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Stop

I was encouraged to start writing in this thing again…. not this exact thing but something like it. I have been writing on and off in my fiction collections, but I can’t seem to discipline or motivate myself into writing in those when I see that it takes so long to have the character portray what I want them to portray. And then I find a reason to get distracted. I feel like a four-year-old is in my brain and keeping me from doing anything. 

But that’s aside the point. The real point here is just… the muddle in my brain that keeps tormenting me. It’s a plague on my psyche that I can’t seem to get rid of. I have a therapist, but I am yet to explain this one problem as we are just starting together. I’m waiting on the other stuff until I can see that she can handle the lower level stuff and then proceed from there. But what bothers me is this recurring cycle of outside obsessions. Is this the universe’s way of telling me to focus more on what’s in front of me and ignore that shit that’s going on outside? Am I being told to focus inward, which is something that I am horrendous at doing? It seems as though I keep chasing other people in a romantic fashion as if begging for them to see something that I don’t. It’s a sickness. It truly is. Not long after I’m rejected or reject someone else I am on to the next. But one obsession has stuck with me throughout these months, but that’s only because I am misremembering my own recollections of our time together. Maybe it was because it was the first time in forever that I actually felt appreciated and that someone didn’t expect anything from me….. Which is exactly what I do with others too. I guess you can say that I expect all the people that I suddenly become obsessed with to fill that void that was created long ago that I don’t know how to fulfill. How do I replace or fill this empty, vacant hole in my chest that I myself carved out in a fit of passionate rage so long ago? I know I did this to myself, but where is my reprieve? Where can I find the antidote to the poison that did not kill me but instead left me in a loop that I can’t get out of? Where is the herb that can lift the sickness from my soul and grant me finally peace where I am not wondering where I will receive my next bit of unrequited passion in hopes of keeping me going? Why do I have to be so dramatic about everything around me? 
I truly try to occupy my time with other things. I am on the computer a lot, but that’s for my job. But I am occupied usually from morning to the late afternoon in my own work and then my various other works thereafter. But nothing seems to dull the pain, nothing stops this knife from twisting within me further and further…. God that stupid cliche! Everything to do with that fucking cliche to explain a pain that I can only imagine! I lie about that like the cliche lies to pretend that it understands a metaphor. Such shallow wit and talent lies within that much like my own psyche! God, how I wish I could write with a bitter affinity, and a sharp bite of intelligence to weave a fabric of a story that would immortalize me. But with such a lofty goal, how can I? My words are pretentious, my rhymes and reasons too complex and my art is straining… like someone training and trying too hard to be something else that they know nothing of. What am I — who am I to speak about anything? I have sacrificed myself throughout my time and look at where it has gotten me? To the level of a paper cliche, flimsy and floppy, tearable and weak…. What have I done? What have I become? 

I again lament my own stages like my grief is my own. Like I own the very emotion. Oh, how very clever of me. What possessed me to possess it? What possesses anyone to possess anything? After all, I own no emotion: I rent it for a small while under the small guise of ownership to grant me some validation amongst the almost 7.5 billion humans out there now? What the hell am I to do in the grand cosmic scheme of things when I myself feel so abhorrently unfulfilled that is all I can think about? Replace my own empty emotions with the mock passion that another can bring with the swift kick from the eyes? My, what wonders do inhabit this wretched soul of mine. 

Why do I look at myself with such disdain? Why can’t I understand for once that this is simply an interpretation of what I am indeed feeling? Maybe I do feel grief. Anger is clear. I am angry. I am angry that the dreams I would desire hold no ground in this reality. It’s all an empty shuffle of fate that the cards dealt me in a horrid fashion. My mind misinterprets the symbols around me constantly due to its own selfishness to be right and corrupts the very message I seek! Why can’t I unmuddle this mess that inhabits my head? Can I not clear these illicit signatures that seek refuge among the dark corners of my brain to finally realize that this is not it?

That THIS IS NOT IT? 

How can I decipher the messages? How can I hold my ground when I have none to stand upon? 

How can I gather this ground I need when I can’t seem to see through the misty forest? 

Am I just hesitating? Or am I waiting? 
I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for something to happen, and nothing ever does. I follow a hollow promise and I end up hurt. This happens repeatedly, so why don’t I ever learn my message? When will I leave this teenage mindset behind and come to understand that life is more than having a significant other? Why am I like a rabid hound looking feverishly for a fox? Why can’t I stop?

Why can’t I stop? Why do I keep looking for an imaginary being? Why do I keep looking for requited dreams when I know that is pure fantasy? Why do I still believe that even though I know different? Other people may find it, but me? No. When will I stop torturing myself with this story that is clearly meant for someone else? This is not me. I’m meant to go elsewhere, but envy takes me and longs for nothing more than to fall into the arms of someone that I think will appreciate me. What is that like to look into the eyes of someone that you love and feel that one… light of magnanimity?  This mystifies me, and as much as I want it, I fear it as well. I don’t want the aftermath of that. I feel it regularly and it sucks. To compound that? I don’t want to imagine. 
I don’t. But then I am stuck in this constant tug of war where I make no decision for fear of being wrong. 
When will this stop? Please. Just stop. 

Just stop it all. 

One thought on “Stop”

  1. I love it. Your self-confliction seems to tear at the very fabric of your being. We strive to be individuals, especially in today’s society. But the truth is, every word that comes out of our mouth and every emotion from our mind originates from somewhere. No one is unique. We all feel the pain, torment and other dominating emotions over the good. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone. Good post!

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