inadequate

In fear of taking a leap of un-faith

Posted on by TheMX

Today’s daze left me pondering over a mini social experiment, minute as a pop quiz, that I wanted to try awhile back: but was too afraid to.

On the Friday before flying off to Perth, the squad was supposed to meet for dinner-ish in the evening at Harbourfront. The initial time was 6.45pm, which dragged to be an hour later. Reaching at about 7pm, I went to the roof garden to sit as I read Cheryl Strayed’s  Wild. While waiting – Navi was next to arrive, and he asked if anyone was around. Despite seeing his text, I chose to read on and not respond. Before you think me irresponsible, let me introduce the little dilemma that was debating whether or not to reply. There was a little temptation intruding the thoughts, one that speaks of selfishness. Likening my unresponsiveness to what it would be if I were to suddenly disappear; being almost definite it would have been unnoticed. The immediate thought of it almost left me saddened: who wants to be forgotten, after all. But if there came a day I could hike the PCT and leave everything I am, I was, I should be, behind – along with the good and the bad and all the ones too indispensable to me, this pain would be nothing. This pain would be worth it. This pain, this pain, this pain. Wouldn’t hurt as much as the sticks and stones that may break my bones. I would be able to let go, and perhaps I could deem the self to be strong, and redeem. Perhaps this thought is warped, it is perverse, it is irrational. But the prolonging pain numbs the sadness, or so we would like to think.

As much as it is comfort being around the ones we love and have known us for the longest – the screaming loud ‘inadequate’, ‘unworthy’, ‘inferior’, ‘inconpetent’ overwrites all other possible forms of thought. And it underscores how flawed a person you are, that no amount of liquid paper could hide the bold threads of lines. The comfort was one that allowed you to soak in sadness, yet it made you feel like you were about to choke on the overwhelming hot tears that have, countless times in your imagination, streamed down the same path on your face enough to create a meander of its own.

But how do you go on explaining this irrational, complicated feeling, to the ones so dear to you? It is neither a beneficial sort of thought, nor does it empower, neither is it worthy of mentioning in the precious minutes that are ticking away playfully. Furthermore, it is pointless in bringing up a point as such – they would not be able to comprehend it, nor would you want them to break it down and simplify it for it requires them to be lowered to how low you really were, or were feeling. And so there you are, letting the sting bite into your flesh, into your mind, into your battered heart as you let the minutes walk away from you while you fail to get hold of yourself and of reality and of your thoughts and of everything you ever loved.

How do you try to return all their kindness, is then another tough nut to crack. I found altruism my solution, my comfort, my medication. Because it is how scary a low you never want someone to feel that way and so you try very hard to pull a person up despite allowing your mind to be dragged down deeper into the abyss.

Turning 21 – i suddenly don’t know where to find my plasters. I guess feeling broken has grown to be a norm, but the past week has been intoxicating and terribly detrimental, as if one were to break countless times, infinitely, into a million shards that would be better off scattered all over the world. Maybe 21 would even be a miracle. Not like anyone would remember, actually.

Another skeleton, in the closet

Posted on by TheMX

When we die
and the flesh of a body rots,
bones
They are what’s left of a corpse
They remain of the
remains
Exposed and naked, to the earthen soil and creatures wiggling six feet under

Yet as death as it en-graves
There seems to be some sort of strength it encapsulates within,
Atop the calcium that gives us strength to support and carry on
Magic! enough for us to wedge our wishes and source for stability
A wish, a collar, a rib, or a tail

Bones
They give us the confidence we sought in confiding.

***

Life swirls itself so fast I see a whirlpool conjuring before me. As Saturday approaches the knots formed are unnerving, not untangling. I am afraid. Flustered. I want, yet I do not. Schema. Frustration. Triggering. One word, one word, one word. Chant, repeat thrice. That’s pretty much how I have been lately: so much others might think I have gone silly, or funny. Strange. “Why do you always verbalise your thoughts?” Almost as if it were a bad thing. It is, actually. Bringing the offstage monologues to the front stage – enough to dispute one’s actions and that of societal norms. Yet it isn’t controlled, although, almost subconsciously conscious. Sometimes they are heard, or loud. Other times they are passed off as mumbles, or assumed so as it drowns in the throbbing background music that mutes it, so that people almost catch a glimpse of mouthing words. Personally, thinking out loud, at the very least, channels more brain energy to rectifying and dissecting subconscious thoughts almost like a metabolic reaction were taking place; the ones that matter more in the mind, the ones that ought to be hidden within: for if we were to speak it, I fret, might lead to some sort of embarrassment (a spontaneous feeling). Gibberish. You might then verdict verbalising conscious thoughts, as in my case, a front for the front stage then, for the off-stage’s solitary is for the unsound thoughts ringing. Time is running out, our time is raining like sand grains of an hourglass. I am wearing out.

Goffman, if only you could help me break down this confusing tangy tangles of heartstring tugging and brain contractual contractions.

***

Is it that the good life is the simple one
(Sittin’ in the lawn watchin’ leaves go by)
Readin’ good books and playin’ songs