Sometimes I want to write about something because its just happened and struck at my mind or heart or both with some force but I'm not sure whether I should because its really not my business.
I'm having one of those moments now.
So I search for a way to write about it in a cryptic metaphorical manner so its not an extreme breach of some moral I have somewhere. I'd make a terrible magazine journalist wouldn't I?
But I can't find a cryptic metaphorical solution, Unfortunately.
A relationship has ended, or changed, depending on how broadly scaled you look at relationships...
On a purely rational level its a somewhat interesting issue, for me, because I can sympathize with both of the people involved. A friend who has been hurt and is now left in confusion and distress... Another friend who has caused the hurt but whose experiences I can relate to and actions I can understand to a certain extent, even if I never behaved the same way.
Of course I only know part of the story and the roles are a little different compared to the experience of my own I somewhat relate it to, but many of the stress points of the relationship are very familiar.
I do, however, feel that she who has gotten the rotten half of the deal does not deserve it, she has been trying so hard, has grown so much in the time I've known her... Things seemed to be moving in the right direction. Its such a shame that such a thing had to happen now.
I just hope she has the strength to pull herself through it.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Whoa! (and some stuff about my old site n stuff)
I changed the appearance of this blog a bit today, the previous background was suddenly very irritating to me.
Probably something similar to the way I get sudden intense urges to re-arrange my house, or parts of it at least… Which is really difficult to achieve in this tiny little house, there are only so many ways you can actually arrange so much furniture in such a small space. I've been contemplating rearranging my bedroom and office areas (which kinda both half serve office/workbench functions currently) but am having difficulty deciding whether the pros are worth the cons… Which is possibly why I suddenly had the urge to change the blog a bit lol, rearrangement frustration or something.
Anyway.. I am totally getting off the point which is, the counter on the page, which I put there some time ago and was always a bit too wide to fit properly, now fits.. And where I thought it said "66" it actually says "662" Which totally blew me away… the low count and few comments made me assume one or two people were maybe dropping in to have a look every other month, but it seems there are more frequent visits than I realised lol, hence the Whoa! Title…
Anyways, as I've mentioned I'm gradually working on my resurrected website when I have time.. I'll probably have the sad strange and dysfunctional poetry type things up first then somehow find a way to organise the other writing in some sort of order…
As I read through my old stuff some of it makes me want to write about the stuff I wrote before.. How incredibly self absorbed! :P
I'm currently writing (on paper) some sort of filler for the six years during which I wasn't able to write, which is kinda difficult as my memory is not only coloured by more recent events and possibly somewhat biased (I'm trying to be more factual/rational than emotional about it) but I do have a pretty unreliable long term memory and there are a lot of big holes in it. But I have found that as I write more is coming back to me.
It'll probably be incredibly boring, due to its length.
I dunno, I know a lot of people who have a really short attention span when it comes to reading, and despite what some people tell me, I really don't know that my writing is interesting enough to hold peoples attention for that long, I mean, its somewhat interesting to me because I went through it, but is it interesting to others? I'm having some self worth issues I think :P
It is several handwritten pages already, and I'm not even past the first few weeks.
Although it does include some of my background on before we met for explanations sake.
Its weird writing like that, I mean, its more autobiographical than my usual writing (which is just some kind of mental vomit pouring out through my hands faster than I can think or speak about it), which makes me wonder sometimes if its worth the trouble, I mean, the people who do read this blog, why do you read it? Are you interested in what led up the beginning of the blog? For that matter, are you even interested in the teenage angst stuff I'll be resurrecting from my old website?
Comments would be welcomed on this, a bit of encouragement never goes astray :P
I write for me, but I put it online because I think others might appreciate it.
I wonder if there is a poll gadget I can put up here someplace...
edit: found a poll... use it!
I thought it'd be interesting to post a piece from my old site as like a sample or something..
The first one that caught my eye was a rather odd cutting/suicide type topic but I thought that might be a bit much.. See below for my second choice.
life
Life is odd. Don't deny it, don't argue, it is odd. Face it.
I mean, you live, you experience joy, fear, sadness, love, hate, depression, exuberance, satisfaction, exhaustion, hunger, thirst, a myriad of flavours, textures and colours... Then you die.
I mean, there is nothing stranger than life. Life is odd.
We are born... we can't walk, most of our senses are numbed in some way or another, and possible experience is very limited. As we grow older, our capacity for experience grows, but we are protected by parents or guardians, much like out numbed senses protected us at birth. Then, suddenly, we are thrust out into the world. Its different for everyone. Some people get pushed gently out into a sheltered life, some are booted and land on their head and never quite recover, some run out and trip over. And many variations in between, of course.
We continue to experience, and this is where everything is sharper. Things that hurt, hurt so much more. Things that please us are all the more pleasurable because they happen less often, but are always overshadowed because we learn that pleasure rarely lasts long.
We learn to deal with the harsh world, by numbing our senses and therefore numbing our emotions and our ability to realise something is wrong until its too late to fix it.
Isn't it odd?
Isn't it odd that we start off with numbed senses to protect us while we adjust to the world, and then once we leave natural protection, to cope with life on our own, and then as a defense, we numb our own senses, only in doing so we open ourselves to the possibility of even more pain and suffering, only because we are too blind to see it coming, its stabbed us to a metaphoric death before we've even had a chance to stop it.
I'd rather feel everything, miss nothing, and have quick reflexes... but its so hard.
Life truly is, odd.
Probably something similar to the way I get sudden intense urges to re-arrange my house, or parts of it at least… Which is really difficult to achieve in this tiny little house, there are only so many ways you can actually arrange so much furniture in such a small space. I've been contemplating rearranging my bedroom and office areas (which kinda both half serve office/workbench functions currently) but am having difficulty deciding whether the pros are worth the cons… Which is possibly why I suddenly had the urge to change the blog a bit lol, rearrangement frustration or something.
Anyway.. I am totally getting off the point which is, the counter on the page, which I put there some time ago and was always a bit too wide to fit properly, now fits.. And where I thought it said "66" it actually says "662" Which totally blew me away… the low count and few comments made me assume one or two people were maybe dropping in to have a look every other month, but it seems there are more frequent visits than I realised lol, hence the Whoa! Title…
Anyways, as I've mentioned I'm gradually working on my resurrected website when I have time.. I'll probably have the sad strange and dysfunctional poetry type things up first then somehow find a way to organise the other writing in some sort of order…
As I read through my old stuff some of it makes me want to write about the stuff I wrote before.. How incredibly self absorbed! :P
I'm currently writing (on paper) some sort of filler for the six years during which I wasn't able to write, which is kinda difficult as my memory is not only coloured by more recent events and possibly somewhat biased (I'm trying to be more factual/rational than emotional about it) but I do have a pretty unreliable long term memory and there are a lot of big holes in it. But I have found that as I write more is coming back to me.
It'll probably be incredibly boring, due to its length.
I dunno, I know a lot of people who have a really short attention span when it comes to reading, and despite what some people tell me, I really don't know that my writing is interesting enough to hold peoples attention for that long, I mean, its somewhat interesting to me because I went through it, but is it interesting to others? I'm having some self worth issues I think :P
It is several handwritten pages already, and I'm not even past the first few weeks.
Although it does include some of my background on before we met for explanations sake.
Its weird writing like that, I mean, its more autobiographical than my usual writing (which is just some kind of mental vomit pouring out through my hands faster than I can think or speak about it), which makes me wonder sometimes if its worth the trouble, I mean, the people who do read this blog, why do you read it? Are you interested in what led up the beginning of the blog? For that matter, are you even interested in the teenage angst stuff I'll be resurrecting from my old website?
Comments would be welcomed on this, a bit of encouragement never goes astray :P
I write for me, but I put it online because I think others might appreciate it.
I wonder if there is a poll gadget I can put up here someplace...
edit: found a poll... use it!
I thought it'd be interesting to post a piece from my old site as like a sample or something..
The first one that caught my eye was a rather odd cutting/suicide type topic but I thought that might be a bit much.. See below for my second choice.
life
Life is odd. Don't deny it, don't argue, it is odd. Face it.
I mean, you live, you experience joy, fear, sadness, love, hate, depression, exuberance, satisfaction, exhaustion, hunger, thirst, a myriad of flavours, textures and colours... Then you die.
I mean, there is nothing stranger than life. Life is odd.
We are born... we can't walk, most of our senses are numbed in some way or another, and possible experience is very limited. As we grow older, our capacity for experience grows, but we are protected by parents or guardians, much like out numbed senses protected us at birth. Then, suddenly, we are thrust out into the world. Its different for everyone. Some people get pushed gently out into a sheltered life, some are booted and land on their head and never quite recover, some run out and trip over. And many variations in between, of course.
We continue to experience, and this is where everything is sharper. Things that hurt, hurt so much more. Things that please us are all the more pleasurable because they happen less often, but are always overshadowed because we learn that pleasure rarely lasts long.
We learn to deal with the harsh world, by numbing our senses and therefore numbing our emotions and our ability to realise something is wrong until its too late to fix it.
Isn't it odd?
Isn't it odd that we start off with numbed senses to protect us while we adjust to the world, and then once we leave natural protection, to cope with life on our own, and then as a defense, we numb our own senses, only in doing so we open ourselves to the possibility of even more pain and suffering, only because we are too blind to see it coming, its stabbed us to a metaphoric death before we've even had a chance to stop it.
I'd rather feel everything, miss nothing, and have quick reflexes... but its so hard.
Life truly is, odd.
Friday, October 22, 2010
misplaced writing..
I did write a few pages of stuff on paper a week or two ago with the intention of posting it but I seem to have misplaced the notebook I wrote it in...
I've been looking for it but no luck so far.. When I find it, there will be a new post.. possibly quite long if I remember correctly...
edit: I found it but will probably merge it with the previous post as it is more or less an expansion of that topic.
I've been looking for it but no luck so far.. When I find it, there will be a new post.. possibly quite long if I remember correctly...
edit: I found it but will probably merge it with the previous post as it is more or less an expansion of that topic.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I knew I was gonna die by 21... (Expanded)
Finally made a start on resurrecting my old webpage.. Been reading through and organising my old writing.
Its been quite interesting to read those things that I wrote as a teenager, some of it over 10 years ago, and see how much I have changed, grown up, learned and evolved.. I was so confused.
Its a shame I was unable to write in most of the time in between, it would have been interesting to see the changes in progress.
I came to a realisation, about a feeling I had a long time ago. Perhaps its just a coincidence that the timing was so… Uncanny.
Allow me to explain.
This realisation was spurred buy reading my old writings. I remember thinking that I would probably not live past 21 years old or so… That sometime before that I would die, one way or another. I suspected it would be something to do with my brain, like a tumor or something.
It was actually a driving force in a lot of my reckless behavior I think. I couldn't settle into anything, I craved a variety of experience as if I would have a limited time for it.
But a single paragraph among many many pages made me realise that in a way, I did die. Or at least, a part of me did. I wonder of it is possible to resurrect a part of oneself?
Obviously, I'm still here, or this wouldn't be getting written, but still, in a way.. I was right.
How to explain? Is it possible to sum such a complex thing up in a couple of paragraphs? Or will it require pages of explanation and autobiography?
I'd hate to bore you, whoever is reading this. Aaah there is a battle in my mind now, between my ego who believes I'm most fascinating and my more modest and self conscious side who believes no one is really interested in my dull mind and its workings.
But when it comes down to it, I don't write for anyone but myself, and it really doesn't matter if anyone else reads it.
In the hopes that someone will appreciate/relate to/benefit from the stuff I write somehow, I put it online. So it doesn't just sit on a shelf someplace. At least someone might appreciate it besides myself…
But I digress.. Because I'm not sure where to start! And I'm afraid it might hurt.
Here's the shortish version.
In March 2003 I was 20 years old. My birthday is in October.
March 2003 I met my ex.
By the time my 21st birthday came around, we were living together as partners in a dingy old unit, with several of the most badly behaved cats I've ever known, and a small group of lovely pet rats.
That birthday was terrible. It was all about her as she had her first (in my experience) really bad "attack" of… anxiety? It was more like irrational anger and cruel impulses (to throw a pet rat onto the road) than irrational fear but in later years it fell under the broad category of anxiety.
She ruined dinner out with my parents with a disgusting attitude and somehow made it all my fault afterwards, as she always did.
By this point she'd already bullied, manipulated and criticised me into submission. To the point where all I was concerned about was making her feel better to reduce my own suffering. I was a shell of my former self, existing only to please her, because if I didn't please her, she hurt me. Not physically- I'd never even imply that she was physically abusive (unless you count the occasional slap) but emotionally and mentally.
Some sort of "attack" happened on or damn near every single one of my birthdays during our relationship, sometimes only calming down a short time before the next birthday then the cycle would start again.
That part of my life was like a limbo. I felt like I wasn't living, just existing. I couldn't grow in myself, I had to put all my energy and time and feelings into her.
I came out of it all a different person.
(a quick note… At the end of the relationship she claimed to several mutual friends that I was physically abusive, in an attempt to make herself look like the victim. She exaggerated one or two incidents and implied that it was a common occurrence. Anyone who knows me knows how much bull shit that is, but I just thought I'd point out that I have not lowered myself to the same level. I'd rather be honest and admit that I was too weak and pitiful and scared of getting emotionally hurt or hurting others to up and leave when I should have. Yes I made mistakes I wasn't perfect, but I do not deserve that kind of accusation.)
So, in a manner of speaking, I was dead by the time I reached my 21st birthday.
A huge part of the person I had been suffocated and passed into oblivion and when I read what I wrote before that time, I hardly recognise it as something that came from my head.
I find myself mourning now, the person who I was. Even though that person had a great many faults and seemed to be constantly suffering, bitter and torturing herself… she was intense and passionate and caring and lived for experience, didn't care how people judged her and thrived on being individual despite constant fears. Depression was fuel for creativity and happiness was manic and thrilling.
Perhaps my life now has no place for that person, but damn, I miss her.
I think the saddest thing about her loss is that she'd only just learned to love herself, after so many years of hate.
And after 6 years I am free, but I have to waste time learning who I am all over again.
Its been quite interesting to read those things that I wrote as a teenager, some of it over 10 years ago, and see how much I have changed, grown up, learned and evolved.. I was so confused.
Its a shame I was unable to write in most of the time in between, it would have been interesting to see the changes in progress.
I came to a realisation, about a feeling I had a long time ago. Perhaps its just a coincidence that the timing was so… Uncanny.
Allow me to explain.
This realisation was spurred buy reading my old writings. I remember thinking that I would probably not live past 21 years old or so… That sometime before that I would die, one way or another. I suspected it would be something to do with my brain, like a tumor or something.
It was actually a driving force in a lot of my reckless behavior I think. I couldn't settle into anything, I craved a variety of experience as if I would have a limited time for it.
But a single paragraph among many many pages made me realise that in a way, I did die. Or at least, a part of me did. I wonder of it is possible to resurrect a part of oneself?
Obviously, I'm still here, or this wouldn't be getting written, but still, in a way.. I was right.
How to explain? Is it possible to sum such a complex thing up in a couple of paragraphs? Or will it require pages of explanation and autobiography?
I'd hate to bore you, whoever is reading this. Aaah there is a battle in my mind now, between my ego who believes I'm most fascinating and my more modest and self conscious side who believes no one is really interested in my dull mind and its workings.
But when it comes down to it, I don't write for anyone but myself, and it really doesn't matter if anyone else reads it.
In the hopes that someone will appreciate/relate to/benefit from the stuff I write somehow, I put it online. So it doesn't just sit on a shelf someplace. At least someone might appreciate it besides myself…
But I digress.. Because I'm not sure where to start! And I'm afraid it might hurt.
Here's the shortish version.
In March 2003 I was 20 years old. My birthday is in October.
March 2003 I met my ex.
By the time my 21st birthday came around, we were living together as partners in a dingy old unit, with several of the most badly behaved cats I've ever known, and a small group of lovely pet rats.
That birthday was terrible. It was all about her as she had her first (in my experience) really bad "attack" of… anxiety? It was more like irrational anger and cruel impulses (to throw a pet rat onto the road) than irrational fear but in later years it fell under the broad category of anxiety.
She ruined dinner out with my parents with a disgusting attitude and somehow made it all my fault afterwards, as she always did.
By this point she'd already bullied, manipulated and criticised me into submission. To the point where all I was concerned about was making her feel better to reduce my own suffering. I was a shell of my former self, existing only to please her, because if I didn't please her, she hurt me. Not physically- I'd never even imply that she was physically abusive (unless you count the occasional slap) but emotionally and mentally.
Some sort of "attack" happened on or damn near every single one of my birthdays during our relationship, sometimes only calming down a short time before the next birthday then the cycle would start again.
That part of my life was like a limbo. I felt like I wasn't living, just existing. I couldn't grow in myself, I had to put all my energy and time and feelings into her.
I came out of it all a different person.
(a quick note… At the end of the relationship she claimed to several mutual friends that I was physically abusive, in an attempt to make herself look like the victim. She exaggerated one or two incidents and implied that it was a common occurrence. Anyone who knows me knows how much bull shit that is, but I just thought I'd point out that I have not lowered myself to the same level. I'd rather be honest and admit that I was too weak and pitiful and scared of getting emotionally hurt or hurting others to up and leave when I should have. Yes I made mistakes I wasn't perfect, but I do not deserve that kind of accusation.)
So, in a manner of speaking, I was dead by the time I reached my 21st birthday.
A huge part of the person I had been suffocated and passed into oblivion and when I read what I wrote before that time, I hardly recognise it as something that came from my head.
I find myself mourning now, the person who I was. Even though that person had a great many faults and seemed to be constantly suffering, bitter and torturing herself… she was intense and passionate and caring and lived for experience, didn't care how people judged her and thrived on being individual despite constant fears. Depression was fuel for creativity and happiness was manic and thrilling.
Perhaps my life now has no place for that person, but damn, I miss her.
I think the saddest thing about her loss is that she'd only just learned to love herself, after so many years of hate.
And after 6 years I am free, but I have to waste time learning who I am all over again.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Feeling Sorry For Myself
Suddenly I'm feeling awful sorry for myself…
Maybe it’s the soppy backstreet boys song playing right now.. Maybe it’s the discovery that someone who has repeatedly declared their love for me but constantly backs off with excuses of not wanting to settle down or be monogamous and have one partner now has… a partner, and has neglected to tell me.
Of course I'm not surprised that she's not told me, she always avoids me when she thinks she might upset/disturb/disappoint me, even though I consistently tell her I'm not that easily hurt.
No, I am hurt more by her not telling me, not talking to me, than by the fact that she currently has a partner.
There are many reasons that we shouldn't bother pursuing a relationship and we both know and have acknowledged them… So I'm not all that concerned, in fact, I'd like to be happy for her (despite a little jealousy) but I can't help but feel a bit disappointed that she's not spoken to me, not even to let me know.. Or even spoken to me and hidden it, which then leads me to wonder if she doesn't even think of me, doesn't care to talk to me, doesn't miss me at all.
I know I'm not the most sociable person, I withdraw and keep to myself and I am guilty of not initiating contact frequently myself, but that’s how I have always been and she knows that. I have occasionally said hello (or boo) and received no response at all, which hurts. Surely its not hard to drop a simple "sorry, busy, will get back to you"?
I don't know why I bother feeling jealous.. It's not like I am madly in love with her. I do love her, as a friend. I am attracted to her, we have chemistry. But I don't want a relationship with anyone right now and as I have already mentioned, there's plenty of reasons not to go there.
I honestly don't believe we would be compatible. We have chemistry but its not all fluffy love chemistry, there are more than a few sparks in there too.. We could have some bloody ripper fights if we didn't restrain ourselves.
When it comes down to it, I think part of me just loves being loved, or desired, and is jealous if someone else is receiving those feelings from someone I get those from.
I often wonder if I am even capable of real love, or if I simply soak up the feelings of other people and reflect them back.
I rarely have strong feelings for people and when I do, they've usually liked me first.
Of course, another individual I care greatly about throws a stick in the spokes of that idea.. Unless of course her feelings are interspersed with feelings of uncertainty, nervousness and possibly some rather negative feelings towards herself.
Maybe it’s the soppy backstreet boys song playing right now.. Maybe it’s the discovery that someone who has repeatedly declared their love for me but constantly backs off with excuses of not wanting to settle down or be monogamous and have one partner now has… a partner, and has neglected to tell me.
Of course I'm not surprised that she's not told me, she always avoids me when she thinks she might upset/disturb/disappoint me, even though I consistently tell her I'm not that easily hurt.
No, I am hurt more by her not telling me, not talking to me, than by the fact that she currently has a partner.
There are many reasons that we shouldn't bother pursuing a relationship and we both know and have acknowledged them… So I'm not all that concerned, in fact, I'd like to be happy for her (despite a little jealousy) but I can't help but feel a bit disappointed that she's not spoken to me, not even to let me know.. Or even spoken to me and hidden it, which then leads me to wonder if she doesn't even think of me, doesn't care to talk to me, doesn't miss me at all.
I know I'm not the most sociable person, I withdraw and keep to myself and I am guilty of not initiating contact frequently myself, but that’s how I have always been and she knows that. I have occasionally said hello (or boo) and received no response at all, which hurts. Surely its not hard to drop a simple "sorry, busy, will get back to you"?
I don't know why I bother feeling jealous.. It's not like I am madly in love with her. I do love her, as a friend. I am attracted to her, we have chemistry. But I don't want a relationship with anyone right now and as I have already mentioned, there's plenty of reasons not to go there.
I honestly don't believe we would be compatible. We have chemistry but its not all fluffy love chemistry, there are more than a few sparks in there too.. We could have some bloody ripper fights if we didn't restrain ourselves.
When it comes down to it, I think part of me just loves being loved, or desired, and is jealous if someone else is receiving those feelings from someone I get those from.
I often wonder if I am even capable of real love, or if I simply soak up the feelings of other people and reflect them back.
I rarely have strong feelings for people and when I do, they've usually liked me first.
Of course, another individual I care greatly about throws a stick in the spokes of that idea.. Unless of course her feelings are interspersed with feelings of uncertainty, nervousness and possibly some rather negative feelings towards herself.
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