it is my opinion that in this sense---we are all robots. We are all striving to succeed and overcome our failures in order to receive a love that is almost forbidden or hurtful to feel. We are all determined to be someone that was created ultimately by the expectations of others--and most of us don't even realize it. But under the covers of our skin's deepest blankets, lies a love thats bursting out of our shells. In that sense, we are all robots.

Track.

So, for my whole life, i've done countless sports. I've noticed a pattern that has been repetitious from the start: I suck at all of them and I usually end up quitting. Last year, i tried track. Not becuase i love running (I dont) and not because I wanted a highschool sport for my college application, I did it because i wanted to get in shape. I wanted to lose that little blubber that keeps me from loving my body. And so, i tried. I tried last year and hardly lost any weight. But for some reason, i kept going. And this year, I joined again.
I've always wondered why it is that I lack any talent whatsoever in terms of sports especially. Its not that i don't try, i do. I do put the effort. But it kills me to see others pass me so quickly and to own me. I feel like such a failure when i constantly put effort but it's never enough to stop my fate. Even when i do improve my times, the times i have are still ridiculous. Ive questioned so many times about what keeps me from atleast being decent. I'm not asking to be a sports star, I'm asking to be decent. To not totally blow. I've rationalized my exceptional terribleness in sports in hundreds of different ways. To name a few: Maybe, my brother got all the sports talent traits (He's always the star, ofcourse) Maybe, its because my heart beats too fast in general and when i work out, i get more tired than other people and it doesn't let me work harder. Maybe my body isn't able to excersize quickly and steadily.


Or maybe, just maybe, I'm too lazy. I don't know how to push myself and i'm quick to give up. I always have been. Maybe my body is perfectly capable of it all but my personality holds me back. Maybe my dad has been right about me all these years. I just wasn't meant to go far, atleast not on my feet. This year, i've tried so much harder to push myself atleast a little more each day-- to try to outrun someone. And i have done a bit better in terms of the mile alone, but everyone still exceeds me significantly. Sports make me feel like quitting because the only thing i ever think about is how much of a failure I am in terms of the sports. No one wants to feel like a failure, and sports just add on to my list of failures. Since when does practice make perfect? Since when does failure not exist when there is effort? And how can i love my body when it fails me over and over again? I don't lose the weight i initially wanted to lose & in the end, I embarass myself all the time. Whats the point?

This was in my head.

This was a random paragraph formed in my head. This has no particular significance anywhere except in my mind. But i felt like sharing it, so here it is.

We ate pizza on the night she died. The same thing we'd eat on nights of celebration, or birthdays. Maybe it was because no matter what we cooked, it would not fit the depression of loss. Or maybe, it was that we did not want to cook a food that would afterword always remind us of her death. Pizza has too many memories to hold it against one sad memory. The more i think of it, the more i realize how much a perfect choice pizza was. Either way, we ate pizza on the night that she died..

So today, i realized: Running away, weekend getaways, anything to escape is just pointless. You're only gone for a short time and in the end, you end up back where you started. Thats the thing with running or escaping for a while, you always have to come back. You may come back more refreshed, but all your problems will just hit you in the face. It's not like when you're away you don't think of what you're running from, what you can't handle. Well, atleast i know I always think of what made me leave. It might relax me for a moment to be somewhere else, it might even give me time to discover a solution. Bu in the end, you need to face whatever it is you were running from. There's just no way to permanently escape, when you're my age, anyway.

Friendships Falling Apart.

These last few weeks, i've been very upset and disheveled by all the chaotic pain that has occupied a part of my life that was once full of laughs and joy. It seems that many of my freindships are falling apart, and with those freindships, i lose a huge part of me. I love my freinds with my whole heart, I always have. Once i bond with someone, it is only in my most natural instinct to always have a part reserved for them in my heart and mind. Lately, everything is turned into an arguement with my closest friends. I don't know what has changed within the last few months that caused so much tension to build, but I'm willing to do what i can to save my friendships with them. But it seems they are unwilling to, and this hurts more than I can bare. Why would someone i've been freinds with for years not want to save our friendship? I just don't know anymore..

Aliens vs. Self

Hey. This is my first blog, but so not my first rambling. I was reading an article today for my HSPA practice (which i find pointless) about aliens. It was basically about how it is ignorant to think that there is not other life outside of earth and that earthlings should do everything possible to discover this other life. I thought to myself, why should we go find other lifeforms when we can't even handle our own? We strive for the chance to find these other beings who are probably ahead of us in terms of intelligence yet we are unable to keep peace within our own planet. Finding new lifeforms would just cause more trouble, in my opinion. Earth isn't ready for aliens. It isn't even ready to be populated with the majority of the people in it. When we are capable of keeping peace within our own planet, then we can go and look for aliens. For now, fuck them and leave them be.

Today, i also questioned something else. As human beings, most of us have an image of what we want to be. For me its something like this: I want to be a strong, independent woman who is confident, but humble. I want to give as much as possible and love as much as possible. I want to learn to deal with things in a way that do not leave me bitter, and I want to strive for my best qualities to exceed their limitations. But I wasn't built that way. My personality is selfish, back and forth in terms of esteem, and i'm extremely dependent. I don't question my ability to be the person i want to be, i question whether it would keep me true to myself. If this is not who i am, but who i wish to be, will i eventually become this person naturally or am i just denying my personality and eventually, it will arise once again? I've always believed that it was best to strive for what you want and find a way to keep it. I always believed that it was in your best interest to push yourself to be the best person you could be. But lately, i've been filled with doubts. If i have not grown up to be the person i always wanted to be, shouldn't i find a way to be happy with myself? I questioned the reasoning behind morphing my mind and personality into a slim figure that is up to my fantical standards. I mean, isn't it unhealthy to always want to be something your not and constantly strive to be that? But i realized that it is human nature to want to exceed your goals and accomplish your dreams. If i dream to be a better person, I will find a way to be that person. Althhough i may never be completely content with who i am or who i become, atleast i can say that i've put forth the effort to better myself in ways i believe matter. For what is a mind without growth? Just like everything else in my life, it is necessary for my personality to better itself. Just as my brain grows with intelligence, my senses grow with experience, and my heart grows with love, my personality shall develop into what I want it to be. Someday, I will be exactly what i've always wanted to be. And for now, I know i've put myself on a path that is leading me toward it.

Till later,
Sabina :)