Casual conversations have a way of sending you back to best-forgotten past, careening off the sanity road. Ugly feelings you’ve decided to bury so deeply would resurface like a cork in the ocean. With even an innocent word spoken kindly by a dear soul, if it’s the perfect keyword to hit a raw nerve, you’re a dead meat… the haunting has returned.
When you choose an optimistic disposition, choose to strive for joy despite the recurrent bouts of depression, you sometimes run out of resolve. Everything you’ve worked so hard for just crumble… and you watch ‘em break into smithereens. Old feelings of hurt and resentment form in a split second. If anyone ask you to snap out of it, you could break a face. It’s totally out of control. It’s way out of your hands or anybody else’s. Let it be. As fast as it comes, it’s certain to go away. And be back again, when something triggers the darn black cord. You simply live with it.
A buddy once said that insight is one thing, living it is another. You write positive things to rise above the negative pull of energy. You get through the tough times by believing of better things to come. You write the hope and joy you desperately want to believe in. It’s your prozac. It works sometimes. Other times, it does not… like a placebo pill having no effect on some individuals. You just keep looking for ways that works. You keep seeking for the magic pill — your prozac. When you find what pill works for you, you could get immuned to it and it could lose its effect at some point. When that happens, you get off it for a while. You get back on it again… and the magic still works. For however long it will, you couldn’t tell. Just keep on it.
Hangin’ tough is just enervating. It’s not pretending when you act strong. You’re just willing your soul to be strong. When you get exhausted you just allow yourself to break down, go weak and limp. You let the blackness flow through your being. You bawl. You scream. You face your demons and let the anger resurface before it’ll completely eat you up inside. You let the poison flow through and spit it out. You write about how f*&%^$ up and feeling shitty you are. You welcome the anger and not feel guilty for feeling it. You admit to yourself that life simply sucks at this moment. You’re tired of it.
You’re a work in progress. You’re healing your soul. You are your own prozac.
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Casual conversations have a way of sending you back to best-forgotten past, careening off the sanity road. Ugly feelings you’ve decided to bury so deeply would resurface like a cork in the ocean. With even an innocent word spoken kindly by a dear soul, if it’s the perfect keyword to hit a raw nerve, you’re a dead meat… the haunting has returned.
May 16th, 2009 at 10:28 am
do you read minds? i can still distinctly recall our conversation last night and i’m sure i didn’t divulge even a minute clue of how downtrodden and awful i felt. and here you are, verbalizing point blank the different emotions that are clamoring to resurface, the same demons that i’ve been trying to slay for my sanity’s sake for a week now. i need to thank you,…i guess. just remember that the next time we talk i will be bawling my heart out even before you can say hello. consider yourself warned,….i guess.
May 16th, 2009 at 5:50 pm
i did sense the sadness in your voice last night, dear maia, but i’ve no inkling of the depth of it. this grieving post came right after a non-serious talk with someone this morning. the brunt of it only came after i hang up the phone… which undid me. unresolved issues surely catch up on you.
sometimes we just don’t realize that when we strip emotionally naked, we’re also speaking for more that one wounded heart. when we hear an echo, it makes us feel not alone. it does help a great deal.
so… shall we burn the wires? or should i say, shall we create a river of tears that’d run through calgary and british columbia?
May 16th, 2009 at 7:51 pm
quite so true, painfully but surprisingly so.
i don’t think i can talk coherently right now. i’ve been given another blow to the solar plexus a few hours ago and my refuge, my bed, has been beckoning me. i’m having a hard time deciding what’s the most imaginative way of killing the pain painlessly. soon, girl…soon…