Showing posts with label confused. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confused. Show all posts
Monday, February 9, 2015
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Day 27: I'm sorry, I'm not interested
Morrissey says this to his elementary school teacher on page 60 of his autobiography when asked about a book that is being read aloud in class. The context is that he has been staring out of the window while the book is being read. He is watching black rain fall outside of the windows, as one would imagine a young Morrissey doing.
We should all be this honest at such a young age. We are taught as children that we need to respond appropriately when we are addressed by teachers and other adults, but that appropriate response rarely includes expressing ourselves authentically. Instead, we are groomed to feign interest in appropriate things at appropriate times. We are repeatedly encouraged to suppress our true interests for the sake of those things that someone else who has never met us or come to know our person has decided are in our benefit.
Conform and suppress. Conform and suppress. I say no.
We should all be this honest at such a young age. We are taught as children that we need to respond appropriately when we are addressed by teachers and other adults, but that appropriate response rarely includes expressing ourselves authentically. Instead, we are groomed to feign interest in appropriate things at appropriate times. We are repeatedly encouraged to suppress our true interests for the sake of those things that someone else who has never met us or come to know our person has decided are in our benefit.
Conform and suppress. Conform and suppress. I say no.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Day 15: The path to fucklessness
The thing is, this exercise in not giving a fuck isn't about being a dick, or trying to be snarky. The point of it is to learn how to distinguish between things that are fuckworthy and things that are not... and then to further that point, letting go of those things that are just not fuckworthy. And so today I present you with this most beautiful poem about letting go, which is really what you have to do on the pathway to fucklessness.
She let go.
She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of the fear.
She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons.
Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice.
She didn’t read a book on how to let go.
She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her Day-Timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyze whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word.
She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort.
There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her. And the sun and the moon shone forevermore…
~ Rev. Safire Rose
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Home
I want to go home, she thought, while she was sitting right there inside of the brick walls where she lays her head to sleep every night.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Noodley
The spaghetti brain is back. So many thoughts, in a pile, interwoven. Happy. Sad. Frantic. Peaceful. Restless. All at the same time. Is it the depression? I just don't know. Sometimes it feels like the world is just too much. Too beautiful. Too tragic. I feel to perfect. And too broken. I think about Jade so much and I feel anger and sadness and fear and anxiety. I feel unloveable. Ugly. Used. It is hard to do the right thing. It is hard to suppress anger. Frustration. Confusion. It is hard to live in a world with so many billions of people and feel so alone. Solitary. Misunderstood.
"You live down to expectations." Chuck Palahniuk
"You live down to expectations." Chuck Palahniuk
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Regret...
It is one of my least favorite words. I hate having regrets. I always promise myself that I will do my best not to have any, but in this human experience, sometimes it just can't be helped. We are emotional and sometimes irrational animals, fumbling through this world one precarious step at a time. Sometimes we fall off the edge. Sometimes we throw ourselves off.
I think what I am most afraid of is not having enough moments. Or that because of moments past, that if this chain of moments were to suddenly come to an end, that others wouldn't understand the gravity of the moments past and they would say things that they needed to say so that they could rationalize things to themselves, but those things wouldn't be true. And like so many other things, a certain story would be told about those moments that were a fiction. And the truth about the moments would be lost forever.
The truth is that I loved with a stumbling, raging passion that was nonsense and madness. The way love is sometimes. And even though the chain of moments were imperfect, nothing was perfect, and they just were what they were. I wouldn't have traded any one of them for any other experience.
Unraveling.
I think what I am most afraid of is not having enough moments. Or that because of moments past, that if this chain of moments were to suddenly come to an end, that others wouldn't understand the gravity of the moments past and they would say things that they needed to say so that they could rationalize things to themselves, but those things wouldn't be true. And like so many other things, a certain story would be told about those moments that were a fiction. And the truth about the moments would be lost forever.
The truth is that I loved with a stumbling, raging passion that was nonsense and madness. The way love is sometimes. And even though the chain of moments were imperfect, nothing was perfect, and they just were what they were. I wouldn't have traded any one of them for any other experience.
Unraveling.
Monday, February 3, 2014
But I don't...
It takes every ounce of energy I have to hold up the mask and I'm getting very very tired.
I can't stand to be alone. I can't stand to be around people. I can't stand.
I can't stand to be alone. I can't stand to be around people. I can't stand.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
I have heard...
That heartbreak is only temporary, even though there are moments when you hope that it will just kill you. The irrational thoughts are almost impossible to bear...
...but I loved you
...how could you say those things to me
...but i did this or that for you
...why wasn't I enough
I know the answers to all of these questions, which is why they trouble me so. I know my thoughts are irrational and yet I can't help but think them and sometimes believe them. Everyone knows what you're supposed to do and they aren't shy about telling you what you should be doing. And you want to kind of punch them. Because they don't know how hard it was to just put your feet on the ground this morning. And even if you felt good when you woke up, that it didn't take long until the paralyzing fear came out to play again. And then the worst thought ever comes....
...why
And you can't ever answer it, because there is no answer. But all of your friends keep telling you why and telling you how wonderful you are and how you always deserved better and how you are worth so much more and you nod. But you really don't believe it. And it seems so fucking unfair that everyone else is just going on with their lives while it feels like yours is caving in on you. How can they possibly have the Superbowl when you can hardly breathe?
...but I loved you
...how could you say those things to me
...but i did this or that for you
...why wasn't I enough
I know the answers to all of these questions, which is why they trouble me so. I know my thoughts are irrational and yet I can't help but think them and sometimes believe them. Everyone knows what you're supposed to do and they aren't shy about telling you what you should be doing. And you want to kind of punch them. Because they don't know how hard it was to just put your feet on the ground this morning. And even if you felt good when you woke up, that it didn't take long until the paralyzing fear came out to play again. And then the worst thought ever comes....
...why
And you can't ever answer it, because there is no answer. But all of your friends keep telling you why and telling you how wonderful you are and how you always deserved better and how you are worth so much more and you nod. But you really don't believe it. And it seems so fucking unfair that everyone else is just going on with their lives while it feels like yours is caving in on you. How can they possibly have the Superbowl when you can hardly breathe?
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