Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Love Letter To You

Here's my love letter to you.

Dear Girl,

You are not in my class anymore but you visit me daily and you give me a hug.  That hug is the only regular human contact I have.  It's the most amazing thing in my day.  It's the most incredible thing I have - this tangible piece of loveliness that comes with a beaming smile that is all for me.  It is my only Technicolor moment amongst the dull monochrome that is every other breathing moment at the moment.

Somehow you don't see what other people must see in me - which is a broken person or an unworthy person.  You see through into the soul of me and for that 10 seconds I feel almost whole.  It is by far the best thing in my day.  You are by far the only person in my life who seeks me out for the sole purpose of you finding delight in seeing me.  You walk in.  You say hello.  You grin your wide grin and you give me a hug.

You are 9 years old and you have no idea just how important you are but you are very important.

I'm humbled.

Thank you.


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Wednesday, April 09, 2014


The other day I was driving down one of our particularly busy stretches of ribbon in this fair city and saw an old comic book store I used to frequent a lot when I was just a mere child of 20.  I remember her, that girl.  I remember her wonder at the world.  I remember her optimism that life would somehow work out, even if it wasn't working out right then.  I remember her.  She was ready for things to happen.  She really thought they would.

Today I decided to go into the store.  It had changed since I had been there last, of course.  The face was the same but the internal layout was completely different.  Gone were the little nooks I used to hide and read comics in.  Gone was the dirty, musky smell.  Things felt new and strange and unfamiliar.  Things change, I know.  I'm not that girl anymore and that store isn't that store anymore.  I looked but they didn't have the range of comics I was hoping for. I could barely find anything.  I was disoriented and lost and craving knowing how to go about things without a map like I used to be able to do.

I can never go back to her; that girl; there is no map that can take me back there and there is no compass that will help me navigate my way back into her head.  She is so long gone that I can barely even touch her with my thoughts.  My link to her is tenuous and strained with longing to go back but you can never go back.  I'd love to get in the DeLorean and work things out but I can't.  I don't have her optimism that things will somehow be okay anymore, I miss that.  I don't have her wonder at the world and that is something I crave too.  I don't have her youth and vitality nor her ability to manifest.  I know too many depressing answers about how things work for me.  Not for everyone but yes, for me.  I know that there is nothing holding me up or believe that there is any kind of safety net I can access.  There is no "there-there, it'll be okay".  None of that exists.  I know that there is no one to help navigate my path.  I don't trust that I can do it alone and in fact I know I can't.  I don't even want to navigate.  Nothing seems to have a point, especially me and I hate this clarity with every sense of myself.  I don't even know where it came from but it feels like I just woke up one morning and realised an irreparable truth.  I had a stupid, fucking a-ha moment that I wish I could give back to the ether.

I don't hate the actual truth of it though. Truth, at least gives me a compass point from which to reference myself.  At the moment I'm pointing at royally fucked, aimless, loner, weirdo but at least I know.  It's my powerlessness in the face of truth that I hate.  I've fought too many battles in my day to day existence to be powerful enough to fight any more.   I'm exhausted.  I'm over fighting for normal human everyday things and there is such truth in that, it's scary.

I tried to meet that 20 year old child today in that store but I couldn't.  I looked for her in amongst the crisp trade paperbacks and Wrestlemania figurines but she was nowhere to be seen.  She's lost.  I'm lost.  I left the store feeling like I had severed a tie forever.  Another link gone.  I'm going through them at an alarming rate.


Tuesday, April 08, 2014


The last time my heart broke I put myself in bed whenever I wasn't at work.  I cried into my pillow and hugged myself, feeling every inch of that sucker punch in every single cell.  It took me a good year of feeling like a zombie and started a spiral downwards that I never quite recovered from.  I never fully came back.  I told myself that I could never do that to myself again.

This time, before it happened I reminded myself of what it felt like.  I came to the conclusion that I was above all that now that I was older and wiser.

I'm not above it.

I didn't know that it could feel worse.  I didn't know I would be sobbing on the floor unable to get up.  I didn't know being ignored could feel so terrible.  I didn't know I could physically feel like someone was clawing at my heart and tearing it to shreds.  I didn't know that my words would never be able to encompass the depth of pain I feel.

I didn't know that just because it was unrequited that it would hurt even more.  I don't understand how.

It does.
It hurts like a motherfucker.

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Wednesday, April 02, 2014

The point is...

I'm going to level with you;  I'm not doing too well.
I feel like I'm on the precipice of a nervous breakdown though I'm too aware of how unable I am to have one to actually ever let it happen.  Who would be there to pick up the pieces exactly should that happen?  I don't have the luxury of letting myself completely break down and decompose like I want to.  I resent that too, by the way.

The past year has been excruciating.  I'm now at the stage where I don't even look forward to weekends.  I don't even look forward to the long night ahead after work finishes.  What do people do with those hours exactly?  How are they filled?  I see them all before me and just get exhausted by the daunting task of navigating their emptiness.  I drive home, late with my fingers gripping the wheel and my stomach churning with pain the closer I get to my house.  I often take the long way home - sometimes driving close to 2 hours to postpone the inevitable nothingness that follows when I am here.

"What is the point of me?" is a question I ask of myself daily.  More than daily; perhaps closer to hourly.  It's a valid question.  What is the point of me?  I can see that I get up every morning, I pay my taxes, I work in a job that is giving back to the community, I love those around me, I am kind and giving (well, mostly), I am a good friend and a human that aims not to harm others but there is nothing there that actually has a point.  There is nothing there that makes being me actually worthwhile.  I'm not saying that I'm going to disappear any time soon - remember, who would be there to pick up the pieces and all that?  No, it's just - what is the point of all this emptiness?  I'm sick of sailing these seas.  I'm sick of being me.  I'm sick of getting up and paying my taxes and being a productive member of society.  I don't have the things that basic humans need - connection, hugs and love and so what is the point of me?  I keep asking - like as if I expect a disembodied voice to boom back an answer that makes sense.

But there is no disembodied voice.  There is no answer.  There is only that emptiness, stretching out before me tauntingly.

MVOR thinks this is productive of me; to be feeling so raw.  This rawness is new.  It's the repressed me that is now surfacing, that has to surface in order for me to peel it away and expose the new, I suppose.  But maybe not.  Maybe it's just me winding down, coming to terms with my supreme insignificance and a dawning of many more years of chaos and myself spiraling in a downward direction.

I wish I could say that I was having a moment of feeling sorry for myself but I'm honestly not.  I'm grateful for every wretched breath I draw.  I'm amazed by my ability to imagine beautiful things, always.  I'm inspired by the beauty I am able to find in every chaotic moment.  I recognise my unique qualities in seeing things that others don't and in surviving what others couldn't even imagine.  There is nobody I know that could handle the daily circumstances that I do and I wouldn't wish it on anyone either.  I'm amazing and all that.  I know.

But it's not enough for me to see what the point of all that is.  What is the point of me?  It's a question I'll keep asking until my voice grows hoarse and every silent beat that follows after sends me hurtling further and further into space away from everything and everyone.

What is the fucking point of me?

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