Tell Me Something New

By forces uncertain,

And intolerable to me,

The urgency returns

To a room where patience has no need.

 

I have to admit to absent knowledge,

The vacancy makes me static.

Consciousness arrives,

The instructor tells us to make it a habit.

 

I seek what is full of promise,

A perpetual opportunity

To uncover rewards incomparable and undefined,

A place where entitled and full bodies

Explore their empty yet inquisitive minds.

 

With every passing day, the ignorance subsides

As questions and answers materialize,

Maybe the dull days are worthy

Or I’m just reading into the selected reading, a fruitless journey.

 

State of Mind

I don’t let what people say

affect what I do.

But the looks on their faces

still creep into my vision

and my imagination

is good at speaking for them.

At night, the images seep into my body,

playing in slow-motion, across my unconscious mind.

And I keep hearing their thoughts,

until they burn through my ears.

The video player of my mind

plays so much, it overheats.

And the words  they once said

are branded onto my mind,

like the scars on my wrists,

that were caused by their thoughts

that perhaps didn’t exist.

But their words don’t affect me,

not even a little bit.

 

And I still don’t look in the mirror.

Because they’d never shut up.

 

 

Like life, this post is pointless.

All I know is uncertainty, in all of its intolerableness.

I told my parents that I wanted a gun for Christmas and they reminded me I was mentally ill.  I remember when I used to tell them that and they would never believe me, blind to my suffering as much as I was.  My mom once told me to kill myself, to see if I would actually do it.  Every time they talk to me, the inside of me swells up.  I feel like I’m gonna die without even doing it myself.  But they care though, I guess they just don’t know how to do that very well.  Well my therapist assures me they care and I guess I have to trust her.  I can never think of something to talk about with my therapist, but we always end up talking abut something.  That’s always a big insecurity is not being able to talk.  And whoever my therapist is at any point in my life is one of few people or the only person I can rely on, and I’m not even making that up from my insecurities, it’s usually just true for people.  I always prided myself because my therapists always either really liked me or thought I was their most interesting patient or etc.  It’s been one of few validating experiences for me on this earth.  That’s why I get nervous that I might start to bore them.  My life is really boring right now and I don’t have any friends.  Even when I think nothing’s happening, though, I guess it’s not true, because I always want to die, if only they knew.  I bet I’d be good at dying. My suicide note would be a beautiful gratitude list mixed poetry and emo sayings.  I’d definitely wanna go out with a bang.  If I can’t love my life I’m sure as hell gonna love my death.  I remember taking this african dance class when I was still in college and the teacher would always play this song that would just repeat the phrase “I love my life”.  I always thought she was crazy but I’m starting to think now that there’s no such thing as craziness, just different experiences.  That woman was crazy to me because loving life wasn’t normal to me, only hating it was.  I never thought I was crazy but everyone else did.  I never know how things originate. Like did people thinking I was crazy make me suicidal and not feeling like I belonged in the world.  Or did my  suicidality make people think I was crazy.  And if the ladder is true than maybe all the reasons I feel like I don’t belong aren’t real.  But I never felt like I belonged and people always thought I was crazy.

 

 

 

This used to be called hunting szn until my poetry professor last year said it was stupid.

I can’t tell if I’m a lion awaiting sedation

or prey awaiting being eaten.
You told me it didn’t matter
as long as I sucked your dick.

So I did,
as to avoid dehydration.

 

I thought you blinded me,
but then I realized I just couldn’t open my eyes.

You told me to open them
not so I could see,
but so you could see my eyes.

 

I tried to speak,
but there was something in my throat.

I look up at you,
but you’re someone different now.

Conversations of Mind

I just want to find out who I am,

never meant a thing to any man, I want a friend.

But if you ask them I’m sure they’ll lie,

don’t wanna be the reason I don’t survive.

I wanna be a part of people’s lives, but

I do better by myself, but I’m not so sure what better is,

Or what happiness can be.  I’m not good at things I want,

better at what I’ve got, or better at nothing,

since that’s what I’ve got.  Maybe it’s a lie

or maybe it’s true, all the same though when you’re not sure about life.

Is there beauty in that though?  I mean there’s beauty everywhere.

I’m unhappy here but there’s still happiness here.  I want

my own special life, but no insult to the simplistic, so I

hide my tears behind the glitter on my eyes, so you

couldn’t tell that this isn’t what I’d choose.

Then it’s easier to take, ’cause if I don’t choose it,

it’s embarrassing that this is all I could make.

But I still hear them tell me

to think about the times I would’ve died,

try to think of reasons God wants me to survive,

but if they took so many great ones,

should I even want to live?

Only alive to insult all the greatness they did.

And does it even matter what we do when we’re here?

I guess no is easier anyway, but then

there’s no point at all, I should just end it today.

And then that’s the biggest point of all,

no matter what color it is, I’ll always be blind, and so

I’ll never be happy, even on the other side.  There’s no

cure they say, but maybe it could.  We should all be done.

Don’t wanna promote death but is there any life left?

Even if I’m dead it’s all the same, I’m insane,

and at least when I’m dead I’m no longer to blame.

idk what this is

 

You always said I had something to say, but we don’t speak anymore.  My mind talks to yours though, I think.  Can you hear me?  I always thought I had a guard up, but that was just you.  You guarded me from the world, and I think maybe I liked the safety.  I thanked you for your protection but I should’ve seen you for the brick wall you hid me behind.  You made it look nice though, like an art project for your drawing class.  You used to draw pictures of me, but I never would’ve thought that I was the project, perfectly primped to your liking, like you were gonna eat me for dinner.  Every time you fixed my makeup I thanked you for your help.  And every picture you took from a carefully selected angle as if to not show my uglier side, I thanked you for those too.  But they were never for me though, were they?  It always took weeks for you to send me the pictures you took after I asked and asked.  “It’s my photography project,” you would say, and you were right.  I felt at home with you, because I felt safe inside myself, because you never let the world see my imperfections and never let me see them either.  Every ugly drunken night was an erased memory for me anyway.  And you were always there to clean the vomit until I got used to using it for a pillow.  Gross could just be another cute dimension to my charming personality that you dutifully constructed.  You hid my ugliness in the dark shadows of our dorm room until I forgot they were there.  And then months later, the smell of its rottenness overtook our febreeze, and you were so shocked that I was truly imperfect the whole time, that you locked me out to find some more vomit to sleep in, because you forgot I wasn’t your daughter or something, when I would jokingly call you “mama.”

Too Many Passions

Is there such a thing? I’ve been waiting and waiting for clarity to come, and then I waited some more.  When will I figure out what I’m going to do?

Here’s my story: I spent more than two years at a really good college until my mental illnesses and addictions put me in the hospital twice and my college basically told me that I needed to take some time off to get my life back on track.  I could come back when I was mentally stable.  Long story short, I’m not going back.  I really enjoyed what I was learning about, though.  I chose the major American studies which is a lot of sociology and psychology and political science and a lot of other things mixed together but focused in America.  We learned about hegemonic systems and American ideology and how they got to be the way they are.  So just learning bout fucked-up ness and how things got to be so fucked up  and how deep the fucked-up ness goes.  I loved it.  I felt like I was doing important work.  But once everything came to a halt and I ended up in a daily therapy program, I got to reevaluate my entire life and find out what I was really interested in.  Turns out, I really love art and fashion.  Which I always kind of knew because I loved to freak people out and draw attention with my unique clothing choices.  But I even got into making all different types of art, getting more into makeup, and even making my own clothes for myself.  I also started to really journal in therapy which motivated me to start writing about random things which eventually led me to creating this blog.  I started to actually acknowledge all the crazy ideas I have about things and want to write about them.  I also got really into yoga which was apart of our therapy program which manifested into its own lifestyle and the holistic and spiritual side of life.  I started collecting crystals and meditating to add more to my yoga practice.  On top of that, going to therapy everyday for months and confronting the many demons I have helped me to realize how much help I could be to others going through similar issues.  I really loved connecting with others in my therapy groups and giving advice, so do I want to be a counselor on top of all of this?

For months my mind has been scrambling to make a decision and actually start down a path instead of just staying stagnant as a 21 year old living in my parents’ house.  I always felt like there was nothing out there for me, but now that I have all of these things that interest me, it doesn’t feel that different.  The only thing that’s changed is that finding myself through therapy gave me the confidence I needed to actually get into all of these hobbies and interests.  I never felt good enough to write or create etc.  But I still feel like I can’t move forward.  I don’t want to open one door and end up closing all the other doors.  Can I just be a full time student as my career and just never stop learning about all there is?

If I want to do all of these things like possibly write a book, work in fashion and even possibly make my own clothes, help people with struggles like me through possibly art therapy, be a yoga instructor and help people cultivate their spirituality, and also pursue social justice in some sort of way, where do I start?  Is it possible to combine them all?  How do I get into these things without spending my whole life in school?  Will I spend my whole life thinking/learning about this stuff without actually doing anything?

I always thought being a passionate person was a good thing and I characterized it as one of my strengths.  Is there such a thing as being too passionate?  Or is it a blessing in disguise?

Comment back if you can relate.  I’d love to hear other experiences.

Thanks,

Young and overzealous<3

“Learn as if you’re going to live forever.” Or however it goes.

I was always interested in why things were the way we were; why people do the things they do.  I’m sure we all were, to an extent.  At least at some point in our life.  You know how annoying little kids keep asking adults “But why?” about every little freaking thing and their parent begrudgingly responds, “Because that’s just the way it is!”  or “Because I said so!”  Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for giving annoying toddlers any reason to shut up.  But I think we all got so used to adults telling us this when we were little that we really just began to accept things the way they were with no questions about it because, in reality, what were we gonna do about it?  Now I’m not gonna sit here and act all scholarly since I finished over 2 years of college before dropping out, but when you start to learn a little bit about our culture in this society and why things are, and psychology and sociology yada yada yada, there’s basically about a million scholars and theorists that can deny that things are one way because, well, they just are.  Let’s look at me, for example, since I can really only talk from experience.  For starters, once I started to come into my true being, I always loved being very expressive through my clothing and makeup.  I loved being a girl who people stared at, for better or worse.  From bloody eye makeup and black lipstick to dressing like a slutty five-year old; either way, the saying “less is more” never really had an effect on me.  I never minded seeming crazy as long as I peaked people’s interest.  I always wanted to be very unique and come off as super interesting, especially with my sartorial choices since I never felt confident enough to do it with my words.  I have severe social anxiety so basically if I’m with a group of people I’m just meeting, my mind sort of goes blank and my throat starts to feel like it’s closing up.  My whole life I was always characterized as super shy and quiet.  I was the easiest target to make fun of because, well, I never said anything.  And growing up in a family of people who never shut the hell up didn’t really help.  I always remember my grandfather saying, “Kelsey, why don’t you ever talk?!”  and how I needed to get a personality if I ever wanted to get by in life.  And so me, desperately wanting approval from my family members, my desire to have people interested in me for my uniqueness became stronger and stronger, and our, supposedly “individualistic” societal standards didn’t help to thwart those desires. So yeah I definitely became “unique”, or just a weirdo, whatever you want to call it.  But it’s not like my social anxiety went anywhere, sorry Poppop.  And yeah, this doesn’t take away from the fact that I am super passionate about clothing design and makeup, but a lot of my behavior also comes from insecurities, which is weird since to most people it would seem like I was super confident in myself and didn’t care what anyone thought of me.  Yeah, I wish.  Basically what I’m saying is my insecurity about my personality presented itself through my passion for fashion.  Lol.  You’re probably wondering why I brought all of this up.  Well I think it’s interesting to look at the reasoning behind things because the answer is never really “because that’s just the way it is.”  We don’t keep doing these random crazy and potentially self-destructive behaviors because we think it’s good for us.  I don’t attend my college classes looking like a zombie just because it’s fun; even though it is.  I’m super insecure about being boring so I overcompensate! A lot!  Most of the time, things we experience during our transformative years almost always come back to bite us.  I just think learning about ourselves is so life changing.  Learning about anything can be life changing.  We need to continue to pursue all of our curiosities and find out why people do the things they do.  Because most people are insecure or worried about something and finding out more about them can only lead to more connectedness with others and ourselves.  I think learning is one of the most fulfilling experiences and we can always do more of it.  We’re all just terrified and clueless human beings, am I right? Learning more about yourself and about the world can only help us! Not do harm.  And hey if it does… therapy is great!!

Ya girl Kelsey who is already doubting her first blog post :/