I can feel it in my skin

With most people, I know how it's gonna go down - The violence is mine; even as I cradled their faces I knew I would hurt them, and I wondered how it would happen. Not because I ever wanted to, but because that's just the way things are.

But not you. I've always known that with you, I would be the one hurt. More than anything I could ever commit against you. I'm always waiting for the ball to drop. Small at first, like rain. Waiting.

Not because you ever wanted to, but because that's just the way it's always been.

You said

You said I don't see you as a person but
I think
You're the only one I see as a person
The only person whom I don't view in terms of utility
The only person whom I allow to change and grow as people do
The only person I can choose, haven chosen, will choose
To love
In spite the stupid shit you do
Or the things you become

I admire your competence
And adore your clumsiness

I would try
For you
And that is more than I can say for anyone else.

What

All of my anger feels so unreal to me now.
How can it be that I was angry?
How can I have the capacity to have cared that much?

You are simultaneously the realest and most unreal thing to ever flicker into my existence.

I'm starting to realize

that I have strong dissociative tendencies and it is Really Not Good.

When I look back on my life
And the recent destruction
I realise that everything is just a repeating cycle:
- Me feeling generally inhuman
- Meeting someone who wants to talk to me
- Me projecting a specific personality in order to communicate with that person
- Me projecting that personality because then at least I can feel something and I have someone to care about
- Me projecting that personality because it gives me a sense of stability in knowing who I am
- We have an enjoyable friendship or relationship
- We are actually really close
- The projection eventually crumbles because its too hard to sustain
- I go back to being a non-person
- I literally give zero fucks about that person anymore because I am literally unable to care
- I cut them out of my life
- They keep wanting to reconnect but I can no longer give any fucks



You tell me not to project
You tell me not to do that with you
I tell you that I will try

I will try.

Mourning

My grandpa had a stroke
My cousins wept
Intelligent and beautiful and functional.
We know he will not survive this
My brother and I exchanged glances -
Are we monsters for not crying?
I say to my groupmates,
I'm sorry I have to go.
They look more horrified than I ever can.
My brother reports the same.
I hope my grandpa passes on -
It's what he would have wanted.
I know this.
I only want peace for him.
Are we monsters for not crying?
I am afraid
I am afraid of finding out
That when we stand in the middle of his funeral
We will be the only ones dry-eyed

How will I mourn my lovers
My cat
My dreams
My parents??

This is not a poem this is just thinking out loud

That night by the pool
No - those two entire weeks -
When I felt nothing
You did not deserve it of me
You did not deserve my silence
And I am sorry.

End of Uni Y1, Halfway Through Holidays

Again, here's the customary "wow I haven't written anything in a long time".

I feel like I'm kind of losing myself. It's the holidays but I haven't been drawing or writing as much as I used to. I had so many things I was supposed to do but somehow lost the motivation.
I'm not even as eloquent as I used to be, and this frustrates me immensely because language is the vehicle of thought, etc etc.

I don't really know why I came back to this blog. Maybe it's cause I was reading through Ian's. But I don't really have anything in particular I'd like to say here. Just wanted to yell into the cyberspace void once more, like I used to. I've stopped using social media as an outlet for announcing random inane frustrations because that's incredibly retarded and nobody wants to see that. Feels cathartic, though.

I feel so tired.
I can sleep for as long as I want and the eyebags won't leave me.

I recently screwed up a social encounter pretty bad. I thought by now I'd have sorted out how to at least pretend to be functional in front of stranger adults, but newp.
Feel so alienated all the time. From adults, from peers, from children.
Is it somehow objectively wrong to be instinctively reclusive? Is it some sort of aberration from the 'correct' way to be a decent person/citizen/whatever? I'm not being rhetorical.

I realise that scrolling through all the posts on this blog is extremely depressing. Why is it that I only have things to say when I feel negatively? Maybe writing is just the way negative thoughts manifest themselves. Positive thoughts manifest more constructively, through various projects and stuff. Wonder if it's the same for others.

There was a dream.

A fantasy.
A fantasy so fragile and tenuous and achingly beautiful that it could never have existed.
And when it came close to reality it couldn't quite make itself real.
And so it vanished once more.
Like it could never exist at all if I dared to touch it, because it was so delicate.
But beautiful it was.

I am not sad because I couldn't make it happen.
I am sad because nothing I could have done would ever have made it happen.

I can have but a shadow of it.
And I suppose that that as far as reality is concerned, that is more than I could have hoped for.