Ever feel like you're in a fishbowl, being stared at by everyone around you? Like you can't go anywhere or do anything, can't run or jump or scream, just float... just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, even if it is in circles within a small glass tank filled with your own piss? Ever feel like when you try to push back against your binds and forced limits, instead of getting shattered glass and exasperated relief, all you get is your reflection delivering a head-butt?
My answer: all the time.
Ever feel like you're in a snow globe? In some mini utopia that, at random, shudders uncontrollably, and when life starts to settle back into perfection, an unknown god who might reasonably be played by child with ADHD clutches your world into his sticky fingers and shakes you up again?
My answer: all the time.
Do you ever, ever feel like you've got a song to sing and you're trying to let it out long and loud for all the world to hear if they're willing? Have you ever suddenly felt like the sweet air you're releasing is the pressure from the walls closing in and crushing you, like you're the center piece of an accordion and the notes are playing nicely until two hands are squeezing you so tight you can no longer breathe? Like you're an amazing instrument meant to play a part in an incredible orchestra, and just when you think you're starting your piece, you're exhausted.
: all the time.
It wasn't long ago that I felt I had a purpose, which was to inspire others to find their confidence, their dreams, their best abilities. I had energy and could dance and sing and breath life into others who felt hopeless and out of reach. My life in and of itself was a song. Of course it had it's repetitive choruses and mistakes, it's high notes and unexpected low notes, but it was beautiful and intentional and directed by something outside of myself.
Now I'm out of wind and, still at the hand of someone or something else, I am crushed. And I fear that if this thing lets me go I will collapse into an even weaker nothingness.
I am only 24 and I feel like my song is over all thanks to the zealoused way I've lived, the reckless way I've fought for myself and for others. I was stretching and dancing and floating on instinct and good intention, and now I'm frozen stiff. What an astonishing and tragic way to go.
Every time I feel like things are getting better and the clutch is slowly loosening to give me back my passion and song, someone switches the anology and shakes me up causing yet another example of worst case scenarios. My world is constantly being turned upside down. The snow and random bits and tears cascade from top to bottom, and cover my could-be utopia, so I'm striving in the most fragile of environments.
AND I'm being watched by outsiders. I'm being judged and critiqued and expected to accomplish something profound, I think. My boss, my parents, my brothers, my employees, my youth, my friends, my roommate, strangers, plants, rocks, my own little fish... every move is being witnessed. Every stride is evaluated, calculated, and appraised at lowest value.
I AM ONLY 24!
I AM JUST A LONELY FISH who's mantra is "just keep swimming..."
But I have no direction. I have no dream of being able to leave. I can't escape the magnifying glass without confronting my own internal deamons anyway.
I replenish only when you feed me. I stir only when you frighen me. I'm bathing in my own shit, you know, and I fear, and I cry constantly, which is something you ironically do not see at all.
I really am only 24. Survey says I'm not even a fully matured person. Yet the life has been squeezed out of me from all the topsy-turvy life altering up but mostly downing I've endured while isolated and under pressure.
I need to breathe.
I need this shit to settle.
I really need an escape plan.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Child of a Revolution
I'm putting this off, clearly.
I'm playing games of Hearts on my computer, back to back to back, completely without mind.
I'm finishing my second glass of cheap wine. No, it's not boxed.
I'm drowning myself in music by Pinback. I'm not tired of it even though I saw their concert last night.
I'm putting this off, this whole writing thing, for every good reason in the world.
But I know the -tick-tick-tick- is important for my fingers and my head.
...
Though I'm lubricated with merlot and adult stretch marks are growing all over and in me, I'm growing back into a child.
It's like falling backwards blindly without knowing what or who is there to catch me.
And I'm pretty sure there's nothing.
But it's worth it.
Every free falling and freaking out second is worth it.
And I don't care if it hurts when my head hits down -
There's no way it can hurt more than it does when I'm up, trying to stand tall, trying to stand firm and confident and full of answers.
"The strong and caring adult," my supervisor says.
Who's that? I wonder.
If there was such a person in my form, it may only be present as a ghost, because that "me" is no longer here.
I am down there.
Falling, falling, falling.
I say it's a revolution. It has to be. There is no other way.
It's the anniversary of my grandparents death, and my carbon monoxide detector has been going off.
It's the anniversary of my mentor's death.
It's the anniversary of my friend's suicide.
And last week, my dad lost his job, two of my students lost close family members, and my 16 year old coworker was shot and killed.
Another light bulb burnt out in my kitchen.
That me - that me that you were expecting here?
That me is dead too.
"Every time i die
i AM
born again..."
I am falling, falling, falling.
I do not care how hard I hit.
I am weak from standing against gravity and I am exhausted from my depressed existence.
Not exhausted. Fed up.
Fucking pissed that so much shit has either happened to me or around me or to the people I care so much about.
I am giving up this life. I give up on this striving, trying, make the best of the worst vicious cycle I am caught in...
So when you see me, when you see my form, you'll be seeing a shadow.
You'll be seeing what you want or expect to see, or what I've been, or what you know of me.
You should know it's just an image my past is reflecting, for i am
falling
falling
falling
into a new idea.
into a new seed.
into a better part of me.
into a better part of you and this community and this fucked up, empty, god fearing, mindless, hateful world.
and that seed will shatter into a trillion smaller pieces that will sliver into your consciousness and break your ego down until you understand.
Until you understand what I know and what I don't know and what it takes to turn shit into gold.
A new reality is necessary.
It's on the horizon.
Only as I fall. I die. I start over.
I'm playing games of Hearts on my computer, back to back to back, completely without mind.
I'm finishing my second glass of cheap wine. No, it's not boxed.
I'm drowning myself in music by Pinback. I'm not tired of it even though I saw their concert last night.
I'm putting this off, this whole writing thing, for every good reason in the world.
But I know the -tick-tick-tick- is important for my fingers and my head.
...
Though I'm lubricated with merlot and adult stretch marks are growing all over and in me, I'm growing back into a child.
It's like falling backwards blindly without knowing what or who is there to catch me.
And I'm pretty sure there's nothing.
But it's worth it.
Every free falling and freaking out second is worth it.
And I don't care if it hurts when my head hits down -
There's no way it can hurt more than it does when I'm up, trying to stand tall, trying to stand firm and confident and full of answers.
"The strong and caring adult," my supervisor says.
Who's that? I wonder.
If there was such a person in my form, it may only be present as a ghost, because that "me" is no longer here.
I am down there.
Falling, falling, falling.
I say it's a revolution. It has to be. There is no other way.
It's the anniversary of my grandparents death, and my carbon monoxide detector has been going off.
It's the anniversary of my mentor's death.
It's the anniversary of my friend's suicide.
And last week, my dad lost his job, two of my students lost close family members, and my 16 year old coworker was shot and killed.
Another light bulb burnt out in my kitchen.
That me - that me that you were expecting here?
That me is dead too.
"Every time i die
i AM
born again..."
I am falling, falling, falling.
I do not care how hard I hit.
I am weak from standing against gravity and I am exhausted from my depressed existence.
Not exhausted. Fed up.
Fucking pissed that so much shit has either happened to me or around me or to the people I care so much about.
I am giving up this life. I give up on this striving, trying, make the best of the worst vicious cycle I am caught in...
So when you see me, when you see my form, you'll be seeing a shadow.
You'll be seeing what you want or expect to see, or what I've been, or what you know of me.
You should know it's just an image my past is reflecting, for i am
falling
falling
falling
into a new idea.
into a new seed.
into a better part of me.
into a better part of you and this community and this fucked up, empty, god fearing, mindless, hateful world.
and that seed will shatter into a trillion smaller pieces that will sliver into your consciousness and break your ego down until you understand.
Until you understand what I know and what I don't know and what it takes to turn shit into gold.
A new reality is necessary.
It's on the horizon.
Only as I fall. I die. I start over.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Dear Dad
I'm on the phone, stomping through the park, bluegrass music is trailing behind me, and I'm thinking, "We've been down this road before."
Mom's trying to mediate the whole thing and keep us calm, but I feel like I'm calm plenty and taking the punches like always. Dad's exasperated and tired of my pessimistic, ever-failing attitude - so he says. "GIVE UP! QUIT! THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY!" But then I asked for examples of when I've ever given anything up in my entire 24 years of being, so he hung up the phone.
Still I'm somber and cold and trudging through the empty sidewalks by the DeYoung and new Academy of Science Museum as if the cement was quick sand and I'm trying hard not to tense and get sucked in deeper by the darkness. Mom's jabbering on with excuses for everyone's mistakes and reminding me to chill out before she realizes I haven't said anything in 5 minutes. "Are you still there?"
This is what it always boils down to, honestly. I think by nature and an untamed dose of nurture, I've become a gal livin the path of adversity. What was that famous quote? Robert Frost? "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Something like that. Though I doubt anyone knows what I mean. It's 2 brothers carving the success route but leaving me 4 years behind trying to prove myself and my uniqueness... so at 22 I took the wheel and jarred it to the left and pressed my right foot to the floor of my car. I started carving my own path, and I've thrashed at the wild bats and poisonous vines as I've pressed forward.
What happened when I was demoted? I got an email from ya, Dad, it said "Hang in there" and blah blah blah; and even my supervisor was telling me to quit the corrupt and toxic mess I was in, but I held out til the funding ran dry and I had no other choices.
I feel like I'm being told to look backwards and never forwards for what is best for me. I feel like I'm supposed to deal with what I've got, and bake something sweet when all I have is expired mayonnaise and a jar of pickles. I feel like you, like Palin, is telling me to stop looking into the past without promising a future... none of this advice is making any sense.
What happened when my landlord wouldn't give me my security deposit back, and harassed me and said I would go to hell? I took action and sued her! But you said, "Are you sure you want to do that?"
What happened when a mound of compost blew up in a mushroom cloud on my deck with where I used to live? You said, "All you can do is tell your roommates how you feel." Correct, but they cussed me out and made me believe there's an emotional price to pay for being clean. You told me I was over reacting. You told me I would never be happy in San Francisco.
What happened when my boyfriend abused me? No I never told you about that, Dad, because you would have said "Why don't you just come home to Michigan?" The subtle cue to quit, woven into a wet blanket "Hang in there" - damn I'm feelin good.
I am alone here. I am striving here. I am doing my god damn best to prove the world to who ever will listen here. And it gets hard here. I panic and hide and push others as I fall into the whirlpool of my own diseased mind. Your excuse, Dad, is "Well I'm on steroids for poison ivy, and on meds for high blood pressure, and I just drove 4 hours..." but you never can admit that you passed on this genetic malfunction and my unhappiness is justified and sanctioned.
"You seem to be having a rough time the last few years... there are no magic words to make everything better."
Funny. I could have said the same to you, Dad. But I admit my issues. Publicly. I'm not going to give up, ever, nor will I hang up the phone. This quick sand way is the way things are, and since I chose this path less traveled by, and since it's gonna suck in any direction, I'll show you an effective end to a letter:
I'm sorry.
Mom's trying to mediate the whole thing and keep us calm, but I feel like I'm calm plenty and taking the punches like always. Dad's exasperated and tired of my pessimistic, ever-failing attitude - so he says. "GIVE UP! QUIT! THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY!" But then I asked for examples of when I've ever given anything up in my entire 24 years of being, so he hung up the phone.
Still I'm somber and cold and trudging through the empty sidewalks by the DeYoung and new Academy of Science Museum as if the cement was quick sand and I'm trying hard not to tense and get sucked in deeper by the darkness. Mom's jabbering on with excuses for everyone's mistakes and reminding me to chill out before she realizes I haven't said anything in 5 minutes. "Are you still there?"
This is what it always boils down to, honestly. I think by nature and an untamed dose of nurture, I've become a gal livin the path of adversity. What was that famous quote? Robert Frost? "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." Something like that. Though I doubt anyone knows what I mean. It's 2 brothers carving the success route but leaving me 4 years behind trying to prove myself and my uniqueness... so at 22 I took the wheel and jarred it to the left and pressed my right foot to the floor of my car. I started carving my own path, and I've thrashed at the wild bats and poisonous vines as I've pressed forward.
What happened when I was demoted? I got an email from ya, Dad, it said "Hang in there" and blah blah blah; and even my supervisor was telling me to quit the corrupt and toxic mess I was in, but I held out til the funding ran dry and I had no other choices.
I feel like I'm being told to look backwards and never forwards for what is best for me. I feel like I'm supposed to deal with what I've got, and bake something sweet when all I have is expired mayonnaise and a jar of pickles. I feel like you, like Palin, is telling me to stop looking into the past without promising a future... none of this advice is making any sense.
What happened when my landlord wouldn't give me my security deposit back, and harassed me and said I would go to hell? I took action and sued her! But you said, "Are you sure you want to do that?"
What happened when a mound of compost blew up in a mushroom cloud on my deck with where I used to live? You said, "All you can do is tell your roommates how you feel." Correct, but they cussed me out and made me believe there's an emotional price to pay for being clean. You told me I was over reacting. You told me I would never be happy in San Francisco.
What happened when my boyfriend abused me? No I never told you about that, Dad, because you would have said "Why don't you just come home to Michigan?" The subtle cue to quit, woven into a wet blanket "Hang in there" - damn I'm feelin good.
I am alone here. I am striving here. I am doing my god damn best to prove the world to who ever will listen here. And it gets hard here. I panic and hide and push others as I fall into the whirlpool of my own diseased mind. Your excuse, Dad, is "Well I'm on steroids for poison ivy, and on meds for high blood pressure, and I just drove 4 hours..." but you never can admit that you passed on this genetic malfunction and my unhappiness is justified and sanctioned.
"You seem to be having a rough time the last few years... there are no magic words to make everything better."
Funny. I could have said the same to you, Dad. But I admit my issues. Publicly. I'm not going to give up, ever, nor will I hang up the phone. This quick sand way is the way things are, and since I chose this path less traveled by, and since it's gonna suck in any direction, I'll show you an effective end to a letter:
I'm sorry.
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