And a Poem: Time to Jump

(8/24/11)

At the time of writing this I have yet to post "Fear." It feels writing itself is the release not just being open. Don't get me wrong I will still post them, that is still the open and honesty of the blog.

My moods and emotions have been wonky lately. Sometimes i want to cry, others dance.

Do I know how I feel or how I am supposed to feel?



Standing on the edge of a cliff.
Adrenaline pumps threw every vein.
Wind blows, hair waves.
Arms raised.
Do I jump?
Do I fall?
I have stood here before.
Eyes open wide,
     Staring down at all before me.
This is my future.

Walk a steps from the edge.

Running start.
The time is now.
Leap of Faith.
Eyes closed.
Falling.
Smiling.

Nothing will hold me back.
Wind threw hair.
Taking back control.
This is future is MINE!

I choose what to feel.
I choose how to feel.
These feelings are mine,
    These feelings are me.

Ready,
   Determined,
       Calm,
             Excited.

In the end does it matter?

Fear.

(8/21/11)

Back in blue ink today.


Love has been on my mind a lot lately. With love, death soon follows in my mind.
I do not fear death. I fear dying alone. I also fear the things worse than death.

I have been thinking about saying this for days, even in my openness as I am here it is still hard sometimes. I decided to say it to keep up with my honesty here.

The facts known by many; I have a bad neck injury, there are few treatments for it; pills leave me unable to function, adjustments only last a couple of days, and then there is surgery...
Surgery has a high chance of bad things happening, like killing me or worse. You may ask what is worse than death. This worse than death is what i fear, ending up in a coma or a vegetable, being left unable to do anything, being a waste, trapped in my own head.

Between that fear and the chance of dying young, I am unsure if I want to allow someone to put up with me or not. Single life may be best so no one has to hurt so bad losing me.

Bigger than my fear of dying alone is hurting the ones I care about or causing them pain.

I know in all these feelings I have been having as of late and these fears, I have a God who is bigger and stronger than all of it. Without Him I wouldn't be here.
I just can't ask Him for help or ask for prayer, I don't feel like i deserve it,
I know I don't deserve any of the good that I have.

Today may be a sunglasses day again to hide the tears...

Nowhere/Nothing

(8/17/11)

I want to dance.
I want to cry.
I want to headbang.
I want to scream.

I want to feel something different.
I am just tired of this life.
I wish I could runaway, somewhere far away.

What holds me here? What keeps me from running and disappearing? Do I have any unbreakable connections?

The walls holding me up feel weak, feel loose. They may crumble any minute. Who is there to catch me when they fall?

Tears well up. Why do I feel this way?

My life feels hollow and cold. Is there any of me left for other people? Can I turn to people and tell them this all? What do I say, what will they say?

I sit here crying out on the inside for help, refusing to let tears roll down my face.

Maybe soon the happiness will return.
Maybe soon the confidence will return.
Maybe soon the numbness will fade.
Until this, I push on, go forward.

I don't want to feel alone anymore.
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I put on sunglasses, now I let the tears flow, one day they may stop.

Mending Black Hearts

(8/16/11)

"Let the beauty of what you love be what you do." -Rumi

A quote from To Write Love on Her Arms to start my day. It raises very good questions: What do I love? Is what I love beautiful? Is my love beautiful?

Love has been on my mind a lot lately, for various reasons, no one single reason. I have only found one conclusion, love is confusing.

Today I write in black ink. My heart feels black and cold. Black because I know all the people I have hurt, and all the pain I have caused. Cold because I know how much I have been hurt.

A poem is in my head, ever growing, ever expanding. I want to put it on paper, but it just can not make it there.


I am still writing more than I use to, but not what I want to write.


I am sitting in the coffeehouse again, for the first time in forever, I am at a lose for words with my writing though.


I think I need a break from life.

Broken Green Hearts

Green today. Today I write in green. Green for a dear friend.


My mood for writing today works well with this quote: "We are made of love and all the beauty stemming from it. We are made of love and all the fracture caused by it," by Sleeping at Last.


Some things I want to say but am at a loss for words for. Feelings I feel, ones I want to feel, ones I think I feel. Even writing only helps examine them, not put them into words.


How to tell someone something hard to say.  Does it even make a difference saying it? How does one show it even to have it mean truly what it is?
Words have trouble flowing even now.

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"Raw," "needed," "possibly hated." These are what I have heard my blog called. I defend myself on these, I do not know why though. If people don't like it, then they need it more.
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I think I want to try a poem today. A poem free form. It has been too long since I did a real poem.
Poetry is the answer...

Drops of Red

It has been a few weeks since I wrote, I have been very busy.

Up until tonight I have only written in my blue Pilot Precise V5 Rolling Ball pen, tonight it is red.

Red like blood. It flows smooth like blood when I write, my thought goes like this because tonight is the first time in ages I had the feeling, "I want to cut, feel blood flowing my arm, to feel alive perhaps." Instead I choose to write this.

I recently found out something I wrote has touched someone. It feels hollow.
Maybe because I feel hollow?

Sometimes I feel more mature but not in a good way. I could do something not bad, per se, but it might just be to benefit myself, to make me happy.
But it wouldn't be right, would it?
I feel alone because of this, something I could to make myself happy and not alone, but I can't do it.

I feel better looking at what I have written before, it begins to fade when I stop reading.

The page I am writing on is now covered in red, as if my blood. No blood flows, only welled up tears show slightly.
I turn the page, red has bled through.

I still ponder what to do, I settle on letting nature run its course and no interfere by poking or prodding my way.
If I am to die, I accept it.



Relationships bring pain, loneliness is constant. Lack of change is easy to conform to.

Dreams Come True

(7/29/11)

Annie is dead. The story is over. I feel alright about it, I think I did it right. Fourteen parts and a re-edit on an older story done in one week. I feel accomplished. Now to start the next story followed by another re-edit. Is it possible to finish the first three stories of To Whom it May Concern in just two weeks? Maybe. (Edit note, no I can not as I have not written much as I have been busy)

As I write my confidence is growing, I even talked to a cute girl at the coffeehouse I go to.

Life feels right.
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It wasn't rushed, wasn't made into something it wasn't, it wasn't easy. She is dead. It was needed. It wouldn't work if she hadn't died.

I might even feel better after killing her. Part of me died, some of my fears. My Confidence is Increase.

I keep repeating to myself, "I killed her." I feel bad for the people around me.

Annie is dead.

Now, I need to be published.


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Bonus Post (Untitled)

(7/30/11)

Last night I started the next story in my saga. I finished the first part and got stuck on the second. Writing his life is very hard, I have been planning the character since high school, yet I don't know him yet. I know his death. I do not know his life. The end of the journey is known, but the path is dark.

I have known his death for years, I feel nothing about it.
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Side note:  Raspberry Chai with Dark Chocolate is AMAZING! Side note done.