@aureatex - Tumblr Blog

july || 2016 | ig

Rains coming down in sideways streaks that slap the window panes and shake the trees. Trees breathing in heavy and worn, twisting with the wind. Shrugging small, a signal of humility, submission to the weight of the weather, fall storms like nightmares in the sky, things we try to forget, push down with one thing or another, alcohol, drugs, food, or lack thereof.

I always feel embarrassed after a storm. To look out the window and see those trees, beaten down, wounded, deprecated, defeated. I feel I am witnessing the great shame of nature, the weakness of life itself.

I wonder what I look like from the outside. But even more so, I wonder what I look like from the inside. Lately, I can’t tell. I work at the behavioral health center. The irony is not lost on me. I work all day with suicide risk. On Tuesdsay we tried an exercise to feel the insides of our bodies. Be in your body, the tape said. Feel the inside of your toes, your feet, your ankles, and so on, all the way up. We tried it together. And I couldn’t do it, any of it.

Where am I, then, if not inside my body? Am I somewhere else? On Wednesday I snuggled up under the covers with this boy who is so alive it radiates. He moved in close to me and placed a hand on my chest. I can’t feel your heartbeat, he said. You’re so skinny, but I can’t feel anything.

I can’t feel it either.

The line between life and death is so thin. I’m tired of this game I’m playing, pretending that all the wrong things matter. I’m not living, I’m just playing a game where nobody wins.

And I mean, don’t get me wrong – I’ve felt joy before, in the purest, most raw and real sense of the word.

But those moments of joy shouldn’t just be little blips in the long expanse of confusion and hurt. Why don’t I believe I deserve to feel joy as the center of my world? Why don’t any of us believe that?

i trusted that it was going to get easier and it is. tomorrow will be two weeks since i started and i already feel more alive. i feel like a whole person. i am falling so hard, for the simple idea of being alive... and for you of course. how sweet it is to know we're in this together. i hope that i feel this good for at least a little while longer

myblog-is-great

ohjessmarie

Hunger.

Sometimes you read a book and you know the author better than you know your best friend, your boyfriend, your mother. You know and feel so deeply everything she has been feeling for her entire life. Sometimes I sit outside and listen to the wind brushing through the trees and I think I feel the spirits of many other lives I’ve never lived. And I don’t see any reason why I should not believe that when souls leave the body they go on to live inside an August breeze.

It is only in the stillness that we can let our souls out into the air. Let the trees soak up the strength from our hearts. Let our pain float away into the evening blue sky, let the hurt swirl and freeze and fall back to the earth in cold, heavy drops of rain. What is a body? What does it mean to be inside my body? It’s arbitrary. The human mind invents cages. Rules. Binaries. Inside of me, outside of me. But that’s not the truth. The truth is that it’s all me, and none of it is me. I invented me. I am actually, as much in the sky as I am in my fingers, as much in the ground as I am in my toes. Human illusions. How else would the trees speak their heavy stories of heartbreak beneath fading streaks of sunlight, light green over dark checkered leaves, wind rising from the earth and spiraling down from above, carrying the weight of every life, every story I’ve yet to hear. I will be part of the magic someday. I am part of it now. Now, I am writing the story. When I am finished, my story will live in the breeze. And I will be so happy to be free of my body. I will be so happy to be free.

remember the salt water skin, soft and gentle, like every good memory packed tight inside a small little touch? remember the band playing down the shore, so many roads, he sang, and you sang, so many roads, so many roads, and i laughed because, well, obviously. and i thought about a few of my roads. the safe one, the scary one, and the right one. i want to pick the right one. i want the road that leads me to a life in which i can lie in your arms and not think about the size of my stomach pressed against your skin. a life in which i can say yes when you suggest stopping for ice cream on the way home from the beach at 10pm on a cool tuesday night.

a life of presence. of doing things, like really doing things, a life that doesn’t feel like a movie on somebody else’s tv screen.

i wish i had something else to write about. i think it’s getting easier. this is the 6th day. imagine the 60th? that’s the reason to keep going.

am i crazy or am i just hungry?

what do you call the girl who's scared to live and scared to die? where am i tonight, joe biden in blue on the tv screen, people dying down the street, a friend in the ground this morning and i couldn't say a thing about it, instead i watched on my phone, the age of livestream funerals and virtual condolences, and all night i cried and cried and cried because i ate all three meals today. i cried because i realized, i have to do this tomorrow too. oh my god. and every day until i die. is it even - is it even worth it?

how do i imagine a world for myself where i am not small. a world where i do not fight with my body every 3 hours, when the pain settles and the hunger comes rolling back in. let me imagine a world where i can focus without dizziness. where i can laugh without a pang of emptiness in my gut. let me imagine a world in which i can just feel okay without feeling guilty for it.

why do i hate myself this much, who taught me to hate myself in the first place? why do i believe i'm not worth feeling okay? it doesn't make sense, doesn't hold any truth, wastes all my time anyway. i don't understand anything.

i ate three times yesterday and i cried for three hours. today i will eat three times and lay in the sun and kiss in the dark. there are no rules in this life. there are the things we love and the things we wish we could love. i wish i could love the feeling of being okay. the monotony of surviving. the dull lifestyle of the happy, the full, the content. no, no, i'm not crazy. i've just been hungry all this time.

sevgiliplath

i think the problem is, i’m not actually sure if i know how to be happy. when was the last time i just forgot everything and just let time wash away, let the thoughts come and go, felt the stars fall from the sky, the cracks in the sidewalk, the light of blue air inside summer nights. when was the last time i felt part of this world? god, bad things just don’t give anyone a break. its good bad good bad all the time all the time, over and over, one after the other, like a hurricane spinning deep inside whatever it is that keeps us all alive. its so hard to see what’s ahead of me beyond all this dizziness. i feel, i feel everything. all the time. maybe everyone does, maybe i was just born like this, i don’t really know because i’m scared to ask. i’m scared to be different. i’m scared to keep living here like this.

i just know it is the beginning of the end right now. as soon as i feel something, as soon as i let myself feel something, it ends. every single year. love destroys us every time, and when we build ourselves back up, it destroys again. it’s something i know and yet, i can’t pull myself out of this game. it’s the only thing to do, really.

i miss brooklyn and the little lives that pass by on the sidewalk and disappear behind me into that blurry backwards world of city lights and smokey bars and that great big gut-wrenching pull of the past. i miss the heat of the subway crawling up the stairs, reaching into the night, pulling me under. i miss moving beneath the earth, inside the earth, i miss her darkness. i miss being nobody. and yet. i don’t miss the hands of men who don’t know me, i don’t miss their hands pretending to know me. i don’t miss feeling that what i know and what i want and what my body knows and what my body wants, they don’t matter to anyone at all. i don’t miss feeling like i could disappear and nobody would notice. i don’t miss feeling like everyone else was a part of the world and i was just, floating above it, or floating along through, unseen, invisible, empty, entirely unimaginable.

i miss pittsburgh so much it hurts, and yet, i don’t miss the weeks covered up by clouds, the months of icy white air, the purple fingers, the cold cold bones, the loneliness, the feeling that i’m so far away from home i don’t even remember what it feels like to feel at home. i don’t miss pretending to be happy when i knew in my heart there was something missing, something big and intangible, something i still haven’t found. something with no name, shape, taste, smell, something only understood by the feeling.

i do miss the feeling of feeling not alone. but how often have i felt that? a few months scattered here and there, mostly within the last four years. before that, i don’t remember. i don’t know. i hate that i just don’t know anything. twenty three and she doesn’t know anything. i hate it, hate her for it.

most of all, i feel that i miss.. something in the future. i miss a world that does not exist, that might never exist. i miss feelings i’ve never felt, like security, wholeness, love, trust, real happiness. i know they live out there, somewhere along the timeline of my life. i mean, i hope they do. it’s just that from my angle in the present, where i’m spinning around and around in the same spot, everything’s getting all shook up and twisted in every direction, like the branches of a tree straining every which way, beneath the weight of a hurricane’s wind, losing leaves and losing branches and losing sight of what it means to feel secure in the ground. the storm’s passing right overhead of my sweet little timeline and it’s hard to see anything that might be hiding just around the corner. it’s hard to know if there will be an end to this stormy season.

so. most of all, i wanna belong. to somebody, to some place, to some role in the world. i wanna feel, that i belong to myself too. i wanna feel like i can step into my skin and just breathe, i want my skin to be a home. but it’s not safe here, and its really not safe, anywhere. and that’s the problem, isn’t it?

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