I realize that there is a significant force within this strange world of a place we call home. I have come to terms with the fact that there is something beyond explanation that can transpire feelings and thoughts and things we can't begin to fathom. There is something that brings us together, combines us, unifies us as one mass of struggling, beautifully broken people.
I used to think it was the combination of passion and pain, where people finally realize (consciously or not) that everyone has something searing their insides. I thought maybe there was a point where everyone's heart came together and with the help of the weather or surrounding area's environment, people felt connected. I felt it a few times in the music. Was it the fact that there were hundreds of people singing the same lyrics with the singer they loved in an over crowded room? Was it that there was a common interest, common excitement, that brought otherwise opposite people together? Allow me to use a specific example.
On November 27th, I went to a concert at the House of Blues in Anaheim, California. My cousin and I arrived four hours early to ensure the closest spots on the floor in front of the stage where Switchfoot would be playing. While we were in line, a second line formed with people proudly displaying their "Friends of the Foot" badges. They, because of their $52/month subscription, were able to get into the show hours before anyone else to watch the soundcheck and meet the band. The line stretched far beyond the fountain with what seemed to be hundreds of twenty-something, TOMS wearing, dedicated fans. I watched them as it felt to me that we were all competing to love Switchfoot the most. I obviously lost as I was in the I-ate-at-the-restaurant-but-didn't-pay-to-get-in-that-early line (I'll admit to being slightly jealous). Everyone was anxious, excited, overjoyed that today was the day they'd been waiting for. It felt disconnected, everyone with their separate lives and separate problems.
However, when the show started, something drastically changed. It wasn't the fact that Switchfoot played better than normal. They were constant and expected to always put on a good show no matter the date or season. Something changed that night. Somehow, thousands of people crowded into a tiny venue, literally squished up against each other as a can of something, and came together to be united in something they couldn't explain.
Personally, I felt some sort of healing, awakening, and by no means am I saying that Jon Foreman and the rest of the band healed me. Heavens no. My life before that was continuing to unravel. I was literally falling apart emotionally and almost couldn't bear to move anymore. (Little did I know, my future boyfriend and love of my life would be sitting in a show I was absent from, the only show out of thirty-something, as my life cracked to pieces in Orange County. Just a side-note and an interesting one at that). But I found that night that I had more passions than I had experienced before. It literally felt as though I had been through a war where I fought between wanting to run up on stage and curling in a ball in the corner of my bedroom.
I recently heard that when taking a brain scan of someone listening to or being an active part of music, the entire brain lights up. It's phenomenal seeing as different parts of our brain are designed for general motives-- emotional, logical, and the like. There is something amazing, something powerful about music. It has a unique ability to relate with every single man being on this planet. Is that not beautiful? When the music and lyrics of 'Yet' danced through my lit-up brain singing, "If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love", I felt passion and pain boil up through the tips of my toes to the the brim of my wildly untamed hair. The entire room was singing. I mean all of it. No, the House of Blues isn't very large at all, but there we were, singing. We sang at the top of our lungs and there was something bizarre in that room.
Some people might call it the Holy Spirit and I'm not sure where I stand on that at this particular moment. Could it be that it was just an incredible moment where we stepped away from our lives and truly felt, fell, and found the music we knew and loved with one another? Could we have just shared an incredible time together? I'm not entirely sure what happened that night or if I'm the only one that still thinks about it. Maybe I'm just an emotional girl that holds onto dreams and passions far beyond that they're worth. I don't know because I don't have enough answers.
I do know that my feelings are valid and that night I felt something beyond this place. Whether it was God or something divine, I'll never know.
"Why does history matter, class?" "Because the past shapes the future!"
I've heard history teacher after history teacher say that same thing year after year in my many years of public education. Never have I sat down to really realize how true it is. Yes, WWII obviously shaped policies and behaviors and there was that ever-popular baby boom that we blame overpopulation on. Charles Manson based his theories on the Bible and the Beatles and killed seven celebrities and we locked our doors at night. A man some thousand years ago died on a cross to save our souls and we worship Him. Things happened, we reacted, and now we call it history. The past, it shapes our future and everything we stand for. The past, on a national, even global level is important to our foundations, do you agree?
Yesterday, for some reason, I thought a lot about my own history. We each have a history. We each have a past. If there is a present, there is a past, no? And in the past, we came to believe the things we believe in now. I ask myself the question, "How did I get here?" How did I come to be who I am, how did other people come to perceive me the way they do, how did I come to make the decisions I make? In understanding all of these, I must understand from the beginning, from the first stages, the first steps, the first thoughts.
Charles Manson killed celebrities because of wildly misconstrued theories and philosophies of Heleter Skelter, but where did that come from? His childhood? His allegedly unfortunate upbringing? Before the Bible and the Beatles, Charles never really had a family. He was brought up by his drug addict mother and boarding schools and eventually, detention centers and juvenile hall. His past shaped him. He took in outcasts into his cult maybe because he himself was an outcast that needed to belong. Christ died on a cross. Why? For love, for a fallen world that needed a savior. Obviously, people were in need of a savior. Their decisions, their behaviors were wretched and needed someone to save them from their own habits. And Christ did just that.
So where does that leave me? With a past. I reflect on that past instead of pushing it to the curb to realize, to understand, what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. This might seem obvious, but have you really thought about it? I get upset because I make stupid decisions, but I pass them off. Then, sooner or later, I make them again and it becomes this viscous cycle. For example, I'm a horrible student. I don't study for anything. What does being unprepared lead to? Right. Horrible grades. Everytime I find that I get a bad grade on something, I'm seriously upset. Well of course I am! I haven't put in the work for it! But the next class comes and I fall into the same habit, the same cycle. What I need is change. I need to change those study habits to get a better grade and feel better about my success in school.
My past affects my future. Obvious and clear,I know, but it's the truth. Anyway. Just a thought.
I find myself sitting on my bed writing this on an iPad that i didn't deserve to receive. Today was a strange turn of events. I didn't feel genuine this morning. I didn't feel quite like myself. I felt lost and numb and rather confused about life and love and everything else you want to lump into the general category. I know I am loved. I know I have a great life. I know that whatever I do is already forgiven in some weird and un deserving compassion and forgiveness. But here I am, a living proof of all of this. It's tangible. It's easy to touch and feel and see first hand. You see, I know this isn't making a whole lot of sense, but I was given a gift that I don't deserve. Because I have been bitter and fake, because I have complained more than anyone knows. But I was given this gift in spite of absolutely all of that. And I'm talking about more than the iPad.
I've been given life in spite of my failures. I've been given an incredible story. I've been given the ability to use words and music to reach people. I've been given a heart that truly desires to love and care about other people. I've been selfish with all of these gifts. It's plain to me.
And I'm growing way too tired of using that word. It's the opposite of love. It's the opposite of everything I stand for. But I am the queen of it. I promise you that.
Anyway, the point of this post is to say, to encourage you to look at the gifts you have...tangible or not.
Your life is worth the risk taking. It's worth the breath.
It was a cold night. I had my favorite boots on and I felt okay--no, I felt great with the way I looked. My emotionally and physically long day had been plain out tiring. My fingers were sore from the guitar strings I manipulated, my body shook with the free coffee I consumed in order to over-compensate for my exhaustion, and the thrill of being paid attention to overwhelmed my thoughts. He laced unimportant questions with pertinent ones and sent them to my phone throughout the course of the day and supposed himself to be clever. I knew something was going to happen at six o' clock that Sunday.
I sat in his truck while he talked on the phone secretively and quickly about something important.
"There's no traffic."
My mind flashed back to a couple weeks before when we were trapped in the moving parking lot of the 15 freeway. His face lit up with excitement about some future plan and I realized that this, Sunday night at six o' clock, was it.
"We were supposed to have an urban picnic!"
Urban Picnic (n.): As one is sitting in traffic with nothing else to do, sandwhiches and beverages are to be provided just as a picnic might occur in a grassy park.
I might point out at this point that the music we listened to was everything I enjoyed. Music is my life, my feeling, my expression. We pulled into an empty parking lot as an alternative to the freeway and sat in the back of his truck to enjoy our picnic. The CD came to an end and began to replay.
"Wait. Pause. Stay right there." He leaned over and kissed me and jumped from the bed of the truck to reach inside for the CD.
His eyes fascinated me. They were large annd excited and alive more than ever that night and I found myself willingly sinking into them. I hoped he didn't mind. He then came around the side of the truck and held the CD in front of his face, his eyes just above the sharp edge. I looked down.
"Can I be the boyfriend in your indie movie?"
Words escaped me. I didn't have any breath. I don't think I'm capable of forgetting that face or those eyes (nor do I want to) at that moment. He was eager. He lingered and needed a response. I shook my head. Yes. Yes, you can. Yes, I want you to be. I hadn't felt that safety, that assurance in such a long time. I don't think he will ever quite understand just how much it meant to me to be cared for. After a life of being sat in a corner, of being told cop out after cop out, finally someone that meant the words he said and the actions he presented looked me in the eyes and told me the truth.
He disappeared to put the music back on and came back to sit next to me. He grabbed my hand and looked at me with an ineffable look that.
"Can I be your boyfriend in real life too?" This time I laughed and said, "Of course."
He smiled and kissed me.
"Guess what I just did."
"Kissed my girlfriend."
Oh the safety and security in that night just three months ago.
I started to understand yesterday. I started to understand why you say the things you say to me. I would take away your scars if I could. I would kiss away the pain you went through if I could. I would do anything to erase that past--if only I could. My shoulders sunk with my heart when I held your hand as you talked about your vices and the details of your heartache. I didn't show it, but I wanted to cry. I wanted to hold you. I wanted you to break down. I wanted to break down with you. I wanted to be close to you. I didn't show it. I know that feeling. I feel as though I know where you're coming from and it's all too familiar because we've seen a similar darkness that cannot be faked. And love, I get it. I get why you die everytime I give into my selfishness. I understand because I felt the same thing and you were only talking about the past. What if it was now? I would hurt so much more that I think I might not be able to handle it. I do that to you. I cause you to hurt. I'm sorry, love. I am sorry.
And what she did to you was incredibly awful. I hate that. You deserve much more. I want to be much more because you are incredible and I've never felt as taken care of as I do now. Thank you. Thank you for being incredible.
I don't want to hurt you. You're worth more than the pain I cause.
Your creativity, your dedication, your inspiration; it all makes me melt. You make me melt. And I want to say goodbye to my vices because of that. Because you're worth more than that.
I'm a writer. I can pass the whole day away just by writing in journals and documents; on napkins and the backs of receipts. I can fade into my fiction and lose touch of reality at the point of my pen, at the mere touch of my keys.
Do I run? Do I sprint away from the real events, real emotions of my every day? Most likely, I run. Most likely, I fly. Most likely, I'm weak and don't want to even look in the face of a truth, in the face of my truth. My truth that even in my strongest points, there's something that's lost.
I write and I lose myself to the thoughts of my pen, to the people, the places, the love that I create. But is it really an escape, this thing that I create? Maybe it's an outlet, a way to feel, to think, to exist, to make a mark in this world. I want to encourage, to stretch, to exalt something more. Love, its therapeutic. It's a change, it's a movement that I'm writing and creating and searching for.
I want to know, I want to learn what is going on in the world because my heart is truly seeking, truly loving. Darling, ignorance is not bliss.
I don't agree. I don't agree! I want to be in this world because maybe instead of praying and praying, maybe I'm the action, the answer, the vehicle for that promise.
And maybe this is the way to die to me. Me- who is living, who confessed that addiction is not dead.
Oh stream of consciousness, you truly bring me to my knees. Your cackle, your endless tackle makes me see how truly wretched my thoughts are. That inside this brain of mine, the ideas i have, i am ashamed to call mine- sometimes.
I'm tired of logic, of rationale. Give me emotional appeal. I learn from it. I thrive from it. Please just give me the emotional appeal.
It's time to get up, time to stand up because this is something i feel.
No, it's not about me. It cannot be about me. I feel most at ease when I'm helping someone else and the blame is not on me. I feel at peace when I'm actively involved in today, in other people, because love is all I can give.
By any stretch of the imagination, I might want to travel to Africa. I might want to go to China. I might want to go to India, Australia, and Ireland. Can I go to any of them? To all of them? At the forefront of my thoughts, I want to help the children...anywhere. I absolutely love the impact one person can have in another person's life--especially children. They are precious. They are innocent. The are incredibly susceptible to anything they see, hear, and therefore experience. When I was in Tanzania--scratch that-- Before I went to Tanzania, I prayed and hoped that just one child would cling to me. I wanted to be moved by one of their stories; just one. What I didn't expect, though, was to be moved to tears by dozens and dozens of sweet, sweet smiles. From their attempts at English to their dances to the bruises on their faces, I melted and fell deeply in love with them. One in particular fell asleep in my arms. She had been crying and the bruises and cuts across her face suggested that she had been abused. It was then and there that I knew that I wanted to hold every one of them. I knew they needed that tangible love. I sang to her--well, over her. Amazing Grace poured from my lips as tears rolled out of her eyes. I wanted to start my life again to dedicate it to moments exactly like this one. Without thinking, I would go back to Tanzania in an instant to find her, to hold her and sing to her as she lay safely in my arms. Now using my imagination, I want to go anywhere. Children are everywhere and that are all the same in every place. Let me hold them. Let me use this voice that I have been given to sing sweet words, sweet melodies of love into their ears. Let me take the time to personally go to the places I see on commercials that plead for an insignificant amount of money that masks the true desperate need. Oh, just let me love.
And beyond that, I want to write about them. I want to tell stories about them. People don't truly believe that their stories are real and that their lives are genuinely precious, desperately needy.
I confess in my soul that I want to be free, but a new day comes and I still starve and shake. I hurt myself- who is tortured, truly tortured and broken and bruised. Oh God, in my weakness you use me God, I am used. Even though I can't see it, I want to be it. It- the one who stands proudly claiming I have recovered, who's name is no longer one of a sinner. Call me home, take me Lord to a place with no pain, where there is laughter and sunshine and inside, I am not ashamed of confessing that I'm living a lie that I am running to breathe.
Give me clean air, give me clean love. Give me a place where I feel safe. Give me sweet, sweet indulgence that doesn't come with a price. The price of self-torture, I confess, is a deathly vice. God, let me sit near Your throne. Please let me kneel near Your throne.
and love me, love me wholly and unconditionally though I'm broken and lost. Lord, your glory was proven when you paid all costs to the darkness we live in, to the evil we surround ourselves with. You hurt for me, You suffered for me, You took every beating, bloody crowning, bloody torture for me. But I was not yet alive, I was merely an idea. You had me planned had me pinned even when you hung on a cross. You knew one day I'd sit here, in this dim cafe, broken and lost.
So I thank you today, I thank you tomorrow because thank you is all i can give. Thank you is all I have left in me to give. To thank you is to live and to live is to love to be satisfied in life Your truth is my choice. God, Your truth is my choice I want to walk in redemption and beauty and grace To find myself adrift in Your sea of love. Your sea above that calls me home, it calls me to Your throne.
Surely, surely, I see Your throne. To touch it-to be blessed To sit with you-beyond that To die a righteous woman, a godly woman, a loving woman so lovely and divine, full of wisdom and truly in line with the power of the work of You- even farther beyond that.
and love, it makes no sense. only that its there. more than the yellow birds or the spring trees and the cold, winter air. God, I breathe. God, I live. God, I dare to feel Your love, to hear Your love, to see, taste, and smell Your sweet love. Surround me with freedom and pass me onto a place where slavery is a figment of the past. where bondage is fiction and addiction is dead.
I confess in my soul that addiction lives. addiction runs wild, ridiculously wild and rampant in this god forsaken land. whether you're addicted to drugs or pain or feeling alone; then, truly, i say to you:
It's spring break and I sit in the magic room thinking. I'm thinking about everything. About recovery (or the lack of), about love, about life, about the future, about the people I've managed to hurt, about whether or not I will capitalize the 'I's in this post... I've reached a weird conclusion: [I will capitalize them] I have never wanted to recover for someone else. It has always been because I was tired of fighting and the only way to get rid of the ongoing war inside my mind was to fight through it and win. I conquered. I fought for myself. But here, amidst the instruments and amidst the magic, I want to fight because he wants me to fight. It's a strange feeling that I haven't fully assessed yet. How can I recover because of someone else? And why would I want to do that?
1. I don't want everything I say to him to be about my struggle for power inside a place that no one else may go. 2. I want to live. I want to live alongside him. [Truly, truly, this leads to death or something similar] 3. I don't want him to leave me. Yes, yes, I know that he promises, he pleads to stay with me and see me through the battle, but so have others. They have promised. They have vowed. They have, over and over, made that statement. I believe this one. I believe he holds my heart, but in the back of my mind, there might be a day where I drive him away with my never-ending struggle for victory. Ushindi.
It was a long and dark December. From the rooftops I remember there was snow; white snow.
Somewhere inside of me I want freedom more than anything. Somewhere inside of me, there is a girl dying to be strong and powerful. She is meek and timid and she doesn't know how to get out. I can't find her.
Well, right now, it is paralyzed. Today was a good day. Today was filled with the sun and clarity. Today was a good day.
Tonight? Tonight is a bad night. Its funny how that works...a good day turning into a bad night.
Because I hate guilt trips. And I hate the dark. And I hate the intrusion of someone else.
So I'm conflicted. And you've done absolutely nothing wrong. You are wonderful. You are delightful.
But its her.
its her subtle manipulation. she is controlling. she is condescending. and i dont even think she knows. so my heart is paralyzed because i have no idea what to do with myself. i dont know how ive managed to be wrong once again.
get this (animal) out of my face.
im sorry that i needed a day to myself after a weekend of being surrounded.
My knee says "I love you. I'm sorry." It's a true statement about the life I lead. Its a beautiful confession that goes wonderfully with my arm which reads: "love never fails." Love is wonderful. Love is truly like oxygen, Christian. I must agree with you there. The sun feels warmer today and life [oh, life!] is beautiful. I was inspired to write this today as I drove back to my house in my sweet, little town that I, way too often, take advantage of. A sunny afternoon with the love of my life left me pleasantly content and satisfied with being me [a rare occasion to feel this way that is showing up more often]. It's March. It's March in Southern California. This means that it is the beginning of the summertime (contrary to popular belief, summer begins in February here). I was almost home when the traffic slowed down and ambulances raced up on-ramps like rockets. The dust they created swirled about the hot cars, but the people inside stayed calm and cool with their air conditioners and large soft drinks. In our thoughts, we wondered what happened and how badly the people were hurt. We wanted to know what happened and who was hurt. Sadly, my mind went straight to death. Who died? I most likely didn't know them, but this is my town after all. I continued driving at a snail's pace as my worship music continued to blare out of my speakers. More and more ambulances and police officers rushed through the crowded freeway. At last, I could see the collection of emergency vehicles huddled around a section of the road and across the way. Above, an overpass held five spectators. Did they know the victims of this brutal scene? I drove underneath the overpass and felt as though I was driving into death. In this short movie I had been cast in, I could sense the conflict about to occur. The music came to a climax and fell.
For all Your sons and daughters who are walking in the darkness You are calling us to lead them back to You.
I knew I was about to see something gruesome. Something terrible had just happened though the sky seemed to be oblivious. I drove through the scene and slowed for a police man to cross the glass-littered highway. I looked to the left to see three cars torn apart. The ambulances had already been there and gone. I hoped everyone was alive.
I drove the other five minutes to my house thinking about how precious life is. About how important it is. About how sweet it is to be alive to feel the sun on my body and to love the love of my life, my best friend, my family, the people I hold dear to my heart. Question: Why is it that we are united when tragedy strikes? On the freeway, I felt like people began to care when they saw flashing red lights. They suddenly slowed down to let the police car cross the road. They turned down their music. They got off of their phones, or began dialing them (despite the laws against it...its an emergency, we're allowed to break the rules). We slowed to let the other lane of cars merge with ours so that the ambulance would have the 300 feet it required. But why? Because suddenly, lives were threatened and though we are selfish beings, somewhere deep inside of us, we cared. We cared that they have the amount of time and space they needed to attempt to keep a life on this earth. Because those lives deserve to feel the sun again. They deserve to feel love. They deserve to know that there are people that don't know them, but care for them enough.
I think about the final exam I may have done poorly on this morning and about the pain in my stomach that I cause. I think about my life that I threatened years ago. I think about the dozens and dozens of people I love. And then I think about the sun and the summer and the feeling of being infinite. Of never having to walk in darkness. Of never having to be desperate. Of always loving and being loved. And suddenly, I realize that you are my sunshine...
[its unfortunate that i have been because, you see, i have a paper due soon...but i need to write this out...because im a writer, and this is what i do.] i want to dedicate my life to love. i want to dedicate my life to loving the loveless because i believe they deserve it. oh sure, we're sinners and undeserving of grace and what not. i know that. i know that we're horrible creatures motivated by selfishness. but how can we sit on that fact when the most important detail is the very fact that we were given grace? despite our disgusting nature to look inward, we were forgiven. therefore, we deserve love. we, the forgiven, are deserving of love.
my friend wrote about loving and i firmly agree with her. i want to love and be loved and nothing else. freely running towards the prize. because i can because i am able because it is important. and this is what life is about.
i dont care if it hurts too badly. for inside the hurt i find sparks of motivation and inspiration. out of the darkness comes a light that changes everything.
i need an inspiration. i need something to be alive again. i need something to knock me out of my routine. i need a string quartet. i need a marionette. (my thoughts are much more complex and poetic than what i actually write.)
oh darling, i was never free for the taking
i need a line. i need a sign. i need to know that we had everything. [we share something. we lost nothing.] i need time. i need another rhyme. your love letters make me weak in the knees. im way too in love with the sound of abandonment. too in love with out-of-tune pianos. and alliteration. --depression. destruction. desperation.-- (and boys with a certain look) i've never wanted to be so clean until i knew you.
i try to believe that im important. that, in this world, i make something special. and it takes a monstrous dose of reality to knock me into sense--to make me into my lonely self. i love fantasy. i love imagination. where all is laughter, peace, and sleep.
WATCH OUT! (watch out)
sooner or later you'll learn that fantasy can't be reality. even though it's true that there will always be blue skies underneath the clouds, it is inevitable that there are clouds in the forecast. and we have it all right here in our hands. we've got everything we need.
...love is in our plans and life is better off this way...
even the bravest lions, they need a sidekick
creativity has easily become my best friend. closer than anything. and i can crawl into its mystery. i can soak inside its majesty. if it sat next to me, its arm would lace around mine, head peering over my shoulder, slightly swaying to the simple tune it feeds me. it never questions me, only loves and encourages me. it is the spring after the fall--forgets about winter entirely. and though its cold and rainy, i think i need a rhyme. it rings out true--im faking my notes, i dont know what i need. on days like today, it reminds me that there is a God in heaven and that He sprays imagination across the planet. its a small planet after all--how can we all be different? but nothing seems original, nothing seems truly unique. yet in its own way, creativity calls me to believe in existing exceptionally.
tonight, i just want to sink into (his arms) the couch. in therapy, i talked about sinking into my green leather couch. something about it is still comforting. something about being enveloped into that couch calms my chaotic mess of a life. sometimes, i am faced with a cold dose of reality. however, this coldly-thwarted reality that collides with my face like a dead fish is typically my own. it is twenty times more painful running into a reality that is not my own. what would happen if one day i picked up my phone--i can't even finish that statement.
my dear. i will always be your person to call. you're about to enter a dark, desperate place. i have been there. i meant it: don't do what i have done, don't go where i have been. if i could lock you up to keep you from destruction, i would. unfortunately, i know that once i lock the door and walk away, you'll already be twisting the key in your fingers. this is your lesson to learn. this is your battle to fight...and it tears me apart.
i hate the line between love and obligation. it is not that it is unclear. it is that it is way too incredibly clear and the action behind it rips me in two-- more than two-- seventy times seven.
There is a cycle. I don't know if it's literally visible, but I am beginning to think that maybe it has begun to reveal itself to me.
Step 1: Open my eyes. I begin. I walk. I move. There really is no significance here, it just is. It starts out. Nothing is of any importance yet. No, no; it isn't depressing or dark. It simply is not significant.
Step 2: Look around. There is hurt. There is pain. I feel it and I feel my mistakes although they haven't been made yet. I know they are coming. Maybe it's looking inside myself...? I see the real treachery I have hidden inside my mind.
Step 3: Act. Lies consume me. Lies scream at me. It is here that I fall and feel impulse (spontaneity) pull me under. I act. I bruise.
Step 4: Feel the desperation. It is the breakdown. It's the hardest part and yet the most revealing part. Some call it the bottom of the pit. You've hit rock bottom. The only way to move is up. Dear people, I cannot fly...how, then, can I move "up"? This is darkness. This is hopelessness. This is where I am on my knees, crying, pleading for a light.
Step 5: Magic appears. There is a light. Unmistakably, there is a beautiful light. It doesn't need to make sense how it appeared. It doesn't need to make sense how it will help. All I know is that in the darkness, all I needed was a light. In the darkness, it would heal my fading life if I could somehow see the walls. The light, the hope, fills me and lifts me from the pit, the cell, the chains...whatever I choose to label it.
Step 6: Run. Here I run. Here I stand and lift others up. Here I throw my light into the air. Here I find freedom and with that I find hope. With hope, I feel elated and powerful. The world is at my fingertips and anything, anything is possible. I want to stay here. I want to live here and request residency. I want to continue to run, to be in the race always. I want to stand knowing that there never has to be a step one. It is always step six.
But because life is constantly moving and I am constantly growing, it is apparent that there will always be some form (whether good or bad, constructive or destructive) of--
i am selfish. tired. sick of the noises coming from my fan. sick of myself. sick of not understanding myself. sick of falling into the same trap inside my head. straight up sick.
i fumble a pill between my fingers... and i hurt. because of all of the desires i have building up inside me.
i want to change the world. to stand up for myself. for other people. for the children. for the abused. to say that i genuinely care. to rock and to shake the comfort. to live further than the words. to say that i am a part of something better.
but here i am. angry.
and yanni uses way too much synthesizer in his music.
its early morning and there's something i can't shake. its a little hard to see the light.
In this past week or so, I have felt incredibly content. Even though my jeans feel tighter and I can't see my collar bone as clearly, I feel content. It is a weird feeling...but a nice one at that. I don't know why.
and i get lost with every wrong step that i take. its a little hard to gun this fight.
I found something to focus on. All this beauty has grabbed me in the most intense, most gripping, most death defying way. Every morning is a new day. A new chance. Every morning I choose life. Therapy has been wrong all along. This is a choice.
take time to understand that i don't do this often
I have been taking chances, second glances, at the wonder I used to skip out on. And while skipping out is gloriously freeing; in the end, it cripples me. It cuts me out of life. It trips me and holds me on the floor. I'll take my time to enjoy the scenery.
take time to watch me stand.
i've got a few more chances to find this ground beneath me and i can feel it
I don't have to identify myself any way. I can choose to simply live and be and enjoy and love. Its my own version of therapy. Giving it up and letting something better take over. Its something that rehabilitation will never satisfy. Its this desire. Its this plan. Oh, Love, you'll never fail me now.
i wake up and i dont think that my road is far away
I faintly see something incredible coming, but I clearly see something incredible right next to me. And it is freeing. It is beyond my explanation. I choose life. I choose love. I choose you.
i wake up and i can see that freedom is not my stowaway