Have you heard anyone but a child ask if someone was happy? Not just in a given situation, but generally, globally? Maybe only sweet, innocent children can handle the truth, because adults prefer to avoid any potentially awkward situation or have to do more than just appear to care.
Am I an adult or a child?
It snowed today: I am so glad and relieved. It felt like the clouds in the sky were accumulating snow and building up pressure and I thought they might pop and the tension in my head was palpable... And then I wonder why I imagine things to make myself uncomfortable. Like when I try to look into the eyes of my reflexion in the car window- no, i am not only staring at the passing trees and fields- because I think I can read something there, but they are empty, hopelessly empty and void of shine or beauty, staring back at me and making me feel just as empty and worthless, and I start to feel frustrated, and there's a lump in my throat and vertigo in my stomach and why do trivial things affect me so?
What I meant to write was lately your posts have been a bit of a guiding light for me: since I cannot live my own life- lack of strength/lack of talent/lack of interest/lack of everything- I am living yours and your beautiful words are soothing. Yes I am a horrible person because yes you are sick and unhappy at times and yet I still read, passive, not reaching out, when I should jump on a plane and give you a hug or some flowers or maybe a really big and soft blanket you can wrap around your body thrice. (Blankets are always too small- netherless they are essential so only my fingers are icy while I type)
It's been an eventful week. Not my own life, of course, which is as dreary as ever, a reflection of the one living it -ha- but in the lives of the people who surround me. My father is got engaged, but I don't believe in mariage anymore. Or having children really. I don't want to blame my parents for my so-called insanity (really it's only a pretention- but it is truly sick to pretend to yourself that you're insane... right?) but I can't put anyone through this. And I can't be responsible or consistent or selfless enough to be a good parent. I know this now and I accept it. I am looking forward to a life of studies and work and books and maybe hopefully helping some people.
Something happened to me last weekend. I was peaceful. I spent an entire day browsing in a bookstore and playing hockey with my, let's say it like it is, step-brother... I was so calm and confident in the future and serene. I thought I was getting better somehow and that life was great but I had to make the effort to appreciate and maybe I could do more things for the people I love... but the feeling is gone. The energy and the optimism and the perfect serenity, gone the next day like it never happened. Is there a secret recipe for happiness?
I am not happy... but really it must be entirely my fault.
bones bones bones
get out of my head
(i know i want to be skinny again)
(but i don't know if i will)
(ever)
No comments:
Post a Comment