Eternally revolving

I am beyond saddened
about what I could have
not could have had
could still have
yet can’t
because allowing myself
would destroy so many
lives that have come
to be connected
dependently
with mine

all my wishes
mean nothing
empty phonetics
lacking semantic value
eternally revolving
around you
against my will
involuntary orbit

who says the moon
pulls on the waves
who is to say
if it isn’t the water
holding her on a leash
lapping devotedly
to keep up
with your
bewildered tides

The Magic Of Motherhood

I keep surprising myself with the realization that I created an entire human. Or rather, she grew herself and chose my body as a home. Nature is a bad ass ingenious miracle maker
– The Magic Of Motherhood

• the birth of my daughter
birthed me as a mother •

Every time I look at her and imagine the tiny clump of cells that she started from, to now being all this: fingers, toes, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, skin, hairs. Not to mention her brain, so bright! Let’s not forget her soul, filled with light. Oh and, her heart full of joyful delight. She exists. How ever is this even possible? Originated from mere love. So powerful, she is
…by only just existing.

Sickened.

I’m tired of being bound to you
Depleted, mistreated
Defeated, misunderstood
Do you even care that I exist
I’m sickened, quite literally
By the ways you so consciously
Choose to treat me, repeatedly
Regardless of how many times and ways
I address and exert
And beg and scream and say
That I need different, you just divert
Deflect, manipulate the variables
That’s what data scientists do, right?
Gaslight
Neglect and then pretend you’re victimized
You thrive
On painting me a villain
You could never exist the way you do
If I’d be in my full power
So you relish in how hard I go for you
Then silently triumph as I drown
In the puddle of tears
Cried over hurt
And trauma
Triggers and dirt
You know it all
The darkest and the worst
Yet you don’t lift a finger
Watch as I slowly disfigure
Into half the shade of my own shadow
You planted the hate and then let me grow
A sprout of evil
From your hand
How I wish I could
Dismember
How I wish I would
Only remember
A life before you took mine
Step back before I cross that line

Soul Mates

I asked him: are we soulmates, you think?

He says: of course… or maybe not, I don’t know.

Those are opposites, I said.

I think that’s the definition of who we are, he replied.

To which I asked: please explain which one it is and what you mean?

He said: I think we’re meant to be together, I don’t know if we’re soulmates. I think those are two different things. On certain levels we are, yeah.. but I don’t know if we truly are soulmates.

But so if we are not soulmates, although we are meant to be together, wouldn’t you regret not being with your actual soulmate, I asked in return.

How to be depressed

For all people not knowing what happens or goes on in the mind and life of a depressed person: here’s the 101..

First things first. You start off by sleeping at 6 in the morning until 4 in the afternoon. Get up raising your eyebrows in a welcoming gesture to the dark clouds that surround you and the suffocating fog that occupies your mind. Don’t get out to get fresh air. If you must, limit yourself only to go buy alcohol and cigarettes*, and occasionally a loaf of bread and some cheese which you’ll then live from the rest of the week. Oh and noodles, also do the job. Spasm out every once in a while to spend excessive portions of money on healthy and exclusive foods to then cook yourself a luscious and elaborate dinner, which you will stuff yourself so full with, so that the rest of the week you will punish yourself for feeling fat by eating just grilled cheese sandwiches again.

Lash out at everyone you love, to then cry yourself asleep, realizing how you’re all alone in the world and have nothing to live for, because you don’t deserve to exist.

Don’t finish anything you ever start, whether it’s a formal obligation like school or passionate ambition like writing a book. Make sure to satisfy the necessity to confirm that you’re an all time failure at all things you attempt.

*{editor’s note: wrote this 5 years ago, I don’t smoke anymore}

 

Disclamer: This is of course not an actual guide on how to be depressed. Please note that you may choose however you want to be about it. I wrote this purely from my own experiences with depression. Yes, I am that open about it. No, I don’t care what anyone thinks of it.

What may it take to feel alive?


Are bad decisions for good reasons truly wrong? I’ve been wondering and can’t find the answers in all the generic ‘right’ ways or places. What if my desires and responsibilities contradict each other, what if my values and principles clash? Without trying to sound too much like a relativist, morality is fluid. Even if the mass stays the same, the (individual) shape will constantly move, morph, change, grow, evolve. Sometimes even back into a previously familiar form. Although backwards growth isn’t possible, this direction of movement can sometimes prove useful. If only to remember, recollect and cherish dearly what once was.

#MeToo

IMG_20180123_153031
What would you do if you came to the knowledge that your partner, or someone close to you, actively participated in someone else’s sexual abuse, assault or intimidation? Would you still be able to look at them the same, love them the same, feel the same for them? Would you protect (possibly enable) them and keep them around, or take a stand for the sake of humanity and eliminate them from your life?

With so many of the victims coming forward. Encouraged. Inspired. Empowered. So many still covered in the shadows of hurt and shame. Will we not forget to look for the attackers, the assaulters, the predators. Don’t kid yourself. They are all around us. They are your brothers and fathers and uncles and sons. Let’s not pretend it isn’t women too, so look at your sisters, mothers, aunts and daughters. Your cousins, neighbors, friends and partners. In all reality, the high percentage of victims indicates a high percentage of perpetrators. So be sure to take a good look around you, even your most inner circle, and don’t forget yourself…

…and, ask yourself. When you know, will you be idle? Could you forgive yourself, like you’d forgive them, passively?

Hashtag 2018

People please..
Stop it with the 2018 magical unicorn rainbow ride
“New year, new me, new life, new goals, new chances, new opportunities, new energy, new ambitions, resolutions, motivation” [new phone, who this?]
Stop it with the “leaving [insert negative notion of reality] in 2017
Like you haven’t been saying that for every year to come
For what or who?
Some kind of mental warp
We’ve all been conditioned to take a liking to
But it’s not the beginning or ending
Of anything

Nothing has changed
You’re still the same you
The sky still appears to us as blue
The sun still rises in the east
(that is, in the northern hemisphere at least)
Life is still what you make it
Beauty is still in the eye of the beholder
(Self) Love & kindness are still important
Blessings are still on their way
Prayers are still being heard

Nothing has changed
Except for the numeral counting on a human construction
[date] If only we could swipe that left, right?

Emotional slavery

It has always been like this and it will always be like this. Men just want me to fulfill some kind of fetish or fantasy. I’m a challenge, a trophy to them. Once won, it’s done. Nothing left but to polish and admire from time to time.

I am not worth any trouble. I am not worth any effort. I am not worth the time or thought. I am not worth to work or try for after the initial goal is achieved. I am not worth to be loved, that’s why I compensate with over-loving others. So at the end, the general love balance is still evened out somehow. I always put in more of myself because I already know I can’t count on anyone filling in the gaps for me. What I anticipate for others, can’t be done in return, because people would have to care and understand too much, too far out of their comfort zone.

I’m supposed to be satisfied and even impressed by little irregularities that might flatter me. I may not receive grand gestures or even just consistencies, and I may not ask for or expect them. I may not express any disappointment, or criticism on how unfair and unbalanced the reality of my relationship is. I should count myself lucky, as difficult to love as I am, that people put up with me as it is. I feel as though I buy people’s love and affection, care and understanding, time and attention, paying with everything I am and have… getting just less than the bare minimum in return. Emotional slavery.

Why am I like this?

If you expect something from me, I will automatically care.
So when you tell me you were waiting all night for my message, I will feel bad for falling asleep. Even though I owe you nothing, barely know you, have all the right to sleep whenever I want or need to (especially seeing as I struggle with falling asleep). So I should be happy I dozed off so relatively easily. But, you showed you cared and that it bothered you. You articulated expectation, you were disappointed by something I did (or didn’t) that had no real direct correlation or connection to you. I will still care, feel bad, guilty, inclined to fix it or make it up to you. Did I mention I barely know you?
Why am I like this? (and seemingly only I in this whole wild world) Because I know how it feels to care and not be cared about, to grow attached a little too quickly and cultivate rapidly expanding expectations based on a needle point sized probability of reality. I have been mistreated, dismissed, disappointed, led on, kept in the dark, lied to and cheated on so much and many times. Still I will always (regrettedly to my own ego and self loving properties) believe in the best of people, hope and pray for the best in their lives, give another chance each time the former expires, let people cross lines I’ve chalked down in blood, keep giving more of myself even when I clearly receive nothing in return, pretend I’m okay with what happens while I’m dying inside. Why? Why am I like this?
I am care. The very definition of sensitivity. In both its light as also dark magic. Now I only have to learn how to apply this all to myself. And as I tred the silver silk line that is this process, I slip every other step, back into familiar default patterns. Two steps ahead, always followed by one backwards. Still moving forward, though, through constant setbacks. Crawling through layers, scratched by the cracking of surfaces I break through and rise up from, ready to fall all the way back for the slightest sign of care from anyone who’s willing to show it. Not out of desperation for attention, rather despair for the acknowledgment and existence of unconditional love. Not because of weakness, but from the urge to mean to others what I wish I could mean to myself.