3 12 2011

I want to write.

It’s been so long, time has moved so fast that often I wonder if soon everything will be over and there will be no new times to look forward too. So much has happened, so many dreams came to life and I threw them away, so many times of happiness and sadness that I cannot get back and I didn’t write about them – didn’t bring them alive through my words.

I was loved. Truly loved. I made him go away.

A year of life summed up in that sentence. A year of my life that I cannot talk about in more words as I don’t have them to explain. He tried so hard to love the unlovable, he tried so hard to break down my barriers. I couldn’t do it, my craziness took on a new edge as I felt stifled, confused, trapped. My anger took sinister turns as I pushed and pushed and finally made him leave. The coldness of my soul was put before him in all its evil glory.

He used to call me the ‘Queen of words’ because he felt so many of mine were untrue. It always struck me as odd, as my life has always been one big lie and when I tried to tell him the truth that too was judged as a lie. And me, this Queen of words, never found it in herself to write even though I tried so many times.

After he left I sought help, I knew I had needed it for a long time but I made myself gain the courage to ask. I was diagnosed with Pure O – a form of OCD. Some of it fits but not all. The medication started, and it helped me to live normally, it took the edge of life, of my feelings and worries but it also took the edge off me, it killed the thinking that drove me to this late night blog. Pain, happiness and sensitivity were numbed. Everyone told me how good I seemed, how happy I seemed. I made new friends, I started to carve out the career that I had let flounder for so long. I was living, but I was not real.

It’s only now, 18 months on, after a week not taking those little white emotion killers, after an evening drinking red wine and thinking about the new person in my life that I opened up this blank white page and started to fill it with words.

I want to talk, I want to talk so much, but when I talk I want someone to listen, I want someone to try and understand what makes me the way I am – try and understand my past and the mistakes I have made. I want to come clean, I want to talk in the dead of the night and be heard but still loved in the daytime. Please God, I want someone to see and know the truth but accept me anyway. I’m crazy, a little more each day.


Missing Words

24 01 2011

Where did my words go?

Sometimes I sit here looking at a blank page and will the words that used to come so easily to dance upon the white background and provide me with some salvation from the craziness of my reality.

But they don’t come. I want so much to tell you the truth, to tell you how I have self destructed in such a big way that even my blog friends, who always have a positive and warm thought for me could not justify my actions.

I had it all … everything that other people dream about, but I threw it away, rejected it and then destroyed the giver simply because I can’t function in the real world like other people – I need to be shackled, locked up in a mental hospital where they can keep me from poisoning the world that surrounds me.

I’ve walked so many lonely roads, battled the wilderness but still I do not learn my lessons, still I hurt and destroy, still my words come so harsh in a world so gentle.

I am here … all the time I am here …

My Moment

8 05 2009

I have always dreamt big. I dream about far off places, faces and situations. I dream I am everything and anything. I have lost myself in dreams, I have found myself in dreams, I have spent a lot of time shutting the world out by dreaming. For a while my dreams stilled.

For someone so enthralled with dreaming of far-flung , impossible situations, my biggest wish in life was to full in love with the moment I was in, without dreaming of being elsewhere. So in that dreamless stillness, all I saw was my wish finally granted.

A moment in time, a small moment that I had been striving for my whole life seemed to come to pass and for my untrained and often colour blind eyes it seemed like the most beautiful time that I would ever truly see.

I had found my moment in which to fall in love; I had stilled the endless impossible dreams.

But after the stillness, after the dreamless state of being, the words that have always come from me so easily when I write seemed to run dry. The words, that I misuse so much in real life, but brought me so much peace as they danced on blank screens and pages, seemed to be confused and muddled.

With my dreams so quiet, with facing the real world in such a magnificent and then such a harsh way, I found that all words from me became untrustworthy, as if I opened my mouth to speak all that would be there was pain, was anger, was a deep rooted fear. Expression became almost a torment, as if each day I was being strangled by the same words that I once loved.

I had found my moment in which to fall in love; I had stilled the endless impossible dreams.

Then I found my words; but it was not my words I needed now. I needed to hear someone else’s words. But those words came so quietly that against my anger they seemed so silent I could hardly make them out.

So we were just left with my words; my assurances, my opinions, my thoughts. But no longer were there any thoughts for myself. I was trying to use my words as weapons in a war that was not mine to win.

I had found my moment in which to fall in love; I had stilled the endless impossible dreams.


14 01 2009

I am a rainbow.

Ever disappearing, every colourful, ever elusive. I have no beginning for you to find or an end where you can find that much-wanted pot of gold. Instead I glow only when the weather changes and for a moment I am bright then I fade until its time again for me to show the vibrancy of my colours.

We are all rainbows, our beginnings do not need to be found as we have no beginnings, while the start was a time it matters not when our present is where we are and our ends cannot be found as they are not yet there, we have no end, our end is simply not yet decided.

I am not completely forgotten, sometimes those I care about deeply forget me, lose me as they walk the twists and turns of the maze that represents their own lives but in which I am not walking with them. Sometimes I make myself become forgotten as I take turns in my own maze that they do not understand and cannot accept. Sometimes I forget myself when the world seems to be in nothing except darkness and my eyes are not yet trained to look through the pitch black of the night.

There are times when I forget through my own laziness or being too busy with other things to clean my windows and mirrors and then I wonder why my view or my reflection of myself becomes murky and unclear. When the view is not pristine I become too involved in my own doubt to step back and realise that all I need to do is simply take a cloth and clean what I have forgotten to so then my view is clear again.

I am not an ogre that lives under the bridge waiting to pounce on small children or hurt others intentionally, nor am I am Angel flying above with only the need to protect others with no need to look at my own self and see if she needs protecting. My world is not black and white, it has many shades of red and grey and pink and purple, shades that may not be shared in other peoples worlds but are a part of me.

I am not fixed, not cured, nor maybe do I need to be fixed or cured, maybe my own growth is simply slower or faster or in different directions to others.

My choices are both right and wrong. My mistakes are not always mistakes. My lessons are not always learned.

I am a rainbow.