ThoughtsofMademoiselle

things are complicated. Yes they are.

I do not know what had lead me to this situation. all i know is that if feels like this is a plot right out of a book. the drama never ends the story never ends, it just winds down more dark paths and brings in more characters.

I feel guilt welling up in my chest. 

What have I done?

It’s been a long time.
I know.
I avoid writing sometimes on here because I’m afraid. When words are spoken. They become real, you know.

In most tv shows. When a character is down. Depressed. Or sad. The character eats. They eat to fill in this metaphorical hole. This well of sadness that exists working themselves. They try to stuff it with food. Unknowing that it isn’t food that they should be reaching for to fill in this hole inside them.
But a hand.

Nonetheless. I have recently discovered that I have such a hole inside myself. And like the world has taught me. I attempted to do the same. And after one bite of chocolate. I put it down and knew it was worthless.

I went to the pond today. And sat there. Before work ended.

I go there everytime I’m close to crying and I don’t want my coworkers to see me.
I pretend I’m going out for a walk. And walk to this huge pond. Outside.

I sit and stare at it. Alone. On the bench.
It has a poem, funny enough. By Emily Dickinson. Hope is a thing with feathers, it begins.

How fitting.

I sat there. And wiped tears from my eyes. Refusing to grant them a path form my cheeks.

I refuse.

What happens when the house you called your home, is no longer thus?

Then what is home? Where us home?

Is it hidden inside his chest? And the only way I can reach it is when he smiles at me?

Thunder. Silence. Rain.

Goodnight.

It’s one thing not to have some one to love and feel lost.
It’s another thing to have some one you love deeply, and know deep down in your heart, buried in the depths of your mind, you’ll never be with that person.

I miss you. The more I see you, the more I miss you.
The more I see your smile, the happier my heart is, though you know very well, it’s not there most of the time.
I feel bad for this. I feel bad because dear god, do I love you, and I don’t want to drag you into the crap im in. No. I can’t. But neither do I want to jet you go.

I’m at work. In the morning, I see the sunrise. It’s beautiful. In the afternoon, I see you. And I’m happy.
No matter what happens at work, I still love it. No matte how little I see you, as long as I feel your presence, that’s enough. It keeps me breathing the rest of the day.

Hospital work is stressful. But fun. And to know I’m helping kids. It’s nice. It makes me happy.

I feel like this point in a timeline is fragile.

I want freedom. But not a lonely freedom.

Does it have to be btwn those two?
What is freedom if I have no one?

Dear god.
I pray. You say pray. So I pray.

G’night.

I am often left clueless by people. 
For me. There is nothing besides the truth that I speak. That I show.  
When it comes to love, it is the same. 
So know this, dear. You know who you are. If I ever stop talking to you. It’s only because I love you. 
I’ve loved you for a while now. 
That’s why I avoid looking in your eyes. Because I’m afraid that you’ll see that I’m in love with you. I suppose I’m afraid of your reaction. I’m afraid. 

I have told you too much. And it’s not until last night did I realize this. When you admitted how much you worry about me. 
I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into my stupid life. I can’t stand to see the people I cherish hurt because of me. 

I’ve always imagined getting married and leaving home. Whether my patents accept him or not, I don’t give a shit. 
Just leaving. With him. That’s enough. I don’t need anything in the world. I don’t. Just him. 

Why can’t things be simple. 
I just want to fall asleep at night next to someone I love. Why is that difficult? Why is that so impossible in my mind. 

Jesus Christ. 
But seeing you. It’s enough right now. Just sitting with you in silence. Knowing you’re right there next to me. I don’t need to talk. Just read my book. 
I can almost feel you presence. 
It’s my happiness for the day. 

Jesus Christ. I love you. 

G’night. 

Good lord I miss you.
And millions of people are passing through my life at the moment.
And the only person I see is you.
Always.

The world continues to exist. To breathe, to beat to hunt and find. 
It continues. With or without us. 

Our birth. Our deaths. Lives are broken and deformed everyday. 
6 billion of us. 
6 billion. 
So how can one human being. Out of billions think of themselves as special. As different. 
How can one human being think and dare to believe, with audacity no less, that their hopes will come true. That their dreams will take shape and their eyes will someday look upon the world happier. 

What is happiness? It is such a fleeting emotion. We attach it to materials. To animals. And to people. 
The wise say that we must not attach happiness to anything. We must leave it alone, hanging like a lonely bottle from a tree, swinging with the breeze. Moving and turning unbroken with whatever may come. 
Can a human do that? 
Hard as it is, in this century, to detach oneself from materials, I believe I’ve accomplished a lot when it comes to that. 
But when it comes to people. 
Well… that’s a different story. Because my happiness, as a whole, has been broken into pieces and passed out unevenly among people that I love. Thus, my happiness, the wholeness of it depends on the effect the people around me have on me. 
My happiness is carried, a fragile unboiled egg, unknowingly by the people around me. 
I believe the same goes for a lot of people. 
Wether it is less or more, doesn’t matter. Our happiness, our joy in the end does not so much depend on us, but the people around us. 

Upon coming to that conclusion, at least for me. What can I do? 
Nothing. This is the human emotion. This is how it is. During the best of times, my heart is full of euphoria, a happiness, and during the worst of times it is filled with such pain. 

So. In a way, upon thinking of the 6 billion people, and how we as individuals can stand out, or have belief in our lives, I believe it is possible. 
We all can live a part of a dream. Our dreams. If only we look hard enough. Long enough. 
Try hard enough. 

Life is a play and we are all actors/actresses. We are thrust upon the stage with no lines, no practice,no review and no background info. 
With nothing but our costume on. Expected to act and speak, equally confused and equally uncertain of the plays ending. 

Yet we act. We move. We cry and laugh and give birth to new plots and twists and turns. 
The play hasn’t ended yet. It’s been going on for hundreds of years. We are only replacements. 

It’s 5:27am and I’m creaky unable to sleep.
I could write much. About life. And how it’s nothing like movies. Where there’s always a lesson at the end. Everyone is happy. And there is a greater closeness.
But I’m not in the mood for such bullshit right now.

I don’t why this has been written.
Goodnight.

I am tired. And my heart is so so tired. So so tired. 
You ever go through so much, that in the end, you feel nothing? 

I feel that right now. Or. I suppose I don’t feel it. 

There are times I think about this world. It’s humanity. It’s beauty. And I believe. I hope. i dream. 
And there are other times where I am in the darkest of holes. Unbelieving. Doubting. It’s usually one or the other. But now. At this moment. I am in the middle. Jammed between two extremes and I don’t know what to feel or believe. 

What is this fucking life? What is it? If there is no choice. No conscience decision made by me? If it’s constantly made by others. Than is it truly my life? 

Good lord. After two months of shit. And two days of happiness and relaxation. The shit comes back. In a different form. 

Dear god. Why do you do this to me? What is this supposed to mean? Am I supposed to carry a bag of scars from whomever I meet? Is this just the way it is?

I don’t know many things about this world. Humans confuse me. The way they kill and slaughter each other. How they degrade each other. 
They are not my type of people. 

I know one thing. One thing I’m sure if. That exists in its purest form. That has lasted through centuries of human filth. 

Love. It’s essence keeps us going. It’s form keeps us from eating each other up. 

Where are you love? When I need you the most? Where have you gone?

These words. All of them.  Are trash. I try to inscribe my feelings. My emotions into some form of communication. All that comes out is a messed up unintelligible frequency. 

All of my writing is complete shit. My poetry. This. 
Every fucking thing. 

Goodnight. 

After 2 months of studying hours upon hours. I am done. Finished. It is a freeing feeling to know that I could actually waste time now without feeling guilty. To just lay in bed and not have to calculate how long I can lay or how much I need to study before the day ends. I feel so free. 
And thankful. So very thankful. For God, who has gotten me through this. For my friends who have helped me. I’m blessed. I truly am. 

I was laying in bed thinking this morning. Around this time last year. About what I was doing. I was going through hospital rotations. Could I have imagined such a future back then? No. Impossible I tell you. 

When I was in middle school I always imagined my future career to be a teacher or a librarian. I loved books. There was no doubting that. My lunch time was not spent at recess, or sometimes not even lunch. But in the library. Surround by books. And talking to the school librarian. People did not interest me. Yes I had friends I suppose, but they just weren’t interesting enough for me. 
Books. I could meet tons of new people. Travel to different times and lands. Learn of magic or love or history within a chapter. Could a person contain all of that?
As for teacher, I always imagined myself teaching. Not that I was good at it, but I felt it to be a type of  honorable profession. To impart knowledge to the next leading generation. How amazing is that? 

But those dreams were years ago. And here I am now. A college graduate. With a recent job. 
The only job interview I had, out of the 15 I applied for all over the city. 

I don’t like growing up. There’s a certain sourness in my mouth when I think of adults. When I was little, I used to think adults were always right. They were perfect. They knew everything. How horribly wrong I was. To see adults act like children on an everyday basis quickly cleared that musing out. 

I have trouble falling asleep at night. I used to never have that problem. But ever since my hospital rotations, it began. I used to never get headaches either. Not till I started my rations last year. 

To think. A year has gone by without me knowing. 
4 years in college without me sensing. 
I’ve left middle school and highschool so quickly. 

Is this what adults mean by time flying. Of you losing control of it. Of it slipping like sand through your palms. 

I don’t want to grow up. To become one of those hypocritical adults who only lives for material or money. 
That is not me. 

I’d rather live in the poorest of neighborhoods. As long as I’m doing something I love, and I’m with a man I love. 

The rest of this materialistic world can go to hell. 

I wonder what the world would say when the mirror is finally shown to it. What would the world say when it sees it’s own hideous image. The true manifestation of it corrupt soul. 

Goodnight.