We exist. We're not dead. Funny, that. It's been an interesting little time, playing the game that isn't a game.
This is not a game.
This is not a game.
This is not a game.
The mantra of an ARGer, now become real. We've all seen that. We've more than seen that. We've been helping where we can. Maybe we've been lying a bit too low. Watching, waiting, listening.
It's almost funny to some, I feel sure. Like a butterfly on a pin, struggling. Even if it manages to get free, it's not going to survive. That's what people think they see. Maybe it's better sometimes to let people keep those perceptions.
We hang on, we laugh. We find life and make the most of it. To live is an awfully big adventure, after all. We dance, play, fight, run, sing, and learn.
An uninterrupted sleep is rare and valuable commodity.
We cry. We have lost people, and we will probably continue to do so. Cutting ourselves off from others isn't going to prevent that. Oh, we've seen some of the things going on recently, and they're unpleasant as heck. Does that mean we sould lie down and bare our throats?
There are always so many paths that can be taken. sure, it's easiest to follow certain ones, but we must do what we can, I suppose.
Hopefully, we'll be posting a bit more, soon. Things have been hectic recently, working on things.
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Dream a little dream
How many dreams does a person have in a night? Too many.
Stars going out like candles, an image shown in so many media. The splintering of bone.Why dream about something like that? When we're children, we have nightmares even then. Glowing green eyes in the depths of a cave. A whispered name.
I dreamed tonight that I was in a maze. Not a labyrinth, a maze. A multicursal stucture, rather than a unicursal structure. The walls were not stone. The were gray, gray, gray and brown, with writing on them. Some form of concrete or stucco? Beside the point.
Alchemical symbols. Antimony. Silver. Platinum. Magnesium. Gold. All beneath a layer of dust so thick that I could see my footprints in it. Ahead of me was evidence of someone passing before. Small of stature, bare feet. Bare feet in that mess... I've stepped in worse, I guess.
As I ran a hand along the grime and rust-covered wall, watching the flowering of the rust along the surface, I began to notice lighter spots along the wall. They were rectangles, reaching from above my head to the floor. Like when you have a piece of furniture in a single place for a very long time and it leaves a mark when you move it.
It took a long moment as I looked at the marks, and I began to realize that they were doors. Or where there were doors. Places where the doors had vanished. What would happen if you were in a room and the door vanished? Would you try to go through the wall?
What if you couldn't go through the wall due to being trapped in an extradimensional pocket? Set fire to the room? Listen to the voices? Try to press on anyway? Curl up in a ball and give up? Rage against the sky that you no longer had access to and that would not listen, anyway? Skies are very bad listeners. They have no ears.
Pc ypn wngf ittlwf qxpy sff httn dwhh ui, ak ah httrw oqixs bw ttwozs tq evmccw spr rdrlmps.
There were true openings in the walls now. Tiny altars of perhaps-dead things that have been forgotten for many a year. A woman robed in cobweb, the wet, glittering black of her eyes shielded by skeletal fingers, a ring glinting on each. A small, stout man with the face of an reptile of some sort, eyes sparkling and following every movement, completely nude. A many-horned creature, vague in form, leathery and violent in its very appearance. A young woman with the eyes of a cat, snakes and the tails of scorpions woven into her sooty hair, a shattered hand outstretched in supplication. A child with her hands over her eyes, wings of light broken and shattered. Offerings become dust themselves, scattered and strewn away.
Some less forgotten, a woman of ironwood will, a misbegotten child, a singing cold wind, the faceless bachelor thief, and many more. Teir numbers grow. There are many ways to give something power, but why do people choose to? Do what ways they choose matter to the chosen? The dust was stirred more around some than around others, this part of the path heavily trodden and lit by the glow of screens unseen.
Other tiny staues are tucked in smaller nooks, most of them toppled over on their sides, a spread of acrid liquid spilling from their bases, discoloring the air and the mind with shades of dreams lost and unseen.
As I went further, the hundred alcoves became fewer. They were all empty, except for more graffiti, and the walls have elaborate water stains, dripping rust and orange colors down the concrete. One of the spaces had a small round opening, perhaps six inches in diameter, presumably the mouth of a pipe. It was also surrounded by a flower of rust stains, and some individual with a very strange sense of humor left a ragged black scrawl reading “The Chicken Goes Here” with an arrow pointing to it.
If only I’d thought to bring a chicken... and that was an odd place to wake up from, babbling and clinging.
Stars going out like candles, an image shown in so many media. The splintering of bone.Why dream about something like that? When we're children, we have nightmares even then. Glowing green eyes in the depths of a cave. A whispered name.
I dreamed tonight that I was in a maze. Not a labyrinth, a maze. A multicursal stucture, rather than a unicursal structure. The walls were not stone. The were gray, gray, gray and brown, with writing on them. Some form of concrete or stucco? Beside the point.
Alchemical symbols. Antimony. Silver. Platinum. Magnesium. Gold. All beneath a layer of dust so thick that I could see my footprints in it. Ahead of me was evidence of someone passing before. Small of stature, bare feet. Bare feet in that mess... I've stepped in worse, I guess.
As I ran a hand along the grime and rust-covered wall, watching the flowering of the rust along the surface, I began to notice lighter spots along the wall. They were rectangles, reaching from above my head to the floor. Like when you have a piece of furniture in a single place for a very long time and it leaves a mark when you move it.
It took a long moment as I looked at the marks, and I began to realize that they were doors. Or where there were doors. Places where the doors had vanished. What would happen if you were in a room and the door vanished? Would you try to go through the wall?
What if you couldn't go through the wall due to being trapped in an extradimensional pocket? Set fire to the room? Listen to the voices? Try to press on anyway? Curl up in a ball and give up? Rage against the sky that you no longer had access to and that would not listen, anyway? Skies are very bad listeners. They have no ears.
Pc ypn wngf ittlwf qxpy sff httn dwhh ui, ak ah httrw oqixs bw ttwozs tq evmccw spr rdrlmps.
There were true openings in the walls now. Tiny altars of perhaps-dead things that have been forgotten for many a year. A woman robed in cobweb, the wet, glittering black of her eyes shielded by skeletal fingers, a ring glinting on each. A small, stout man with the face of an reptile of some sort, eyes sparkling and following every movement, completely nude. A many-horned creature, vague in form, leathery and violent in its very appearance. A young woman with the eyes of a cat, snakes and the tails of scorpions woven into her sooty hair, a shattered hand outstretched in supplication. A child with her hands over her eyes, wings of light broken and shattered. Offerings become dust themselves, scattered and strewn away.
Tell the king; the fair wrought house has fallen
No shelter has Apollo, nor sacred laurel leaves
The fountains are now silent; the voice is stilled.
It is finished.
Other tiny staues are tucked in smaller nooks, most of them toppled over on their sides, a spread of acrid liquid spilling from their bases, discoloring the air and the mind with shades of dreams lost and unseen.
As I went further, the hundred alcoves became fewer. They were all empty, except for more graffiti, and the walls have elaborate water stains, dripping rust and orange colors down the concrete. One of the spaces had a small round opening, perhaps six inches in diameter, presumably the mouth of a pipe. It was also surrounded by a flower of rust stains, and some individual with a very strange sense of humor left a ragged black scrawl reading “The Chicken Goes Here” with an arrow pointing to it.
If only I’d thought to bring a chicken... and that was an odd place to wake up from, babbling and clinging.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Continuation
And I demand
You put my heart back in my hand
And wipe it clean
From the mess you made of me
And I require
You make me free from this desire
And when you leave, I'd better be the innocent
I used to be
The world is full of poets
We don't need anymore
The world is full of singers
We don't need anymore
The world is full of lovers
We don't need anymore
Something I've been working on.
You put my heart back in my hand
And wipe it clean
From the mess you made of me
And I require
You make me free from this desire
And when you leave, I'd better be the innocent
I used to be
The world is full of poets
We don't need anymore
The world is full of singers
We don't need anymore
The world is full of lovers
We don't need anymore
Something I've been working on.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
We Soldier On... Or Something
Maybe I was trying to be nice about your attitude and demeanor, Kailin.
They took Tia away yesterday. The doctors wouldn't tell us what exactly was wrong, but well... You saw what Kailin overheard. I was almost tempted to poke zer to nick Tia's chart. If nothing else, due to my job, I'm good at deciphering nurse's notes and stuff from doctors.
We couldn't chance getting kicked out, though. Of course. So we just sat yesterday, and talked some. Kailin's definiely interesting to talk to sometimes. But then again, I commend anyone that can keep up with my nervous rambling.
Essentially, due to the circumstances, they probably had to either induce labor or abort... It wouldn't even be counted as a miscarriage at this point. It'd just be count as a lost pregnancy. I just... This is wrong.
I hate being unable to do anything. They brought back Tia last night... She's so pale, and she hasn't woken up yet. She seems more stable, though. Less shuddery and at least there's a few positive things there... She's just... asleep now. I talked one of the nurses into letting us stay in Tia's room again with her. If nothing else, it would be good to have someone in here in case she wakes up.
I feel sure she's going to be disoriented when she wakes. Because she's going to wake up.
...One of the nurses just said the doctor wants to speak with me when he comes in today. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing. This is going to be hell on our funds, but at least we have stuff saved up still. It's worth it, anyway. I just wish... I wish things weren't this way. But then, don't we all?
I've seen a few things around here that have put me on edge, but for now, my focus is Tia and Kailin and maintaining things as best I can. Everything seems to be trying to crumble, though. As always. And I've been making myself sick again. We'll manage, though. I don't know what else to say other than that right now.
They took Tia away yesterday. The doctors wouldn't tell us what exactly was wrong, but well... You saw what Kailin overheard. I was almost tempted to poke zer to nick Tia's chart. If nothing else, due to my job, I'm good at deciphering nurse's notes and stuff from doctors.
We couldn't chance getting kicked out, though. Of course. So we just sat yesterday, and talked some. Kailin's definiely interesting to talk to sometimes. But then again, I commend anyone that can keep up with my nervous rambling.
Essentially, due to the circumstances, they probably had to either induce labor or abort... It wouldn't even be counted as a miscarriage at this point. It'd just be count as a lost pregnancy. I just... This is wrong.
I hate being unable to do anything. They brought back Tia last night... She's so pale, and she hasn't woken up yet. She seems more stable, though. Less shuddery and at least there's a few positive things there... She's just... asleep now. I talked one of the nurses into letting us stay in Tia's room again with her. If nothing else, it would be good to have someone in here in case she wakes up.
I feel sure she's going to be disoriented when she wakes. Because she's going to wake up.
...One of the nurses just said the doctor wants to speak with me when he comes in today. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing. This is going to be hell on our funds, but at least we have stuff saved up still. It's worth it, anyway. I just wish... I wish things weren't this way. But then, don't we all?
I've seen a few things around here that have put me on edge, but for now, my focus is Tia and Kailin and maintaining things as best I can. Everything seems to be trying to crumble, though. As always. And I've been making myself sick again. We'll manage, though. I don't know what else to say other than that right now.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Sleepless in the Waiting Room
I'm not sleeping. Chilled out is not the phrase that I would use for me, though Lis seems to think it appropriate (that's cute).
I did meet a guy in the caf last night. I think he had the hots for me. Totally drooling the whole time. Totally worthless. A waste of my time.
Sarcasm. I have it.
The doctor's are whispering things. They think no one can hear. They think we're asleep. They want to save Tia. Not the baby. It's too early on to save the baby. There's really no hope for it. Webbed toes and fingers and incomplete organs.
And it's pretty much not going to make it. Too complex. Black blood everywhere. It's started to die in the womb. And it could kill Tia.
I've said too much.
Tia doesn't know.
She's still K.O.
Lucky me. First to know, and no way to fix the situation.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Yeah, anyway
Kailin calls me an optimist, and maybe, in comparison to zer, I am. But then, a lot of people are, in comparison to Kailin. The kid's been through a lot. That's not my story to tell, though.
Dreams, right... Yeah, I dream a lot. People, places, things unfamiliar, and things better left unseen. I paint. People, places and things better left unseen. I dispose of many of the paintings. Most of them are of no worth anyway, and aren't exactly for mass consumption. I just sometimes have to get things out of my head and onto paper, you know? Some people do that with writing. I guess I do it with paintings? Well, paintings and my random rambles. But then, nobody really cares about an artist until they're dead or insane, anyway.
Most of it's stuff that doesn't make any sense. It's funny. It's like I dream in abstracts sometimes. Life is mutable. Every choice, every moment changes something. It's pointless to ever think you can know every angle, even when you feel like you do. There are shadows from every side, anyway. People focus so much on the evil that they know, but mabe there's more there.
And now I sound as silly and ominous as Kailin. Heh... Anyway, I'm likely to keep having weird dreams. I've had them for years, before any of this happened. They've just gotten more prominent and bothersome recently. By the way, I'm getting a new tattoo, I think. If I'm going to look odd, might as well really go for it. And I may not post another painting on my next post... I don't know, it all depends on what falls out of my head between now and the next time I decide to write.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Dreams, Dreaming, Dreamt
First, no, there hasn't been a test yet. Not enough time to be sure of accuracy, if the timing's what I'm pretty sure it is. Lovely.
Yeah, I've been dreaming again, and painting and drawing. Ya'll don't get to see those right now, though. My camera broke, and honestly, there are some things that don't bear seeing. Believe me, these don't.
Dreaming is always strange, yeah? Shadows on he horizon, becoming more distinct. But then, there's always been shadows on the horizon, they're just getting closer. Shadows have faces. Maybe it was easier when I couldn't identify the faces. Maybe it was easier when I didn't dream of people I've met and people I've never met dying or not dying. It's layered. Mutable. Things are changeable.
Sitting in a room as a teenager, talking to Doctor Sanchez. There's someone else there. I can't... I can't see. That's the weird part, because I always see, and I always remember. But this time, all I can tell is there's another person. It's like there's a gap in the dream, a place where the colors don't flow.
There are always colors, especially in dreams. It's weird, I know. Colors and imagey sorts of things, feelings. It's usually not a big thing, not worth mentioning, I guess it's a form of synesthesia, though it's been getting worse over the last few months. Especially when I'm on pain meds, it's not just distracting little things in the corner of my eye. That's part of why I've been trying to wean myself off of meds earlier than I "should" every time I get hurt. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe I'm nutso. Well... That last part was a given.
Shadows. A teenager, hurt.Have to help. Can't... Can't tell a lot of things, but I hate this kind of dream. Where you're standing there, frozen, and you have to watch someone hurt or die. Can't change it... But you have to. Can't even tell if it's a boy or a girl. Dark hair, dark eyes. Two people in one shell. Fire... Ugh. I have to... Things can be changed.
Right.
Yeah, I've been dreaming again, and painting and drawing. Ya'll don't get to see those right now, though. My camera broke, and honestly, there are some things that don't bear seeing. Believe me, these don't.
Dreaming is always strange, yeah? Shadows on he horizon, becoming more distinct. But then, there's always been shadows on the horizon, they're just getting closer. Shadows have faces. Maybe it was easier when I couldn't identify the faces. Maybe it was easier when I didn't dream of people I've met and people I've never met dying or not dying. It's layered. Mutable. Things are changeable.
Sitting in a room as a teenager, talking to Doctor Sanchez. There's someone else there. I can't... I can't see. That's the weird part, because I always see, and I always remember. But this time, all I can tell is there's another person. It's like there's a gap in the dream, a place where the colors don't flow.
There are always colors, especially in dreams. It's weird, I know. Colors and imagey sorts of things, feelings. It's usually not a big thing, not worth mentioning, I guess it's a form of synesthesia, though it's been getting worse over the last few months. Especially when I'm on pain meds, it's not just distracting little things in the corner of my eye. That's part of why I've been trying to wean myself off of meds earlier than I "should" every time I get hurt. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe I'm nutso. Well... That last part was a given.
Shadows. A teenager, hurt.Have to help. Can't... Can't tell a lot of things, but I hate this kind of dream. Where you're standing there, frozen, and you have to watch someone hurt or die. Can't change it... But you have to. Can't even tell if it's a boy or a girl. Dark hair, dark eyes. Two people in one shell. Fire... Ugh. I have to... Things can be changed.
Right.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
A Note
Shaun left on Monday. We were sad to see him go, but I get that he feels he needs the space. Email me or call any time, man. We're moving on again.
Tia's still pretty quiet, but despite Sheppy-boy's post, she's a little better. Smiling a little easier.
Also:
Not that anyone's going to read this or even gives a care what I have to say, but since it's apparently International Jump on Elaine Logan's Case Week (Or so)
(Paraphrased from an email I sent her in response to all of this)
1.Elaine has never been anything but kind to me. That's got to count for something, because I'm not the most social sort. a
2. She does try to have at least some people's best interest in mind (though rarely fully her own) which is more than I can say for many of the people I've read about in these situations, much less met.
3. Yes, she has her rough edges, and can be, as some might say, a "bitch" to outsiders, to the people she does let in, she can be one of the most caring, loving, loyal (many might say stupidly so) people I have ever met.
4. She is trying to atone for her past. That is one of the of the hugest things to me. She wants to make things better, and she acts on it rather than sitting around with her thumb up hrr butt. She knows that she will never find personal retribution, and so she does what you can to fight for what you can grasp, what she can do to help others.
5.Yes, she screwed up and made bad decisions. She screwed up big time, she has hurt others, many others, but she is trying to fight past that. Maybe people will eventually try to forgive her or convince her that they do, but she's not going to forgive herself. She's beating herself up over things plenty without any help.
I could also go into the subject of bullies who kick people when they're down, but honestly, Gargoyle's not worth the time or energy.
None of us are perfect, so what right have we to judge, anyway?
Tia's still pretty quiet, but despite Sheppy-boy's post, she's a little better. Smiling a little easier.
Also:
Not that anyone's going to read this or even gives a care what I have to say, but since it's apparently International Jump on Elaine Logan's Case Week (Or so)
(Paraphrased from an email I sent her in response to all of this)
1.Elaine has never been anything but kind to me. That's got to count for something, because I'm not the most social sort. a
2. She does try to have at least some people's best interest in mind (though rarely fully her own) which is more than I can say for many of the people I've read about in these situations, much less met.
3. Yes, she has her rough edges, and can be, as some might say, a "bitch" to outsiders, to the people she does let in, she can be one of the most caring, loving, loyal (many might say stupidly so) people I have ever met.
4. She is trying to atone for her past. That is one of the of the hugest things to me. She wants to make things better, and she acts on it rather than sitting around with her thumb up hrr butt. She knows that she will never find personal retribution, and so she does what you can to fight for what you can grasp, what she can do to help others.
5.Yes, she screwed up and made bad decisions. She screwed up big time, she has hurt others, many others, but she is trying to fight past that. Maybe people will eventually try to forgive her or convince her that they do, but she's not going to forgive herself. She's beating herself up over things plenty without any help.
I could also go into the subject of bullies who kick people when they're down, but honestly, Gargoyle's not worth the time or energy.
None of us are perfect, so what right have we to judge, anyway?
Friday, December 9, 2011
Happiness
Happiness. It seems like such an intangible thing these days. With all the deaths and pains and everything else, one must wonder where such a concept would come from right now, and why.
It is simple. There are no "happy ever afters". None. I mean look at it, stepsisters slicing off toes to fit into glass slippers and little girls cutting their way out of wolves' bellies. Happily ever after doesn't come cheap, that's for sure, even if it does exist.
Now, I hear you asking, since when did Lis become such a pessimist? I'm not one. I am a realist. Despite everything, despite my seeming naivete, I am a realist. Despite my opening myself to people and letting myself get hurt, and seeming to trust overmuch, I am a realist. Despite wanting to take away the pain of the world at times, I am a realist. I take risks as they are needed and despite the words of others, expect nothing in the way of positive or negative return.
No, the reason I say this is that "happy ever after" is a static concept. Happiness is not static. It is something that you have to strive for every day of your life. Through darkness and pain and hopelessness and even, at times, loss. Things can get so very dark, but you keep fighting, because that's all you have left.
The events of the last month or so are what led me to think about this, I guess. I mean, it's probably stupid and not very well thought-out, but I kind of wanted to write it down for everyone to see. Even if only to point and laugh at it.
We hit Washington state last night, and reached our destination. We're set up for the moment at a hotel, and it's actually been pretty interesting. It's so cold up here! Oh my gosh! How do people live up here for years? Call me a snowbird and a wimp. Well, it's not snowing here yet, at least. I'm kind of glad of that. Snow is shenanigans.
It is simple. There are no "happy ever afters". None. I mean look at it, stepsisters slicing off toes to fit into glass slippers and little girls cutting their way out of wolves' bellies. Happily ever after doesn't come cheap, that's for sure, even if it does exist.
Now, I hear you asking, since when did Lis become such a pessimist? I'm not one. I am a realist. Despite everything, despite my seeming naivete, I am a realist. Despite my opening myself to people and letting myself get hurt, and seeming to trust overmuch, I am a realist. Despite wanting to take away the pain of the world at times, I am a realist. I take risks as they are needed and despite the words of others, expect nothing in the way of positive or negative return.
No, the reason I say this is that "happy ever after" is a static concept. Happiness is not static. It is something that you have to strive for every day of your life. Through darkness and pain and hopelessness and even, at times, loss. Things can get so very dark, but you keep fighting, because that's all you have left.
The events of the last month or so are what led me to think about this, I guess. I mean, it's probably stupid and not very well thought-out, but I kind of wanted to write it down for everyone to see. Even if only to point and laugh at it.
We hit Washington state last night, and reached our destination. We're set up for the moment at a hotel, and it's actually been pretty interesting. It's so cold up here! Oh my gosh! How do people live up here for years? Call me a snowbird and a wimp. Well, it's not snowing here yet, at least. I'm kind of glad of that. Snow is shenanigans.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Looking Back on Things.
The tears I feel today
I'll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I'll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight;
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes, I'll keep my tears till later:
But my grief will never go.
-Anne McCaffrey, Dragonsinger
On top of everything else, one of my favorite authors died this past week. It's funny how someone you've never met can have such an impact on your life, can draw you out of depression and the like. I'll always remember finding one of her books in middle school, and being lost n a world of dragons and firelizards. Books and painting have always been my escape from things. These days, books moreso, for a few reasons, though I still paint and draw. I haven't had anything I've felt worth posting recently in that area, sorry.
Back on subject. If a writer of fiction who I have never met died, and it has impacted me so, how much more does it impact me to have multiple people that I consider friends, no matter for how short a time they were, die? Exponentially.
I'm fine, though. Blake's been a bit... on edge recently, after the incident, and that's understandable. I apologized for the way I was acting, though in my opinion he rather overstated just how... unstable I was at the moment. I don't hold it against him, though. We're all stressed right now, and Tia's worn thin trying to take care of both of us. I really should do what I can to make things easier.
I've never really liked pain meds, to be honest. It's not for the reasons Tia was saying or to make myself some kind of martyr or the like. P'sh... Me, a martyr. That would be a litle silly. They just... make my head feel funny. No matter what kind I take. It's a bit annoying. That and the drowsiness is not my friend at the moment, but at least I don't really dream as much when I'm on pain meds. Small blessings.
I'm sorry for anyone I made worry and anyone I've inconvenienced by my getting hurt. Believe me, I'm not having fun right now, because of it.
...Anyway, I thought that little poem at the start of this was fitting right now. Way too fitting.
We're probably going to be moving on again really soon.
I'll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I'll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight;
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes, I'll keep my tears till later:
But my grief will never go.
-Anne McCaffrey, Dragonsinger
On top of everything else, one of my favorite authors died this past week. It's funny how someone you've never met can have such an impact on your life, can draw you out of depression and the like. I'll always remember finding one of her books in middle school, and being lost n a world of dragons and firelizards. Books and painting have always been my escape from things. These days, books moreso, for a few reasons, though I still paint and draw. I haven't had anything I've felt worth posting recently in that area, sorry.
Back on subject. If a writer of fiction who I have never met died, and it has impacted me so, how much more does it impact me to have multiple people that I consider friends, no matter for how short a time they were, die? Exponentially.
I'm fine, though. Blake's been a bit... on edge recently, after the incident, and that's understandable. I apologized for the way I was acting, though in my opinion he rather overstated just how... unstable I was at the moment. I don't hold it against him, though. We're all stressed right now, and Tia's worn thin trying to take care of both of us. I really should do what I can to make things easier.
I've never really liked pain meds, to be honest. It's not for the reasons Tia was saying or to make myself some kind of martyr or the like. P'sh... Me, a martyr. That would be a litle silly. They just... make my head feel funny. No matter what kind I take. It's a bit annoying. That and the drowsiness is not my friend at the moment, but at least I don't really dream as much when I'm on pain meds. Small blessings.
I'm sorry for anyone I made worry and anyone I've inconvenienced by my getting hurt. Believe me, I'm not having fun right now, because of it.
...Anyway, I thought that little poem at the start of this was fitting right now. Way too fitting.
We're probably going to be moving on again really soon.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Nostalgia dump-friendship
Past.
It's funny when you think of first meetings. I talk so much about friends, about Tia. Tia's my best friend. She's the only one who would have me for years. She'd deny that. She'd reflect the words back at me, but it's true.
Halfway into Sophomore year. Nearly a year after the incident which shattered my life. The skinny bastard, I hear you say?
No.
Just general, life sometimes falls apart, screwed up-ness. It's funny how your peers treat you when your mother runs your father out of the house at gunpoint, he leaves town, and nobody explains why. It's funny what assumptions are made when you have a sudden shift of personality. It's funny how things change when you let yourself be a victim.
I let myself be a victim.
Nearly halfway into Sophomore year in a mid-sized town in southern Alabama, I was alone as I'd never been alone before. I was scared of the world. Why? Because people exploit weakness. Especially teenagers.
I was getting picked on. Again. Messed with. Again. Pushed around. Again. People exploit weakness.
There was a new girl at school that day. On her first day, she stepped in and defended me. With words and with fists. I was in shock. Funny, that. Someone standing up for me surprised me more than the torment itself. Only a year ago, I would have been able to deal for myself. Funny how people let you fall when you break. When your situation is no longer viable for what they see as the requirements for their friendship.
She got sent home, of course.
As did I, even though all I'd done was sit there on the floor and let people do what they would. Funny how that works. Funny how in this world we are in, in the schools, the victim and defender are punished just as much as the aggressor. Well, possibly not just as much. I'm not here to talk about the state of the public education system, though. We'll save that for another day.
Of course, I had to go back the next day. Of course.
Doodled my way through classes, answered questions they thought I wasn't paying attention to. The usual. Tried to ignore people in the hall. Things slipped into my locker. The usual. The lunchroom. Sitting alone again as always. The usual.
Or not. This girl comes over to my table and just sort of sits down. I watched her for a long moment over the top of my book. Of course it was the chick from the day before. Of course. That's not embarrassing in the least, some random stranger deciding to step in on your daily session of being bullied.
She was new in town. On edge, especially after the day before. All I got from her that first day is that her name was Tia, and her dad had gotten transferred to the Army base near town. I apologized for the day before, of course. (I always apologize) She just frowned at me for that.
She didn't necessarily want to make friends at first. Said her family moved too much, anyway. Somehow I managed to worm my way past that, though. She needed a friend. She was angry, bitter, and far too used to leaving people behind. And well, at that point, my pickings were slim. Besides the fact that she ended up having my back in later incidents as well. Honestly, I said it back then, and I'll say it now. I appreciate the sentiment of threatening someone for my sake, but it's not worth that.
She became one of the best people I've had in my life. More than I would dare to ask for. Tia could do much better than some broken little... mouse for a friend. I was rebuilding, though. I always rebuild.
We were friends for two and a half years before she moved. He father got transferred again. All the way across the country. She got distant again when she found out. After all, we had promised to be there for each other. We had promised no to let the other get hurt. That we would see each other happy. And we both so hate to break promises. We talked. We decided to finish out the year like nothing was going wrong. We would stay in touch. I was stubborn about that. I couldn't lose another friend after Jared killed himself.
People don't always leave. People don't always abandon you. I repeated these words to her more than once in those last few months.
And we did stay in touch. Life went on. Things changes, we lost people. We gained people. We were there for each other through our highs and lows. Whether over the phone or over the internet.
Hell, this is the person who, when all of this started just some months ago, picked up and drove to Alabama from California simply because she was worried about me. Because she wanted to protect me.
People look at us and see what they want to see. A tall, strong, independent-seeming, gorgeous woman and a small, fragile, shy, dependent-seeming, cute girl. There's so much more there. So much more than what's on the outer layer of things. So much more than what someone might see as possessiveness. So much more than the shaky attempts to drive us apart. You do not know the half of it, even with this post. And you probably never will.
It's funny when you think of first meetings. I talk so much about friends, about Tia. Tia's my best friend. She's the only one who would have me for years. She'd deny that. She'd reflect the words back at me, but it's true.
Halfway into Sophomore year. Nearly a year after the incident which shattered my life. The skinny bastard, I hear you say?
No.
Just general, life sometimes falls apart, screwed up-ness. It's funny how your peers treat you when your mother runs your father out of the house at gunpoint, he leaves town, and nobody explains why. It's funny what assumptions are made when you have a sudden shift of personality. It's funny how things change when you let yourself be a victim.
I let myself be a victim.
Nearly halfway into Sophomore year in a mid-sized town in southern Alabama, I was alone as I'd never been alone before. I was scared of the world. Why? Because people exploit weakness. Especially teenagers.
I was getting picked on. Again. Messed with. Again. Pushed around. Again. People exploit weakness.
There was a new girl at school that day. On her first day, she stepped in and defended me. With words and with fists. I was in shock. Funny, that. Someone standing up for me surprised me more than the torment itself. Only a year ago, I would have been able to deal for myself. Funny how people let you fall when you break. When your situation is no longer viable for what they see as the requirements for their friendship.
She got sent home, of course.
As did I, even though all I'd done was sit there on the floor and let people do what they would. Funny how that works. Funny how in this world we are in, in the schools, the victim and defender are punished just as much as the aggressor. Well, possibly not just as much. I'm not here to talk about the state of the public education system, though. We'll save that for another day.
Of course, I had to go back the next day. Of course.
Doodled my way through classes, answered questions they thought I wasn't paying attention to. The usual. Tried to ignore people in the hall. Things slipped into my locker. The usual. The lunchroom. Sitting alone again as always. The usual.
Or not. This girl comes over to my table and just sort of sits down. I watched her for a long moment over the top of my book. Of course it was the chick from the day before. Of course. That's not embarrassing in the least, some random stranger deciding to step in on your daily session of being bullied.
She was new in town. On edge, especially after the day before. All I got from her that first day is that her name was Tia, and her dad had gotten transferred to the Army base near town. I apologized for the day before, of course. (I always apologize) She just frowned at me for that.
She didn't necessarily want to make friends at first. Said her family moved too much, anyway. Somehow I managed to worm my way past that, though. She needed a friend. She was angry, bitter, and far too used to leaving people behind. And well, at that point, my pickings were slim. Besides the fact that she ended up having my back in later incidents as well. Honestly, I said it back then, and I'll say it now. I appreciate the sentiment of threatening someone for my sake, but it's not worth that.
She became one of the best people I've had in my life. More than I would dare to ask for. Tia could do much better than some broken little... mouse for a friend. I was rebuilding, though. I always rebuild.
We were friends for two and a half years before she moved. He father got transferred again. All the way across the country. She got distant again when she found out. After all, we had promised to be there for each other. We had promised no to let the other get hurt. That we would see each other happy. And we both so hate to break promises. We talked. We decided to finish out the year like nothing was going wrong. We would stay in touch. I was stubborn about that. I couldn't lose another friend after Jared killed himself.
People don't always leave. People don't always abandon you. I repeated these words to her more than once in those last few months.
And we did stay in touch. Life went on. Things changes, we lost people. We gained people. We were there for each other through our highs and lows. Whether over the phone or over the internet.
Hell, this is the person who, when all of this started just some months ago, picked up and drove to Alabama from California simply because she was worried about me. Because she wanted to protect me.
People look at us and see what they want to see. A tall, strong, independent-seeming, gorgeous woman and a small, fragile, shy, dependent-seeming, cute girl. There's so much more there. So much more than what's on the outer layer of things. So much more than what someone might see as possessiveness. So much more than the shaky attempts to drive us apart. You do not know the half of it, even with this post. And you probably never will.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Reflections
A mirror, once cracked, will always be at least slightly marred, even if you glue it back together. This is a truth I've seen to be true on many occasions, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. However, is the image reflected within it made better or worse for its distortion? To change the metaphor, can all breaks heal if tended properly? It's a silly question to be pondering this early in the morning, I guess. I can't really sleep right now, though. It's just funny being around people who see me as having worth, I suppose. Among other things. I'll shut up on that train of thought before someone jumps down my throat, though.
Things have been interesting at Hope. I've found that it's funny how something that is probably so very normal to many people is, to me, the most surreal and confusing turn of events since this whole thing really started a few months ago. Well, I guess that's an inaccurate timeline, unless I say "started in a larger-scale way for me on a personal level, if dreams are just dreams." Hmn, I think that made sense... Anyway, yes. Confusing, flustering, and surreal. I find that to be an apt description.
Other than that, I've been watching people a lot here. It's quite nerve-wracking to be around so many people at times, but kind of interesting. I've seen the expected wariness, some not quite expected nervousness, comfort, mischief, affection, and more. It's interesting to see various facets of people in person that you can't quite grasp on a whole through text. People... People scare me, confuse me at times, and make me nervous, but they're really kind of interesting to me. It's almost funny, the level of normalcy there is here between people.
I have to wonder about things people don't say, of course, but everyone has secrets. Except for me, right. Heh. Tia, Blake and I are going shopping later in the day, which should be nice. It's starting to get a bit chilly at night, and I'm admittedly a wimp when it comes to cold weather. Comes from living in Southern Alabama all my life. I've seen snow in real life all of twice, and it's a bit silly. We're not sure if or when we're going to move on, but it'll be nice to have some warmer clothes other than my coat. And hey, clothes that haven't been mended multiple times and aren't covered with paint may be a good thing.
Things have been interesting at Hope. I've found that it's funny how something that is probably so very normal to many people is, to me, the most surreal and confusing turn of events since this whole thing really started a few months ago. Well, I guess that's an inaccurate timeline, unless I say "started in a larger-scale way for me on a personal level, if dreams are just dreams." Hmn, I think that made sense... Anyway, yes. Confusing, flustering, and surreal. I find that to be an apt description.
Other than that, I've been watching people a lot here. It's quite nerve-wracking to be around so many people at times, but kind of interesting. I've seen the expected wariness, some not quite expected nervousness, comfort, mischief, affection, and more. It's interesting to see various facets of people in person that you can't quite grasp on a whole through text. People... People scare me, confuse me at times, and make me nervous, but they're really kind of interesting to me. It's almost funny, the level of normalcy there is here between people.
I have to wonder about things people don't say, of course, but everyone has secrets. Except for me, right. Heh. Tia, Blake and I are going shopping later in the day, which should be nice. It's starting to get a bit chilly at night, and I'm admittedly a wimp when it comes to cold weather. Comes from living in Southern Alabama all my life. I've seen snow in real life all of twice, and it's a bit silly. We're not sure if or when we're going to move on, but it'll be nice to have some warmer clothes other than my coat. And hey, clothes that haven't been mended multiple times and aren't covered with paint may be a good thing.
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