Come Away O Human Child to the waters and the wild

I cant even form a decent sentence without wanting to break down into tears. It’s stupid. It’s a stupid feeling. Everything I’m feeling makes no sense these days. I am what they call emotionally inept. Though I am known to care and love, it’s the things I want more and wish I could have that I don’t; Because I don’t let myself. It’s funny, this little “breakdown” happens to almost every heroine in chick flicks. Katherine Heigl is so focused on whatever, a guy comes along, shit goes down, they cant love or be loved, etc. etc. but in the end she gets swept off her feet and happy dippy music plays at the end. Ok, cool. So whenever I find a good guy, which I did, and things are going great, why do I doubt what I have? Why cant I be happy? Simple answer that pisses me off to no extent at the moment: “it’s not meant to be” or “not the right timing”. Oh, fuck off. I know I’m being hypocritical because I say it all the time but it’s just not fair. Being me is not fair. These feelings of remorse, anger and sadness are not fair. Well kid, life isn’t fair. Thanks! See you next time and let’s see how else I fuck it up.

Wrong. Angry me is gone and now unreasonably sad me is left. And I cry again; why do I even bother? I brought this on myself for thinking I finally found something good. And worse, making him think he did too. 

I saw you today, you looked so good, it isn’t fair. Why I am this way, why I can never be sure of anything. Yes, there is this thing about me you should know, and the sole reason why I ended us. The truth is I never am sure of anything. I felt something was not right, I started doubting myself and my commitment to us. And yes, I got lazy too. It just seemed like too much for me to handle, I felt tied down, scared of getting too serious, but mostly terrified of hurting you. Something in my heart told me things were not right and the way I felt at first wasn’t the same. I don’t want to have you at my will, I don’t want you to doubt us, you deserve someone who is certain. The truth is I regret it sometimes. I have these sudden urges to run back to you and beg for you to take me again but I know that those doubts will come back and it will hurt you and myself, more. I’ve cried, I am miserable and I miss you so that some would say: why not just get back together? But like I said, I’ll probably have second thoughts again, doubt my feelings and then be as we are now: no more. It feels like I lost part of myself when I let you go and was left with a pit in my heart and a sick feeling. What I thought was going to be relief became misery and tedious regret. But what if it’s a test? I don’t want to fail. I have to be strong and let time repair the damage I created. I care about you so much that if I stay it might be worse…I’ll cry some more, regret so many things and hate myself less each day. I promise I will do everything in my power not to come back even though it is the only thing I dream of every night.

It is time for something I do not do often and dare not do in person: vent. Vent about almost everything that is on my mind (at present) as there are far too many things to remember (I have also found I vent in my dreams, a rather remarkable piece of work I become in this world) and I cannot write them all at once. So, where to start?

Many people ask me why I think so much? Of what and why I am scared? They want me to act, move, live, do something child, anything! Okay, maybe not that way but it seems like this in my head. So what is my answer? Drum roll please…because it is what I have always done, what I do and what I will always do. I think, I over analyze, I even often hurry myself to start things that are long before due. This spazzy, overachieving, worry-till-the-days-end creature is what I am.

I admit, being this way has deprived me of doing many things that I regret not doing; I play it safe, yes, that’s a way to put it. And I shouldn’t, but at the same time I think that if I, you know, “lived a little”, or how I see it, go bat shit crazy, things would become worse. My perspective is: if I keep it safe, I will be fine and safe my heart from ache. Okay, understandable.

Not really. People fear what they do not understand or what they cannot see, it’s normal. This should not be stopping me from being a little spontaneous. I love spontaneity for crying out loud. This is a girl who once laid on a busy street just because I saw it on “The Notebook” and thought it would be fun (I scared the shit out of my date but it was fun). But this has changed, I have changed. It is part of growing up. And it’s not a whole 180, just certain situations have pushed me into a different direction. There is still that child inside of me that loves doing those things, she has just become too frightened…I AM SCARED, I AM! Of having too much of, of not having too much fun, of living a fitting life, of running with the right crows, of making friends, of losing friends, of falling in love, of giving a guy a chance, of being my entire self and of entirely showing the rage I have kept inside for so long.

Of the latter I think about every single day. When will that day come when I find myself at the edge, when I finally say no more ms. nice lady. Of being done and yelling to the heavens: I. Am. Done. That scares me the most. There is a quote that says: beware the fury of the patient man…oh how true it is. Some friends have seen hints of the anger building up. Yet, how can a sweet girl with a good life (because yes, my life is good, I cannot and do not complain) be angry? I am angry because I want to be angry. I want to be sad. I want to scream. I want to throw things around. Just because it is something I have yet to have show the world; that I can be bad as much as I can be good.

I’ve always had this feeling of wanting to prove myself worthy of living here. But how stupid can you be, Maria? To prove yourself by being angry? Anger is not a strength, it is a weakness, it blinds you. It does, but I see too much I want to be blind for once.

I don’t really have much to add…I hope I don’t explode any time soon, summer has started and I don’t really have much stressors around so probably not. Is it weird that I want to? Even so, I think it is time for me to not care too much for others’ opinions, after all, it is my life. Although it is appreciated, thanks, but no thanks.

I think this vent is over…or more of a to be continued.

I woke up with the faint smell of lavender still pressed in my skin. I should have taken a shower last night but instead I jumped right into bed. Speechless, trying to make out what had happened just a few hours back. The bruise marks are starting to show on my arms and face. The arms are easier to cover, it’s starting to snow anyway so I won’t be using short sleeves in a while. The face, that is the hardest. The marks are not so big, one beneath my left eye, the other on the right side cheek.

I guess it could be worse, I could be dead. I never saw him as the violent type yet here I am, barely being able to look at the girl staring back. It’s kind of funny how I use the phrase: “it could be worse”, when all I take of this…whatever it is, as the worst thing. How can something be stereotyped as being “not that bad”, is it supposed to make people feel better about their misfortunes? What about that, just add a prefix and a word is suddenly negative, just like that. I wouldn’t call it a misfortune, it’s more like an event that resulted differently from expected.

I put on some concealer to hide the now purple bruises, at least the puffy eyes are gone, who ever said sleeping in was a waste of time? Doesn’t time heal all wounds?

See, if this happened to any other girl, the outcome would be another. There would be many tears, phone calls to close friends, mention to parents, pressing charges, etc. But this happened to ME and as far as I am concerned, no one will know. Not because I’m ashamed nor scared. It is because I understand the logic that sometimes (lately for me it’s been most times) bad things happen to good people. Do I consider myself a good person? Not necessarily but I’ll do as a human being and citizen with rights.

I’ve heard so many times that he doesn’t deserve me, I’m too good and so on but I keep coming back, Stockholm syndrome? I think I just like take matters into my own hands.

After washing up and spraying on some cherry blossom perfume (the lavender just won’t do) and prepare for work. The plan is carefully being processed and amended in my head. Tonight will be the night I take the last blow and then deliver my own, until he can never touch me or anyone ever again.

With an X I finish something that could have been great. I have seen more blank pages and scratches of ink than I ever imagined I would.

I am no Shakespeare but I could have sworn I had a muse.

If only I had Nicklaus looking after my drunken heart, seeking for a lost craft.

If only Poe would send seraphs down to guide my pen.

If only I was as brave as Dickinson or somber as Nietzsche

No, none of that but a talentless will to write.

I’ve heard intention is nothing without action and I am the epitome of nothing.

     Nothing started is ever finished

     Nothing wanted is ever gotten

I could study for a hundred years with the greatest minds of every century but my soul would never be moved to become one.

It is something to feel growing inside and later be birthed and nurtured like a child.

I am sterile.

A blank stares back.

I am nothing.

A hand shakes, eyes narrow in thought,

nothing.

I close the book,

tomorrow will be the day but today,

Today I am nothing.

It has been like this for years

nothing,

It is a repulsive scavenger eating up my soul,

an abysmal pile of torn, scratched and eaten paper.

If it is soon, later or never,

I am as close as I will ever get to nothing.