...i never thought i'd be able to put enough sense and guts together to write at least some of my thoughts. or emotions. or be coherent enough to string something together.
...people don't trust what they can't explain. - this is a line from a song. and don't lines speak the truth? i can't even write enough sense right now. mom is speaking with me as i type. i'm playing the role of writer and attentive daughter at the same time. the tumult of thoughts is unbearable. chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. was it back in fourth year college that a professor said it helped bring on good vibes? the way she explained it back then was less casual and more scientific, of course. right now, my brain is on overdrive of common things. common things? pablo neruda wrote a book, "ode to common things". i loved the book. a friend introduced it to me and i bought the book for him. gift-wrapped it nicely, too. not sure if he still remembers it, though. that friend has changed. or to be more precise, i have.
...starting with the word "everyone" seems unfair since i know 3 or 4 persons who transcend the commonness of the world. finally, mom's falling asleep and i can continue more accurately. most people i know cannot grasp what i'm going through. i'm not surprised. if they do, they probably have a big heart or are probably going through the same thing. the rest take one look at me and make generalizations only expected of them. mom's up again. i can't write.
...okay she's asleep again. as i was saying, i don't really know how to describe what i'm feeling. the tears come and go. the feeling of hopelessness wafts through my senses every evening like a mist spiked with poison. probably reminiscent of a familiar scene in a popular fictional trilogy. my friends called a certain poem i made, vampire poetry. and maybe rightfully so. blood is drawn figuratively and literally and the boundary between sense and sensibility is still static. i dare not confirm the tragedy of it all. my friends have been hilariously varied.
...there are some i have tried to be open with and some that i have been completely open with. the difference between the two is that with friends i have been completely open with, i had been extremely secretive. only they pursued the truth. the friends i have tried to be open with have been people who had a warped view on things. maybe that's unfair. or accurate. i don't care at this point. so many things that i don't care about at this point. there are really just people in the world whom you want to give a part of your broken soul to, try to open a conversation with "i think i have a problem with..." and they finish things off by saying, "we all have problems, i'm going through an even worse thing, you're better off than other people..."
...in lilet's class, she said it was absolutely lacking of manners and etiquette to respond with "i understand" or "i know" to a client's frustration. maybe the same thing goes for counseling. there is no way you can completely understand what the other person is going through. again, not unless you are going through the exact same thing. i hardly heard "i understand". it was always "i'm going through something a lot worse than what you're going through." and why bother sharing then. since that's the case, i find myself listening most of the time, holding back the dam of emotions that's threatening to burst out, offering empathy instead although every inch of me craves the same empathy being delivered.
...so many facades played. always mindful of the less able. i can never show weakness at home. my son and my mom need me as a pillar of strength. there are days though that even the ridiculously strong falter. when you know that you've been the strength of people who have been hanging on desperately to you to surrvive, it's only just to realize they can't be the same source of strength when you feel weak. when that happens, i travel. travel and travel and travel, the miles just go on and on, the clumps of trees zooming by, the mountains in the horizon looming like as if from a familiar dream and the rain sticking to the windows like sudden cuts on wrists. i'm a different person when i get to my destination. another world awaits. the loneliness ends impossibly. then the travel back home restarts. death seems like an avid fan whose kiss is always an inch away. the only person stopping it from touching my skin is my son.
...imagine if my son had not come to being. i would have not even made it to this age. twenty-seven years is a long time to be walking this earth. i had grown weary when i reached the age of twelve. felt absolutely restless and found nothing amusing by the age of seventeen. and finally, realized either i am the last of my kind or the only one in this world and became a wizened soul at twenty-three. he's my rabbit's foot. or pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. God's own gift to my involuntary call for help.
..."but i try to open up to what i don't know. because reason says i should've died three years ago..." - Rent, Jonathan Larson
...so many people passed away this year. even late last year. our misery is our own but the joy is entirely that of those who are now at peace with God.
...i long for peace as well. i don't want to keep taking things for granted. i want to embrace today before it becomes a memory. i want to show appreciation for everything and everyone that's helped me push forward, not minding that they're stumbling along with me. i want to be helped and be helpful in the long run. being stuck like this is not fun. everything from the past becomes clear. everything in the future gets hazy. my son keeps me breathing. when the numbness begins, absolutely imperative to be beside him, to have him in my line of sight, to hear his voice, see his smile. cannot afford being in a room without him. not unless the room is devoid of things that can impose harm then i feel more confident being in it for five minutes.
...and what of eating? or sleeping? the cycle goes on without even being thought up. the money is just as scarce only the source of love has multiplied. this is still a point of gratitude. to God. at least he's fighting my battle with me.
...i think i will rest now. i'd love to believe my child needs me. and i am determined to get better. lacking one parent with one impaired parent left, he certainly deserves more than this...
...people don't trust what they can't explain. - this is a line from a song. and don't lines speak the truth? i can't even write enough sense right now. mom is speaking with me as i type. i'm playing the role of writer and attentive daughter at the same time. the tumult of thoughts is unbearable. chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. was it back in fourth year college that a professor said it helped bring on good vibes? the way she explained it back then was less casual and more scientific, of course. right now, my brain is on overdrive of common things. common things? pablo neruda wrote a book, "ode to common things". i loved the book. a friend introduced it to me and i bought the book for him. gift-wrapped it nicely, too. not sure if he still remembers it, though. that friend has changed. or to be more precise, i have.
...starting with the word "everyone" seems unfair since i know 3 or 4 persons who transcend the commonness of the world. finally, mom's falling asleep and i can continue more accurately. most people i know cannot grasp what i'm going through. i'm not surprised. if they do, they probably have a big heart or are probably going through the same thing. the rest take one look at me and make generalizations only expected of them. mom's up again. i can't write.
...okay she's asleep again. as i was saying, i don't really know how to describe what i'm feeling. the tears come and go. the feeling of hopelessness wafts through my senses every evening like a mist spiked with poison. probably reminiscent of a familiar scene in a popular fictional trilogy. my friends called a certain poem i made, vampire poetry. and maybe rightfully so. blood is drawn figuratively and literally and the boundary between sense and sensibility is still static. i dare not confirm the tragedy of it all. my friends have been hilariously varied.
...there are some i have tried to be open with and some that i have been completely open with. the difference between the two is that with friends i have been completely open with, i had been extremely secretive. only they pursued the truth. the friends i have tried to be open with have been people who had a warped view on things. maybe that's unfair. or accurate. i don't care at this point. so many things that i don't care about at this point. there are really just people in the world whom you want to give a part of your broken soul to, try to open a conversation with "i think i have a problem with..." and they finish things off by saying, "we all have problems, i'm going through an even worse thing, you're better off than other people..."
...in lilet's class, she said it was absolutely lacking of manners and etiquette to respond with "i understand" or "i know" to a client's frustration. maybe the same thing goes for counseling. there is no way you can completely understand what the other person is going through. again, not unless you are going through the exact same thing. i hardly heard "i understand". it was always "i'm going through something a lot worse than what you're going through." and why bother sharing then. since that's the case, i find myself listening most of the time, holding back the dam of emotions that's threatening to burst out, offering empathy instead although every inch of me craves the same empathy being delivered.
...so many facades played. always mindful of the less able. i can never show weakness at home. my son and my mom need me as a pillar of strength. there are days though that even the ridiculously strong falter. when you know that you've been the strength of people who have been hanging on desperately to you to surrvive, it's only just to realize they can't be the same source of strength when you feel weak. when that happens, i travel. travel and travel and travel, the miles just go on and on, the clumps of trees zooming by, the mountains in the horizon looming like as if from a familiar dream and the rain sticking to the windows like sudden cuts on wrists. i'm a different person when i get to my destination. another world awaits. the loneliness ends impossibly. then the travel back home restarts. death seems like an avid fan whose kiss is always an inch away. the only person stopping it from touching my skin is my son.
...imagine if my son had not come to being. i would have not even made it to this age. twenty-seven years is a long time to be walking this earth. i had grown weary when i reached the age of twelve. felt absolutely restless and found nothing amusing by the age of seventeen. and finally, realized either i am the last of my kind or the only one in this world and became a wizened soul at twenty-three. he's my rabbit's foot. or pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. God's own gift to my involuntary call for help.
..."but i try to open up to what i don't know. because reason says i should've died three years ago..." - Rent, Jonathan Larson
...so many people passed away this year. even late last year. our misery is our own but the joy is entirely that of those who are now at peace with God.
...i long for peace as well. i don't want to keep taking things for granted. i want to embrace today before it becomes a memory. i want to show appreciation for everything and everyone that's helped me push forward, not minding that they're stumbling along with me. i want to be helped and be helpful in the long run. being stuck like this is not fun. everything from the past becomes clear. everything in the future gets hazy. my son keeps me breathing. when the numbness begins, absolutely imperative to be beside him, to have him in my line of sight, to hear his voice, see his smile. cannot afford being in a room without him. not unless the room is devoid of things that can impose harm then i feel more confident being in it for five minutes.
...and what of eating? or sleeping? the cycle goes on without even being thought up. the money is just as scarce only the source of love has multiplied. this is still a point of gratitude. to God. at least he's fighting my battle with me.
...i think i will rest now. i'd love to believe my child needs me. and i am determined to get better. lacking one parent with one impaired parent left, he certainly deserves more than this...
No comments:
Post a Comment