Thursday, August 26, 2010

Flyers and Papers

I still don't know if she's okay.

If you're out there, please be alright.  I doubt you'll see this.  But, if, somehow, you do, please let me know that you're alright.

I feel crazy.  But, well, if a friend of yours just stops contacting you back for three months with absolutely no warning or reason, when all was fine between you two, wouldn't you worry, too?  The only positive thing I can say is that, at least, the phone rang, even if there was no pickup.  Because that means a phone was charged, right?  I'm a bit confused, and quite saddened and worried, but I still have some faith that things are alright.

I just want that, for her to be alright.  I feel like there's a little dent in me for some reason.  Even if we weren't the type of friends that were "tied at the hip", I still feel as though there is some connection that makes me feel this way.  I do hope that, one day, we'll be in contact again.

Be alright, my friend.  Be happy, be loved, be alright.  No matter what, I am always here for you.  And I always will be.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Embellishing a Dream

I had a really freaky dream this morning, just before my alarm went off.  Who knows if my alarm didn't go off...  Anyhow, this is it, embellished a bit to fill in cracks, etc.

You're back at your old house, packing up the remainder of your clothes.  Oh, how you'll miss this place...  Its soft, pale green walls, the squishy blue chair, your cream white bed...

You gently place the clothes you are folding in a duffel bag to be taken with you to the new place and sigh as you look about the room.  Door askew, you spot a woman and young man walking up the steps.  Your heart beats faster.  Panic.  You rush to the door to close it-

She's already got her hand on the door, keeping it from closing.  Heart pounding, you stand there like a deer caught in headlights in the middle of the road.

"He's coming."  Her face is gentle and kind, fresh and young looking for her age.  She is smiling despite the bad news she brings.  Your heart beats harder and faster, afraid now.  "He's coming," she repeats, glancing behind her at the staircase.  Fear pulses through your veins like a speeding car.  She turns and walks away with the boy.

You close the door and lock it, hands shaking, lock jiggling.  You're safe...for now...  You return to your clothes-folding, nervously packing away shirts.  It won't be long now.  You glance over at the door.  Nothing.  Nothing, yet.

Fold more shirts, pack away.  Heart beating like a scared rabbit.  Hands shaking.  He's coming.  She warned you.  He's on his-

A shadow slips from under the door.  It is long and thin.  You gulp quietly.  Damn it, don't make a sound.  He mustn't know I'm here.  Maybe he'll go away.  The shadow moves back under the door and out of your room.  You are holding your breath, desperately praying that he has left.  Your door shakes.  He is hacking away at your door handle with his scythe.

It is ironic that you think, "I wish I was dead right now."  But, in reality, you don't want to die.  You are just frightened out of your mind.  He continues to hack away at the door handle.  You fall to the ground, body limp and unable to hold itself up anymore.  Panic stricken, shocked, afraid...  You lay on the floor, seeing only what is in front of you.  Just small piles of clothes and your duffel bag.  Sound is starting to numb, and the hacking at the door is light in your head.  You close your left eye.  The right is half closed, keeping you only just aware that Death is upon you soon.

The fear starts to fade, as does your mind.  It's only been a few seconds since Death's shadow appeared and you fell to the floor, but it seems like everything has been in slow motion.  You blink, right eye starting to roll back into your head, but repositioning itself back in place.  Everything slow in your brain, sounds muffled.  He's coming.

You lay there, motionless.  She was right.  You must face him now.  The only question in your mind is:  Why such short notice?

*Note:  Despite there being a door between the character and Death, the shadow strangely had a face.  It was as if he slipped under the door for a brief moment.  His face was silver with jagged blank darkness for a face.  If you've seen Donnie Darko, imagine Frank the bunny rabbit.  It was kind of like that...dark, deep...a face, but not a face.  Small and flat, though, and only a sliver was seen when it came under the door.  In such a way, this made it creepier.  No idea why it was able to come through with the shadow under the door, but, alas, this was a dream.  And they can be as freaky as hell.  And this one was.

Monday, August 23, 2010


I really love quiet mornings.  There's something about the serene beauty of it all.

The sun rises and shines.  Every living thing seems to greet each other.  I feel as though the flowers wake up and smile at each other, warm hellos passed through their little smiles.

I don't really have much to write on this topic.  My mind is vivid with pictorials and such, but I'd rather swim in my own imagination and let you let yours wander, too.  Wake up in the morning and see what I'm talking about.  Do not speak with others, but quietly walk around (with your mug of coffee or tea, if you wish) outside and notice things.  It's quite beautiful.  Let yourself sink into the earth and feel.  Just feel.  Imagine.

I hope you have a wonderful morning.

Thursday, August 19, 2010


She was so unsure of herself.  She didn't understand.  She knew everything was alright, yet, it wasn't.

Perfect life.  Perfect family.  Perfect, that is, in her eyes.  Then, why?  Imagining drowning in the tub.  So lost in a downward spiral.  Quicksand.

You could walk up to her right now, and she'd turn, heart feeling dead, and smile.  Her eyes would change from empty to bright before she faced you, a split second.  You wouldn't know.  You won't know.  She could fake happiness like nobody's business.

She'd probably be happy for you to come into the room, brighten her day.  She'd probably forget everything that she wasn't understanding and be happy in that moment.  But, a while later, it'd all return.  And she wouldn't understand why.  But it'd happen.


Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Fear and Phone Calls

I want to do all I can.  But fear keeps me frozen in this pseudo-denial.

I'm going to write.  I don't know why, really.  I don't really have much of a talent for writing, and I don't really have a story that's unlike another.  But I'm going to do this anyway.  I don't know if I'll continue this.  I don't know if I'll go in order.  I'm just going to dive into something.

It was winter.  I should have known that things were going to take a crazy spin, for they always do in the gray winters at school.

First winter, I received news that a teacher of mine, from high school, had passed away.  I lost it, not knowing what to do or think.  I hadn't been on wicked close terms with her, but she was such a lovely woman, so young, so joyous...  She always was smiling, and she made the mornings bright.  I don't know anyone that ever thought a bad thought about her.  Her hair and skin was pale and soft, and, if you didn't know any better, you probably would have sworn she was, indeed, an angel sent to Earth.  Maybe she was, and maybe that is why she was taken away from us.

Second winter, for an unknown reason, I became severely depressed.  I cannot remember if I got any bad news then, or if anything bad really happened, but the depression was enough to wipe out the happiness that winter.  It followed what seemed to be an odd pattern that could form.  I didn't think much of it, just a funny coincidence.

Third winter.  This was when it hit.  This was the storm of them all.  I remember odd things happening in the fall.  But they never really came together in our minds until appointments with doctors and such.  I never discussed this with anyone because of fear and denial.  I didn't want to have to face it, just as I still do not want to face it.  I kept to myself; it was better that way.

I was in a night class, Introduction to GLBT Studies.  Funny how it was an introduction, yet no actual GLBT Studies class was offered.  I was awaiting a phone call, for she had gone to the hospital for surgery hours ago.  It wasn't supposed to take this long.  I was worried, but had a feeling that I was just being paranoid.  In a way, I was just paranoid.  No one died.  It was alright.

But, in another way, I was right.  It wasn't just a surgery.  It was serious.

The phone call came while I was listening to my professor lecture.  I loved that class.  I didn't want to be rude and keep my phone on, but this was too important.  I kept it on vibrate, in my pocket.  As people usually go out now and then to use the restroom, I slid out silently to pick up the call.  Dad spoke to me.  I don't remember the conversation fully, but I can remember the fear.  I can remember how calm he sounded.  As if it was matter-of-fact, just some procedure thing in life.  I guess it was better that way, because someone needed to be strong.  Because, despite my rough exterior, I'm brittle as thin glass and can shatter very easily.

Dad told me that the surgery took long, and that the things they were investigating were...  He never said the word.  Or maybe he did, and my mind refuses to recall it.  All I remember is sitting on the blue carpet in the hall, a few yards from the door, back against the wall, legs out in front of me.  Sitting there, phone pressed to ear, heart heavy and afraid.  And I cried.  I cried.

I waited a while before returning to class.  I checked in the bathroom to see if my eyes looked alright, hoping they didn't show sign of tears.  I looked alright.  I returned to class.

On a break, I asked my professor what would happen during the second half of class.  He told me something that said to me that I should stay.  It was hard to keep my voice from breaking when I spoke to him, and I tried my best to keep composure as if nothing was wrong.  I stayed in class and finished out the night.  I don't remember much else.

One thing I do remember was receiving an e-mail.

From: *********** ********
Sent: Thu 12/18 9:35 PM
To: ***** ********
Subject: ok?

Are you ok?  I am afraid that when you came up to ask me a question, you were upset and I was not helpful.  Were you were offended by something I said or something that occurred in class?  I hope not but let me know if there is anything I can do.

The e-mail touched my heart.  I semi-explained the situation and thanked him for his concern.

Christmas was rough that year.  In a way, it was one of our best ones, because it was full of so much love.  The same with New Year's.  To me, the holiday season was painful but full of hope.  We didn't mind spending our days in the hospital.  And she was happy to come home in time for the New Year.  It made it special, that December 31st.  We surrounded a hospital bed that was put in our home, and cheers-ed to the New Year.  We had such hope.

We still do have hope.  I am sad to report that my hope, my heart, is jaded.  It tries so hard, but it runs away a lot.  Whenever it overhears something medical, it hides in its shell.

It's hard to sit on the couch anymore.  Every small thing that comes up, any little pain she gets, scares the shit out of me.  Today, I rested my head on a pillow next to her.  She petted my hair lightly.  I kept my eyes closed, hoping the tears wouldn't come out.  They did.  I kept my eyes closed and hoped she didn't see.  I know I should speak to her, but the idea of bringing all my fears onto the table scares me, for I fear that she will become even more afraid, more so than she already is.  I don't want to worry her.  I cry by myself instead, and I try to avoid it at all costs.  Distractions.  Denial.  Anything.

Even now, as I write this, I feel hot tears building up, that I am pushing away.  They're not spilling.  It's okay.  My throat feels like it's choking a little.  But it's subsiding.  Just push it away, I tell myself.  Just write this and let it go.  I know it's all a lie, a gray lie, like the skies during all those winters.  But it's what keeps me going, I guess.  Just as the winters come and go, so do these little lies.  We just have to wait for Spring to come.

Monday, August 16, 2010


I told myself this wouldn't really be a blog, a journal.  It'd be a place for writings.  Things that I thought out.  Well, I'm sorry, but I'm breaking free of that thought, hopefully, temporarily.

I'm sitting here, pondering how, when things calm, and I have time to think, how it all washes over me again.  The tide comes in, covering the sand castles I've built, the shells I've collected.  They go out to sea and leave me as the tide swallows me up.

The shells will come back later.  I will rebuild my castles and moats.

But it'll all happen again.  Repeatedly.

I cannot think.  I cannot face this.  I know I have to, and, in a way, I am.

I can't even type the words.  I cannot even type the words.

Backspace, backspace.  Long pause.

I cannot even gain the courage to go.  To face what is here, what is real.  To be there when I am probably needed.  Because, then, it is real.  I avoid talking about it because, then, it is real.  I'm not insane.  And I know what's going on.  I just, simply, do not want to face it.  I cannot look it in the eye and say, "I accept you."  Because I don't.  I say, "Fuck you.  You're fucking terrible.  Go the fuck away and leave us alone.  Fuck off and die."  Or I simply ignore it and pretend things are normal, despite how they really aren't.  Nothing is the same.  I know that; I feel that.  Nothing.  How can you go on ignoring, pretending, when all around you is changing and not as it was or will be?  You cannot...  I guess I can't live in this space much longer.  This limbo land, this denial, this ignorance, whatever it may be.  But I want to.

I want to pause time.  Rewind.  Catch things before they fall.  Prevent what needs to be fixed.  I want to have what most other people have.  I want that.  I want to call it my own.  I want to not worry.  I want to be carefree.

You're curious.  I know.  Or you do know.  Please don't type it out here, spill the beans.  Please.  Let me live in my denial.  Let me pretend just a little bit longer.  Or hold my hand.  I've been told to talk about it.  I cannot.  This is my outlet.  Until I find another.  I'm speaking to everyone and no one at the same time. Maybe it's comforting, hoping someone will stumble upon this and read it, maybe they'll send some sort of hope or something that I'll feel somehow.  Who knows.

If you pray...please pray.  If you hope, please hope.

It's selfish.  But I'm not ready to throw in the white cloth.  I'm not giving up without a fight.  I'll fight dirty, too, if I have to.  But I'm not giving in.  Don't you fuck with me, whoever you are, whatever you are.  We're not ready, we're not giving in.  So maybe you should be the one to give up and wait longer.  You fucking bastard.  You fucking piece of shit bastard.  I'm sorry.  I don't mean it.  Just.  Please.  Don't do this anymore.  Please.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Dim Sung.

Our lives have been reduced to sleeping on chairs and couches.

The light barely streams through the window, a gray ambience.

Motivation slipping through fingers; hope being a thread that just barely holds us together.

My eyes droop, my heart sinks.

I can barely stand to stay; I can hardly think to leave.

Is this what has become of us?

Is this what we shall stay?

There is hope.  There is love.  We shall hold it together.  We shall prosper when we can.

My heart is breaking, and I fear it forever being broken and slightly wilted.  This was not in my life plans.

A year ago, I started dying.  It feels like longer than that.  Since October, since December, those years ago, that phone call, the hallway, how nothing seemed the same.

It's funny how you recall all of the things that make up the story, yet you don't quite want to be able to do so.  Like 9/11, you remember where you were, what you were doing, your thoughts...  Crying in the hallway, knowing it was a bad call, trying to stay upbeat, denial...  Saying to yourself, it's going to be okay.  Not really sure what everything meant.  Thinking, it's just a little thing; it's just something small.  Do not worry.  It's okay.

The time passes; you keep to yourself.  It's all going to be okay.  Do not worry.  Nothing looks that bad.

And it doesn't.  Or does it?  There are only so many smiles a person can hold.  So many white lies that can be told to hide what one is feeling.  There is only so much denial you can live in before you break apart, break down.

Life never was fair.  It's what makes it life.  It's hard.  It's a bitch.  And you deal with it.

It just sucks that this is how it must go.  You think, well, this is what is supposed to happen.  It's all how it is supposed to be.  And it is.  But you don't want it to be.  You want to smile again, you want to see your future, clear, together, and happy.  You don't want to think "what if".  You don't want to think, will I ever have that?  You don't want to see your friends, happy, with their families, wondering, will I be able to have that, too?  You don't want to wonder what it is, what it will be...  Every moment, every day...  Afraid to move on in fear that life will stop.  Afraid to take a step.  Afraid to even leave the room. To go to sleep.  Afraid that when you wake up, you'll be alone.  When you come home, you will be alone.  Afraid to live.

How do we live when things are dying?

My heart is breaking.  My heart is broken.  I hold a heavy story that may scare others away.  I fear speaking truth because I don't want to believe it.  I fear getting close to others because I'm afraid they'll run away.  Because, sometimes, I want to run away, too.

All this is is rambling.  But it's so much more than that.  It's what you'll never know, never understand, never truly see.  There's so much more than what is in between these lines and behind the pixels.

I don't know what I need.  I don't know what I believe.  But I'll grasp onto hope and love as if it's my life that is being lost.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Milk Carton.

To me, this is a rather serious matter.  Maybe I'm just paranoid.  And, yes, I'd like to believe it, especially in this case.

It's been a couple months, about three, since I last heard from my one friend.

I miss her, and I am worried.  She pops into my mind, and I worry.  I worry if she is okay.  I just cannot get scary thoughts out of my mind, wondering why there has been such absence.  I have tried to contact her via e-mail, but I'm not sure if she uses the one e-mail anymore, as neither do I, and I have misplaced her other e-mail, which, she said before, she rarely used anyway.  I've sent messages via text.  I should call.  Not now, of course, but, well, I should.  My mind goes crazy.  I don't want to bother her, but I am worried sick.

I guess this isn't really something written, not really something like a short story or poem or something.  I just had to get it out, somewhere.  These are my true feelings, my true fears.

Wherever you are, my dear friend...  Please be safe.  Please be happy.  Please be alright.  I miss you so much.  And I am deeply worried about you.  Be okay.  Please, somehow, get back to me.  I feel crazy thinking that, should this absence continue, I may resort to driving hundreds of miles to find you again in hopes that you are alright.  It is fine if you do not want to be friends or speak with me, although I would hope that would not happen.  Just, please, confirm that you are alright.  Please.

I send her my love.  I send her happiness.  Please.  Be okay.  Please.