Here's To Me

Because it's true even if a few nasty demons do get to slip between the cracks sometimes. I get shafted by my lousy clients on Thursday? Sure, why the frak not. It's not like it's anything new. So my birthday gift to myself? You may think you're not good enough, but you're sure as hell better than a sorry lot of people. HAPPY FRAKKING BIRTHDAY TO ME.

A Whole Lot of Shouldn't Haves

I shouldn't have to feel guilty for being myself, I know I shouldn't. I shouldn't have to apologize. I shouldn't have to be angry or envious or resentful. I shouldn't have to feel this weak, this taken advantage of, this pushed aside. I shouldn't have to go to the washroom every hour on the hour, to the one at the far end of the floor where people rarely go to, just to sob very, very quietly; just to squeeze out the knots in my chest; just to rub at my eyes to force the tears out. I shouldn't have to do that. And if I should, I should like to do it with as much noise my lungs will allow.

I'm still not sure if I should be writing, but I do because it's the only thing by far with strength enough to give me an identity -- ghost-like and immaterial and fragile it may be. I feel I should be somewhere else, though. I shouldn't have to feel this constricted, this edited. I shouldn't have to censor myself, or say 'I am' when as a matter of fact 'I am not'.

I shouldn't have to be huddled in the dark, when I could throw open the windows and feel the rain on my face, on my hair, taste the rain on my tongue, and laugh at the sky, and laugh at the sky.

One More Thing

Oh yes, there was one more affirmation that I've armed myself with all these years: 'Don't mind people leaving, because you do the same.' No one is exempted from this. I have stepped away from the lives of many people -- even people I have claimed to love. And many have stepped away from mine -- even people who have claimed to love me. Although there is hurting, there are no judgments. People walk away, because that is what people do.

The quiet, searing hurt is eventually tucked into some deep pocket of memory, like an old, soft handkerchief never to be thrown away. Yes, even after every particle of pain has all but faded from it. Time will come when the reason for leaving will not matter, just that they left. 'That is what people do,' you learn to tell yourself -- just as you learn how to do it too.

Today Is A Day For Silence

I called in sick today, because there's no other word for what I was feeling. Lazy? Perhaps. But lazy doesn't involve feeling nauseous. Lazy doesn't describe the rolling, jerking vertigo of a spinning, windowless office room, cold and lifeless and dreary, oppressive with all the strangers milling about, young and merry and laughing and obliviously happy, so I called in sick. Calling in lazy would be lying, and I'm not a very good liar.

And so, I decided today will be a day for silence. Away from noise and dissonance and other people. Today will be a day I tell myself, 'let it go, it's not a big deal' -- and believe it. Today will be a day for escape. Today will be a day for me.

I Have Decided

Yes, that the entry before this one is a little bit unfair, and partly a lie. It was unfair to dismiss love -- a force I have fiercely believed in growing up -- and say that it is something I am incapable of feeling, let alone relaying. I meant everything else, however. I acknowledge that my anger has defined who I am, and this, I think is the very reason why love is unable to resonate within my periphery. I see it around me -- from friends, from family -- but there is very little chance for me to benefit from its grace. That said, allow me to say that anger is just as real, just as terrifying, and just as delicious as love can ever be.