when you hear "not right now," you do not hear the implied promise of "but later." you do not hear the regret in the person's voice. you do not hear the apology that follows.
what you have heard, my love, is "not right now," and to you that means "no," it means pitying the poor one who needed something to do and got disappointed. and that's you.
you don't want pity and you don't want later, but is it because you're impatient or because you live in the moment? are they the same thing? you don't want to think about the future. it's a big thing, far away, full of possibility and other plans to make. you don't have to figure anything out but the present.
or maybe you just get bored that easily.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
an autobiography
once upon a time, there was a girl. she was quite a normal teenage girl, apart from one very important detail: she could never remember to sleep.
sleeeeep. go to sleeeeep. the word was always on the tip of her tongue but it couldn't cross her mind. she went a day, two days without it, her world tilted at a strange axis as everything muddled in her tired little brain.
"help me, help me, make it stop," she would beg people, and they would command her, "sleep."
so she did, and she felt refreshed in the morning, and she went on with her day. she grew tired again, forgetting it all over, staying up all night and watching the sunrise, eyes twitching from her exhaustion.
she began to write it all over herself, under reminders for things like homework and shopping lists. her hands, her arms, if she could find a pen she would scribble it, so that at night she could find the happiness she couldn't remember, except that it made her feel better.
but it washed away, and being a teenager she had better things to do than sleep. the marks on the inside of her hand smudged as she stayed up doing homework, the ones on her forearms washed away in the shower. she forgot again and again and again. her parents, tired of being woken up at night by her music playing and wailing, simply put on headphones and went to bed, secure in the fact that they could never forget something so trivial.
she grew wearier and wearier. no one would believe this girl who couldn't remember what was so basic to everyone else. "I want to-" she would frown, unable to think of it. "I think I just need to- uhm..."
her homework became scrawls. her social life went away, because no one likes zombies. she went a week before someone could tell her, "all you have to do is.."
it was the cure to all her problems, but it seemed she was cursed to go on forever as this drowsy, half-alive thing.
(there is no happy ending. the girl is now on her third week without sleep. help her help her help her. before she walks into traffic or something.)
sleeeeep. go to sleeeeep. the word was always on the tip of her tongue but it couldn't cross her mind. she went a day, two days without it, her world tilted at a strange axis as everything muddled in her tired little brain.
"help me, help me, make it stop," she would beg people, and they would command her, "sleep."
so she did, and she felt refreshed in the morning, and she went on with her day. she grew tired again, forgetting it all over, staying up all night and watching the sunrise, eyes twitching from her exhaustion.
she began to write it all over herself, under reminders for things like homework and shopping lists. her hands, her arms, if she could find a pen she would scribble it, so that at night she could find the happiness she couldn't remember, except that it made her feel better.
but it washed away, and being a teenager she had better things to do than sleep. the marks on the inside of her hand smudged as she stayed up doing homework, the ones on her forearms washed away in the shower. she forgot again and again and again. her parents, tired of being woken up at night by her music playing and wailing, simply put on headphones and went to bed, secure in the fact that they could never forget something so trivial.
she grew wearier and wearier. no one would believe this girl who couldn't remember what was so basic to everyone else. "I want to-" she would frown, unable to think of it. "I think I just need to- uhm..."
her homework became scrawls. her social life went away, because no one likes zombies. she went a week before someone could tell her, "all you have to do is.."
it was the cure to all her problems, but it seemed she was cursed to go on forever as this drowsy, half-alive thing.
(there is no happy ending. the girl is now on her third week without sleep. help her help her help her. before she walks into traffic or something.)
Sunday, May 15, 2011
one way
I am so utterly and completely terrified of you. sorry, you probably thought I'd say I'm in love with you. or I can't live without you. but what I really have to say is that you scare the living shit out of me.
(that's not to say I'm not in love with you. I am. I really, really am. more on that later.)
how do I explain this? I think you may have noticed that I'm not very good about talking about what bothers me. mostly, the things that bother me are that something is bothering my friends. I'm an optimistic person! my family loves me! I don't like stress but that's mostly it. so really, I usually don't have much to trouble people with.
but then again, I sometimes hate myself. so there's that.
you came into my life and made me tell you things when I was sad. what'd you do that for? you made me dependent on you. maybe you're not the only one who understands me, but it feels like you are. so what if you leave? what if I tell you everything and you decide you don't care?
what if I finish my life story and you're bored?
I don't ever want to disappoint you ever.
(that's not to say I'm not in love with you. I am. I really, really am. more on that later.)
how do I explain this? I think you may have noticed that I'm not very good about talking about what bothers me. mostly, the things that bother me are that something is bothering my friends. I'm an optimistic person! my family loves me! I don't like stress but that's mostly it. so really, I usually don't have much to trouble people with.
but then again, I sometimes hate myself. so there's that.
you came into my life and made me tell you things when I was sad. what'd you do that for? you made me dependent on you. maybe you're not the only one who understands me, but it feels like you are. so what if you leave? what if I tell you everything and you decide you don't care?
what if I finish my life story and you're bored?
I don't ever want to disappoint you ever.
today I learned the word "cutterfuck"
there are obviously different intensities of mental health issues. I think I should have realized this earlier, because the internet is the type of place where you're exposed to people with a myriad of problems.
but there's a point when you realize how easy you have it in comparison.
"I fucking hate my stomach and thighs, so now I'm dieting. 1000 calories a day." "oh, good luck. I eat one 500 calorie meal a day. and nothing on weekends." "oh."
like, shit. this is why people are strongly against online thinspiration communities. it's where you get a mentality that you could be doing more, doing worse, where you see the results of years of body dysmorphia and starvation and self-hatred and you say maybe if I did that... don't do that.
"shit, my friend saw a scar on my arm. I had to lie about a fall or something." "that sucks. I can't wear shorts because my thighs are completely covered in cuts." "oh."
shouldn't it be a wake-up call? your life could really center around your sickness, as opposed to it being a coping mechanism. but instead you just feel like what you're doing is stupid, childish, boring. look at your scarred, skinny, hopeless internet friends, and feel pale and fat and naïve.
you're not. you're one of the good ones.
but there's a point when you realize how easy you have it in comparison.
"I fucking hate my stomach and thighs, so now I'm dieting. 1000 calories a day." "oh, good luck. I eat one 500 calorie meal a day. and nothing on weekends." "oh."
like, shit. this is why people are strongly against online thinspiration communities. it's where you get a mentality that you could be doing more, doing worse, where you see the results of years of body dysmorphia and starvation and self-hatred and you say maybe if I did that... don't do that.
"shit, my friend saw a scar on my arm. I had to lie about a fall or something." "that sucks. I can't wear shorts because my thighs are completely covered in cuts." "oh."
shouldn't it be a wake-up call? your life could really center around your sickness, as opposed to it being a coping mechanism. but instead you just feel like what you're doing is stupid, childish, boring. look at your scarred, skinny, hopeless internet friends, and feel pale and fat and naïve.
you're not. you're one of the good ones.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
immaturity
my dear, you're too young for this.
being perpetually sober and perpetually bitter about it is only acceptable when you're 60 and have beaten alcoholism, not when you're a teenager and you've been legitimately wasted once.
and you didn't even black out.
what do you even need to forget? you'll spend the rest of your life trying to remember these wonder years, darling. don't fuck with the process.
and just a note about broken hearts at fifteen- chill with language like that. hearts don't get broken, for one thing. they get crushed or punctured or explode maybe, but they don't break. they're muscles. your heart can make it fifteen years without doing the impossible. boys aren't impossible when you're fifteen, they haven't discovered who they are or what they can do yet.
and neither have you! don't spoil your entire future by having men measure up to boys who can't even fathom being someone who'd deserve the person you'll be.
being perpetually sober and perpetually bitter about it is only acceptable when you're 60 and have beaten alcoholism, not when you're a teenager and you've been legitimately wasted once.
and you didn't even black out.
what do you even need to forget? you'll spend the rest of your life trying to remember these wonder years, darling. don't fuck with the process.
and just a note about broken hearts at fifteen- chill with language like that. hearts don't get broken, for one thing. they get crushed or punctured or explode maybe, but they don't break. they're muscles. your heart can make it fifteen years without doing the impossible. boys aren't impossible when you're fifteen, they haven't discovered who they are or what they can do yet.
and neither have you! don't spoil your entire future by having men measure up to boys who can't even fathom being someone who'd deserve the person you'll be.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
that awkward moment when
when I was ten, or ten-ish, I was sort of a pyromaniac. I really liked lighting matches, letting them burn almost to my fingertips, and then dropping them in a cup of water. the sizzling noise was the most satisfying sound in the world.
so, understandably, I was excited about my dad's birthday, which was coming up. I begged and pleaded to be allowed to light the candles. my parents probably didn't say yes, but they didn't say no either, which I took as yes because I was ten.
the day came, and my mother, sister and I baked a golden cake. we made chocolate frosting. we ate my dad's favorite food for dinner. and then my moment to shine, I would get to light the candles.
but when I reached for the matches they were pulled out of my reach. my mother handed teh box to my father, seemingly not noticing my protest. I grabbed for them again.
"no." my mother glared at me. "daddy gets to light the candles. you're too young, sweetie."
now, I don't know about everyone else, but I was a stubborn kid and an even more self-righteous one. I could hear the condescension in my mother's 'sweetie,' and I wasn't having it.
"noooooooooooooooo!" I shrieked and stomped on the floor. "you said I could light the candles, you promised." which she hadn't, but my memory said she had and I really really wanted to light the candles.
so I screamed and screamed and probably beat my fists on at least one of my parents chest's as they carried me into my room. I knew not to leave, because that would just get me pushed back in, so I just stood in my doorway and yelled.
surprisingly, none of it worked. they celebrated without me as I eventually got tired and sat, arms crossed, in my bed.
later, my dad came and ripped up the birthday card I'd made him and threw it on the floor outside my room. I didn't care I didn't care I didn't care until I was crying, because I worked really hard on it and I didn't get to light the candles and it wasn't faaaaair.
and that's why I think my parents don't love me. or the anecdote I brought up when my therapist asked me why. truthfully, it's probably 'cause I'm awful to my parents on a regular basis and they shouldn't.
so, understandably, I was excited about my dad's birthday, which was coming up. I begged and pleaded to be allowed to light the candles. my parents probably didn't say yes, but they didn't say no either, which I took as yes because I was ten.
the day came, and my mother, sister and I baked a golden cake. we made chocolate frosting. we ate my dad's favorite food for dinner. and then my moment to shine, I would get to light the candles.
but when I reached for the matches they were pulled out of my reach. my mother handed teh box to my father, seemingly not noticing my protest. I grabbed for them again.
"no." my mother glared at me. "daddy gets to light the candles. you're too young, sweetie."
now, I don't know about everyone else, but I was a stubborn kid and an even more self-righteous one. I could hear the condescension in my mother's 'sweetie,' and I wasn't having it.
"noooooooooooooooo!" I shrieked and stomped on the floor. "you said I could light the candles, you promised." which she hadn't, but my memory said she had and I really really wanted to light the candles.
so I screamed and screamed and probably beat my fists on at least one of my parents chest's as they carried me into my room. I knew not to leave, because that would just get me pushed back in, so I just stood in my doorway and yelled.
surprisingly, none of it worked. they celebrated without me as I eventually got tired and sat, arms crossed, in my bed.
later, my dad came and ripped up the birthday card I'd made him and threw it on the floor outside my room. I didn't care I didn't care I didn't care until I was crying, because I worked really hard on it and I didn't get to light the candles and it wasn't faaaaair.
and that's why I think my parents don't love me. or the anecdote I brought up when my therapist asked me why. truthfully, it's probably 'cause I'm awful to my parents on a regular basis and they shouldn't.
Song of Solomon
Then she tackled the problem of trying to decide how she wanted to live and what was valuable to her.
When am I happy...
when I'm not trying to be. when it's raining in the summer. when I'm early even though I left my apartment late. when my eyes look green.
...and when am I sad...
when I try and no one notices. when I get judgy looks for ordering dessert. when someone uses the wrong form of your/you're. when my favorite character dies.
...and what is the difference?
I'm almost always sad because of things I can't control.
What do I need to know to stay alive?
how to get around by subway. the five-second rule for food falling on the floor. my phone number. how to draw a perfect heart.
What is true in the world?
strawberries are delicious. a thesaurus can be your best friend. I'll never be tan. life is short.
Her mind traveled crooked streets and aimless goat paths, arriving sometimes at profundity, other times at the revelations of a three-year-old.
When am I happy...
when I'm not trying to be. when it's raining in the summer. when I'm early even though I left my apartment late. when my eyes look green.
...and when am I sad...
when I try and no one notices. when I get judgy looks for ordering dessert. when someone uses the wrong form of your/you're. when my favorite character dies.
...and what is the difference?
I'm almost always sad because of things I can't control.
What do I need to know to stay alive?
how to get around by subway. the five-second rule for food falling on the floor. my phone number. how to draw a perfect heart.
What is true in the world?
strawberries are delicious. a thesaurus can be your best friend. I'll never be tan. life is short.
Her mind traveled crooked streets and aimless goat paths, arriving sometimes at profundity, other times at the revelations of a three-year-old.
Monday, May 2, 2011
lost
I'm so scared. it's cold over here without you, and dark. I'm not- can't you see this distance between us? it looks like I could just step over to the other side but in reality I'm shouting all of this at you, we're so far apart.
hellooooo over there.
but you can hear me, that's a plus, right? you're not here. stop saying that. I'm alone in a big empty space, shouting to your figure in the distance. I don't know where I am. it's just- it's really fucking freezing.
ow. did I fall? my knees hurt. my stomach hurts. what time is it? there aren't any clocks here. I wish I had a blanket. I wish you- I don't know how to get back. it's funny, I can almost feel you holding my hand. but that's impossible, right? you're not here.
guide me back? I don't know if you can. you don't have to try, it's- okay. okayokay, I'll try.
I can't squeeze your hand, you're not here. but I feel warmer. does that mean it's working? am I getting closer? yeah, maybe I am. I can see you more clearly now, you're right next to me, smiling.
no, you're not, you're miles and miles and miles away and I'm just seeing your silhouette. I'm- I'm not moving, you're moving. please come back.
helloooo?
wake me up. tell me how to get back. tell me it's okay to eat again. come here and sit with me. I don't know what to do.
hellooooo over there.
but you can hear me, that's a plus, right? you're not here. stop saying that. I'm alone in a big empty space, shouting to your figure in the distance. I don't know where I am. it's just- it's really fucking freezing.
ow. did I fall? my knees hurt. my stomach hurts. what time is it? there aren't any clocks here. I wish I had a blanket. I wish you- I don't know how to get back. it's funny, I can almost feel you holding my hand. but that's impossible, right? you're not here.
guide me back? I don't know if you can. you don't have to try, it's- okay. okayokay, I'll try.
I can't squeeze your hand, you're not here. but I feel warmer. does that mean it's working? am I getting closer? yeah, maybe I am. I can see you more clearly now, you're right next to me, smiling.
no, you're not, you're miles and miles and miles away and I'm just seeing your silhouette. I'm- I'm not moving, you're moving. please come back.
helloooo?
wake me up. tell me how to get back. tell me it's okay to eat again. come here and sit with me. I don't know what to do.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
correction
love the person who's beautiful and funny and smart, and not the one who's right for you.
I get it. it's easy. whoever said playing hard to get was the way to go? no, by all means, go ahead and break your own heart.
because here's the thing, if it's that easy for you to fall in love with them, it's just as easy for anyone else. you won't be the first or the last one pining.
but you know what, maybe the moderately attractive guy with a dark humor and a B average deserves his day with you. maybe, just maybe, you'll live your whole life convinced no one will love you because the one person you want doesn't want you. maybe that's what you're doing to someone else.
and you know what, if they're going to love you and treat you right and the person you want won't, maybe you want the wrong fucking person.
I get it. it's easy. whoever said playing hard to get was the way to go? no, by all means, go ahead and break your own heart.
because here's the thing, if it's that easy for you to fall in love with them, it's just as easy for anyone else. you won't be the first or the last one pining.
but you know what, maybe the moderately attractive guy with a dark humor and a B average deserves his day with you. maybe, just maybe, you'll live your whole life convinced no one will love you because the one person you want doesn't want you. maybe that's what you're doing to someone else.
and you know what, if they're going to love you and treat you right and the person you want won't, maybe you want the wrong fucking person.
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