Solace.

My dystopian dreams, I wonder why I have so many.

At this point in my life it is hard to find meaning in peace and so, I am not at peace. My mind is searching for more and excitement. A lack of gratitude, I would say.

There is nothing wrong and I find that so wrong. I feel like every time I wake there is no apocalypse, no struggle that it is too plain.

This frustration and confusion builds up inside as urges I have to harm myself and emotionally damage myself by distorting the reality of what is around me… I am scared of myself and what I have done to myself.

I am not the absence or presence of pain/excitement/release. I am no one else but a girl who wants to just be. I think it is this truth that scares me so much.

I have to be more than just me.
I have to be more confident to get work, talk to new people and ‘network’.
I have to be more bubblier to seem more friendly to strangers.
I have to throw away how I feel because it has no place at work. It has no place in my studies. It has no place at home.
I have no place to just be.

People say it is part of growing up, being professional and being an adult. But this isn’t who I want to be.

I want every part of my life to be authentic and honest. It may be unrealistic to some and strange for most. Because I know those stares and whispers so well, as a reaction to moments of honest and open expression of my feelings and sexuality as a woman.

This is who I am.

Please anyone tell me why I have to be anyone different? Why do I have to be ‘professional’ or an ‘adult’ about things?

Look.
Perhaps I am spoilt in these times of peace.
Perhaps I am still a ‘child’ or close-minded in holding on to things I know.
Perhaps I should grow up.
Perhaps I am scared about who this confident, professional adult me is.

I really don’t know and I am scared.

There are those around me who have became those things. I feel like I’m behind and no one knows how I feel.

I will never admit that I am alone.
I will admit that at this moment I am choosing to be alone because it is easier.
When I do open up again eventually about this… because I always do… I will judge myself so harshly that I will feel on the brink of self-harm again.

So this is another message to myself when you come to that point.
I love you.
Do not forget the you who had laughed in the pauses of life between crying.
Do not be afraid to dream of a future that may be improbable but exciting.
You are not a child. You are not an adult. You are not judged based on ‘maturity’ or ‘poise’ or ‘confidence’. The only judgement that should matter is that of yourself onto yourself. Everything is in the eye of the beholder.
You have to put on those heels that you hate sometimes to fit in because that’s FUCKING life and it sucks. It really does.
Everyone does it to get to a place they want to be.
You have to as well.
Why? Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t want to understand why we have to comform but we must to be happy. Live for the future moments when we can just be.

Advertisements

Dear S.

It is not about composure or confidence.

It is not the vast income or lavish lifestyle.

Nor the dream partner. The picket white fence. The large kitchen. Pristine marble tabletops. Nor your adorable, lovely children who wonder about the world in cute delight.

That is not what an adult is all about.

Perhaps it is just a number, an age.

It is not about not making mistakes. It is the mistakes, the experience of the aftermath; it’s everything that happens which shapes who you are.

Maybe one day… I will truly believe that.

Maybe one day I can forgive myself for the mistakes I will make.

Maybe one day I will not expect perfection from myself.

And so life goes on, until that one, fine, single day.

For now, do not hold it against yourself to make those mistakes and cry about them. Honestly you have not made enough of them to give up now.

Be patient and live.

Do not forget, I will love you always no matter what.

Yours always and faithfully,
S.

Unconditional Love

It was not love at first sight.
It is a love I have always known.

I know it as a comforting warmth, smothering the cold away from my naked skin at daybreak.

I glimpsed upon its entirety as it woke me from sleep as a caress under moonlight.

It was not his whispers or her whimpers, nor even the word ‘love’ that was spoken and felt or even the lack of breath between the two.

It was not the lack of emptiness… but the presence of hope that everything will be okay.

Maybe it was seeing that love existed in its purest form… unconditional – that made our hearts yearn for more.

These were what she and I have experienced and what we wished for despite how little we had.

The Beginnings (of Love).

It always happens to me.

The world stop spinning for a split second, long enough for him to take my breath away.
Our eyes meet. I hope he thought I was looking else where or perhaps believed it was a casual glance around the room.
He smiled sweetly.
I returned one of my own.

Time suddenly sped up to make up for being lost in this moment.
Reality rushed back into my awareness.
Panic in the vicinity of my consciousness.
My breath quickened.
Whilst somewhere inside of me, I sighed and fainted like the starstruck feelings of a pre-teenage girl in the presence of a celebrity.

I realised he was waiting…
oh right! My green tea.
He took my order and left as quickly as the air he had stole from my very lungs.

If he had noticed… then life cannot get more embarrassing.

Two Nights.

My dreams were terrible. The last two days, unfathomable, monstrosities of nightmares.

A girl was wrongfully accused and locked into a dirtied bathroom. It was a make-shift prison.

Shackled were her hands and feet to the pipes.

She was not alone.

A man. His eyes gleamed with murderous, ill-intent, the likes of which this girl, who lay bruised across the room, did not understand.

Her body instinctively buckled and told her to flee. She couldn’t.

Bones stuck out his ribs from vicious torture, caused by his own hands or others, I don’t know. The scars never healed.

Blood shot eyes and a malicious grin. He enjoyed watching his new plaything shiver in the corner of ‘his’ room.

So yes, some days I wake up from these kinds of dreams.