Diamonds Made of Glass

Sensitive Dependence

2012-05-29T00:00:00.000+03:00

Sensitive Dependence

The long and winding road,

Spreads out in front of me as

I ask for directions from insects

Flying past—

I’ve always spoken to things

That do not speak back,

They whirr in their own sort

Of peace, mostly interested

In my colorful shoes and

The sweet scent of my body butter,

As I give them meaningless names

Losing track of how many I met

On my way to the bus stop.

Someday You Will Be Loved

2012-05-28T09:41:00.001+03:00

Someday You Will Be Loved

Seventy-six seconds

I lay in the arms of a man,

Unknown and startled

He entangled my brittle arms

In the rusty landscape of an embrace,

So sudden,

His words a blur as they

Swarmed in past the little hairs

On my neck, turning to gooseflesh

At the flick of a switch

There are so many moments

I could have chosen to remember

To cherish—

Swim and float in the warm waters

Of my mind, the rough yet gentle waves

Having me drenched,

The surface licking at the backs

Of my ears and my head

As I let myself wander, slowly

Through immobile matter

Seventy-six seconds

I lay in the arms of a man,

A burnished cocoon in early winter

Cement to protect me from the

Scraping claws of cold,

Yet at dusk—

When all remnants of

That moment were gone I let

The windows crack and the locks melt

And I let it in again, that glint of doubt.

You'll be loved you'll be loved

Like you never have known

And the memories of me

Will seem more like bad dreams

Just a series of blurs

Like I never occurred

Someday you will be loved.

----------------------------------------------------------

Last stanza is the chorus from the Death Cab For Cutie song Someday You Will Be Loved. The Sunday Whirl this week consisted of the words in the picture below, of which I used some but not all (brittle, burnished, cocoon, scrape, rough, drenched, burnished, blur).

Monday Madness #14

2012-05-28T09:00:00.000+03:00

Water melts sugar

I've always been very sensitive and easily affected, not so much in the way that I would be easily manipulated, but in a way that I sympathize with things and people very easily. I absorb feelings like a sponge and even though I consider it a valuable quality it can sometimes, or more often, prove to be destructive. Films and books and articles, even simple conversations or words, can bring up something completely different from what they were about. My mind has a tendency for building bridges, you see, and it isn't that rare that these bridges end up surprisingly long and curvy. I can see the cover-art of a movie and remember something about my first English teacher whose son had a hard time learning some letters and made mistakes which, not surprisingly, my then nine-year-old mind found extremely funny. Or I can see pictures of Keira Knightley in a photoshoot for Vogue and instantly remember the October 2007 issue that I bought on the day my parents sat us down to tell us about their divorce. Which will enforce more and more bridges and... In the end I'll wind up thinking how the hell I got to thinking about this in the first place. If I'm in luck, I'll forget. If not, I'll somehow connect it to present events and try to find reasons for all these fucked-up (soap opera, non-sensical, the-kind-of-thing-only-a-desperate-screen-writer-would-write kind of fucked-up) things happening to me.

I want answers. I have wanted answers since the day I first had a hunch that something was not right, which, doing the math adds up to just under five years. I've tried scientific explanations, I've filled my brain with psychological facts, I've read through philosophy articles and religious scripts and watched people around me just to get more proof that I'm not living with robots that someone has operated in order to drag me down into a melting-pot of psychosis and trauma-induced personality disorders. (And taking into account I have in fact considered robots and conspiracies, their plans might actually be working).

Of course, I could simply go and talk. Ask my parents why the fuck they let these kinds of things happen, ask them to write down everything, ask them to finally tell me what is a lie and what isn't --- but there seems to be some sort of protocol to this talking-business. It is the I Am An Adult, I Am The Parent And You Are The Kid So You Take What I/We Give You protocol, which has been going on for these five years now, and is still on-going even though I'm an adult these days. I understand you are an adult responsible for your actions and you have the right to keep or give information out. But what I don't understand is why you choose to twist the truth in order to terrorize/destroy/change your children's view of the other parent (or to terrorize/destroy/change everyone else's view), when you could have just as easily kept the rage to yourself (as a responsible adult) and kept your mouth shut in front of the people whose minds and bodies you can so easily affect with your actions.

But let's put that to rest, shall we?

The status of my mental stability and health has been quite undetectable lately. I've been doing my clam-shell trick daily. I haven't cut since I got here which makes a little over a month. I have wanted to though. Very, very badly at times. But I get my fair share of physical abuse from my little brother, and it sometimes does part of the trick that cutting would. I have finally have my psychiatrist appointment in two weeks. Only waited a month here, but hey, at least I got it. I'm unhappy everyday --- but still I'm happy everyday. It goes up and down pretty steadily and I know when the anxiety will hit me. Most of the time. It will still catch me off guard. I know I'm not whole yet. My mother has gotten into the habit of asking me, on a scale of 4 to 10, what is my number for the day. I usually lie. But sometimes I don't. I'm still not used to being around her all the time.

I'm having quite a lot of trouble with eating or having the inspiration to make something. I have weird thoughts about specific foods being disgusting and won't want to eat them. I've grown to hate my thighs and the fact that there almost is a gap between them but not quite and they touch just barely when I walk and it irritates me. I'm scared of phones, mostly picking up. I have this feeling that people are watching me all the time. I think they want to hurt me.

And I'm scared.

I'm scared all the time. And paranoid.

I'm scared of turning the lights on at night in case someone is in the room.

30 Days of Truth: Day 8

2012-05-27T22:49:00.002+03:00

I AM SO SORRY

that it's been so long since the last one!

Day 8:

Someone who has made your life hell, or made you feel like shit

Now, I have thought of this one long and hard, as you can probably see from the time it has taken me to post this thing. I don’t want to single out a single person and guilt-trip them for making my life hell. That would just be cruel and I, at least to an extent, am not a cruel kind of person. So instead this goes out to the people who have made my life hell, or treated me like shit, or made me feel like I’m a fucked up freak who doesn’t belong, or who have just plain and simple broke my heart.

So to name a few, I’ll start with school curators and psychologists. Oh boy, have I a bone to pick with you. You know, there is a reason why the school system is divided in pieces more or less according to the development stages of the students. So when I come and talk to you at fourteen, I do not appreciate being spoken to like I am seven. I do not appreciate having to draw trees with stars whose sizes are in relation to the sizes of the problems I have, or having to play with teddybears and give them names or choose silly photographs to represent members of my family. It would also be nice if you didn’t blame my troubles on my, as you put it, over-the-top perfectionism and raging inability to be responsible about my education when the real problem was in my family situation and the fact that I was being torn into tiny little pieces and living a suitcase life where I switched homes every week et cetera. And might I add, I still made top grades and was one of the best in my year. So to all you eight or nine school psychologists and to that one bitchy curator who sucked at her job, fuck you. Fuck all of you. I never needed you, I never wanted you, but it was the school’s obligation to forward me to assholes like you.

I have had friends run away or just fade away intentionally, unintentionally or just because of everything that was going on. There are many friendships that are now nonexistent due to the mass fuck-up of the past five years. There are many that could be revived but are not being revived due to my fear of letting people in, or just picking up the phone to call someone. I’ve always found refuge in words but it’s a cold fact that you cannot re-build a friendship through written text. I haven’t had the power in me to change into something more social and trusting and open. I miss the friends I used to have. I miss them very badly. I miss the friends I have now because it has become a habit of mine to clam up and stop trying. I don’t know why. I want to try, I want to have fun and laugh and do meaningless things that at the same time mean so much because they make me happier. But at the same time I am so fucking scared of letting someone too close or letting someone see or experience too much for their own stamina of personal problems. So many people have given up on me; I just assume others will too.

I have been bullied in the classic way that kids bully other kids: because they are smarter and nerdy. When I was in 7th grade people called me a living computer. Looking back now I should have just taken it all as a goddamn compliment. But I didn’t at the time. At the time it hurt like hell to get that in return for working my ass off to get great grades. So, having learned from that, I kept things to myself that I could have been bullied about even worse than how I had been bullied earlier. I didn’t come out until after high school because everyone there, mostly guys (guys who had bullied me before) were very narrow-minded and wanted to kill every gay person off the planet. But you know, it still felt like bullying, hearing all those mean and disgusting things they would say, even though they weren’t precisely pointed at me but were still pointed at something I was. I tried not to let myself get upset over it but naturally I was. It didn’t lead to good things. It left deep marks in me that drove me to trouble, self-inflicted but at the same time something that made me feel mistreated.

And of course, needless to say, my parents belong to the list of people who have wronged me. I’ve spoken about it too much anyway so I won’t get into it here, it is a vast subject with many sub-categories. But I can say that nobody has ever hurt me more or made my life hell. At the same time, though, almost nobody has ever loved me as much.

Wordless Wednesday #18

2012-05-23T14:50:00.000+03:00

Friday Favorite Things #9

2012-05-11T21:25:00.001+03:00

Green Ice Tea <3

Spring.

Colorful baking.

The Post-Traumatic Diary: May 10th 2012

2012-05-10T14:21:00.001+03:00

May 10th 2012

It is easy to forget

How to put a watch on your wrist—

I remember only the cold sting

Of the metal against raw skin

I am the ideal patient

Of a superficial psychiatrist,

Be number fifteen on my list

Of unsuccessful diagnosis and—

Pump me full of pills

Pink and blue and white,

Just remember to ditch the gelatin

And the lactose

Yesterday a tram

Could have killed my Mom

Instead it only killed her car

Our precious Audi Daudi

My little brother,

Two years and nine months

Was more concerned about

The back of our car

And his favorite seat, than

The spine of his Mommy

That got a brutal bump

When the tram decided to slap

Our Audi on the butt—

Little man pouts only when you

Speak of needles and blood

He tore up celery when we waited

For Mommy to come back home

And I contemplated my hate

And my horror and disappointment

And felt guilty—

Glancing every five seconds

At the words and moments

Carved into my left wrist,

My tiger-stripe thigh,

Ages, ages ago.

It's OK Thursday #3

2012-05-10T10:48:00.000+03:00

It's OK

To sleep most of the time because it feels like the only thing you can do that doesn't hurt (and you can't get any of it during the night).
To eat nothing but Oreos and hazelnut milk for a day
To play in the sandbox with your little brother and go home covered in sand...
To listen to an audiobook for hours in the middle of the night because you can't sleep but are still too tired to keep your eyes open.
To eat dinner twice.
To bombard your best friend with texts (in the middle of the night) about your love life because you just want to tell someone, and let's face it, you've talked about worse things..
To let your little brother "chop" celery with his little plastic knife and pull it apart because he wants to be part of the cooking process (and apparently likes to eat raw celery, so it didn't go to waste).

Off With Her Head

2012-05-09T21:52:00.001+03:00

Off With Her Head

Rolling over,

I lie supine on the board

Chalkdust in my hair,

Sandy streams of white

Dampen the air, curling

Through molecules,

Vertical as they ascend

Both lightweight,

They pull up through the wind,

Tiny paper airplanes,

With tiny paper engines,

Flap flap flapping their wings

Pulling at my heartstrings

With claws of gold and steel,

They fly up to close the lid.

And—

I guess I’m back

Down the rabbit hole,

Trying to keep my toes above the ground,

Lips trembling,

Afraid of the rats,

Dry eyes looking for holes in the metal,

As I slowly count to ten

Take the bullet out again—

I’m not Alice.

Wordless Wednesday 17#

2012-05-09T21:20:00.000+03:00

Monday Madness #13

2012-05-07T23:34:00.002+03:00

Be careful not to drown

I love the feeling I get after watching a film. Having been pulled into another world for the past ninety minutes or so leaves a mark on me. I float, and for a moment, the present feels richer and less terrible. I feel like somebody else. I feel like I have adapted, like I have new qualities absorbed from the people I have seen on the screen. I don't know if that means I have reality issues. It's just a part of my being. I've always been an escapist of some sort. Also, I like to look for new layers in how I am feeling. I suppose it is natural of us to look for things that are in some way or other reflective of our current situation. Some of us seek the opposite. But I tend to lean toward similarities and connections. I look for layers. I look for new viewpoints. And usually I succeed in my endeavor.

I haven't been able to write for several weeks now, maybe a month, I don't know. I've been drifting in some sort of sea of depression and self pity and whatever else black and disgusting. I'm still stuck in the slime. My life is getting very weird and unfitting to my persona. I have a new home, a new room, a second chance - and a ripped apart family. The last little remnants of emotional and genetical rope have been cut loose. I am presented with ideals foreign to me. I am presented with things I cannot see through and things I cannot know the truth of and am just asked to believe.

I am hurt a little every day, for I am in an environment where the people I live with do not know me well at all and do not share my interests and ideals. I fear I have lost the person who understood me and accepted me. Here, I am constantly questioned. I am constantly under criticizing eyes. I am pushed and pulled in ways that damage me. And I do not like it at all. I miss my old supposed-to-be life. At least parts of it. I'm a person that tends to look back too much and wonder how things would have turned out, had they been done differently.

I remember when, back in December, I'd gone on a cutting spree on my thigh and sat on the couch with it wrapped up and aching and there were two dogs to cuddle with. I watched Mr. Nobody, and oh the connection I felt. I wanted to do one thing and the other. Split up, have two lives. Do things I am not able to do now because of things done earlier on in my life. I wanted to both run after my father and stay with my mother and cut out the other parent and still live with both. I'd felt this ache so many times and there it was right in front of me. Nothing is real, everything is possible.

I have always been disinclined to take reality as it is. Often, even in childhood, I'd imagine my life a movie. I'd imagine why things happened the way they did, I'd add side-plots and sub-plots and shut other plots and things and people out because they didn't fit my script. I'd take one of my days and subtitle it for someone who didn't know my first language. I have always loved to lie. Not in a filthy manner so as to hurt people. But to make things more interesting, to distract myself, to play with reality. Stories are lies. Movies are lies. Books are lies. Art is a lie. Music is a lie. Fiction. A portrayal of something factual is always twisted. Cameras make mistakes, even when capturing exactly the things you want to capture...

I cannot sleep. The nights are the worst. I think of the past, I think of my father, I think of what is happening, I think of what has happened, I think of the effects things have, the effects I can have or could have already had and I am scared to death. I have become most confident there are several people in me. In a way I am like Nemo Nobody. I am fictitious. I could have died because of a voice inside of me. I was strong enough to have myself be taken to hospital for the night but what if something like that happens again?

I love how I spend one night in hospital due to suicidal thoughts and voices and whatnot and get papers for treatment in my new destination and now, it has been several weeks and I am still in the dark, full to the rim and with nobody and nothing to pour it out to. I am happy, I have moments of happiness every day. But at the same time I have never been as depressed as I am right now. And it scares me. My body scares me because I don't know what it wants.

Wordless Wednesday #16

2012-05-02T22:03:00.004+03:00

Invertebrate

2012-04-21T01:19:00.001+03:00

Invertebrate

To you I am

A magnificent vessel

An Eastern wind across a red city

My shadow spawn

Of limitless dehydration

A nude crackle against the pavement

To you I am

The not-so-full moon

Thrust deep into darkness

My light a never-ending delight

An infant sparkle across your windshield

As you sit safely, shotgun

Trying not to let your mind

Remind you of the moment you

Began to grow numb to the needle.

Hold Me Like an Omen

2012-04-21T00:54:00.001+03:00

Revenge. I had a dream last night, I'd call it a nightmare but a part of me just calls it a reminder. It was me and my father. He had a driver's license and we were driving along a highway in a gray Volkswagen, you know those ones that kind of look like bubbles on wheels? My brother was in the backseat with me, half-brother to be exact, from my mother's new marriage. My little buddy. We'd stolen him. My father had a genius plan of getting back at my mother. We drove far away to a big storage building. My brother stayed quiet and looked out the window as though mute, his eyes on the road, and he looked so much older and smarter for the almost-three-year-old he is. His eyes were so old and knowing. In the storage building, apparently, was an illegal orphanage. My father had a plan of dropping my brother off there, forging my mother's signature and telling the police she had sold him. Of course, in my dream, this made perfect sense and was the perfect plan in destroying her. Throughout the dream I went over it, thinking why I was participating in this, looking after my brother as he walked off around the storage building as though in acceptance of his new home. I woke up crying. Not because the dream scared me but because I was frightened of the whole situation I have been swerved into, where I do not hold a single scrap of trust to almost anyone and where I hardly know anyone anymore because the people I trusted once have changed over time, some more than others.

Today was supposed to be my big day. Today was supposed to be my day. I was supposed to perform my choreography, a sort of final thesis if you will, and I was supposed to receive my diploma in dance soon after. Not a big diploma, no university degree, but a door-opener, something I'd been working hard for for so long. But no. All this shit has got to me instead. I was dying in that town. So many parts of me were ready to quit. I couldn't let that happen.

I suppose this means I have taken a side. I suppose this means goodbye. I suppose this means I lose my father. I do not know anymore. I do not know anything. I do not want to take sides, except for my own. I want the life I have been working for, and will work for. I have had enough of these fucked up situations slowing me down and pulling me back. I will have my life, I will have my freedom and I will have my happiness. I want my sanity back. I want to get rid of these pre-psychotic post-trauma symptoms and the raging depression and self-hate and self-doubt and the voices in my head and the paranoia. I want it to march the fuck out of my brain.

If I cut you with these scissors

And make it go away

(hold me like an old friend)

Feverish dreams of rage

The river runs separate ways

I always knew I wouldn't be here for long

(hold me like an old friend)

The singer, but not the song

The scissors cut deep and long

Landline

2012-04-19T15:08:00.000+03:00

Landline

We decide
Nobilities aside
Prescribe the ephemeral
Feeling

Of being subject
To dramatic glances,
Their eyes,
Electric blenders

As you succumb to the sweet,
Sickly exchange,
In your short black dress
And your oily breath,

Flames inside your chest
And beads of sweat along your palm
I look for a loophole in oxygen
While you push at furniture.

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Inspired by the words in the Sunday Whirl from April 15th

Six Word Saturday #10

2012-04-14T12:56:00.001+03:00

My life is a fucking nightmare

Friday the 13th + Bloghopping

2012-04-13T21:37:00.001+03:00

A drawing of me from this Wednesday at Drink&Draw.
Drawn by Risto Kajo
All Rights Reserved to Risto Kajo.

Friday

I've been off blogging for a bit because of Easter and everything so I thought I'd make a little bit of comeback-bloghopping so to speak. It's been a while since I've bumped into new blogging buddies so let's see if I would meet some new people today =) I know it is Friday the 13th, and even though I don't believe in stuff like that it certainly has not been the best of Fridays.

It has been an eventful week though. I came back to Grandpa's by train on Monday after saying goodbye to my best friend who flew back to Stockholm on the same day. He'd spent Easter with me and my family. It was very lovely and fun and healthy for me to have him around, and I miss him very much already.

On Tuesday I went back to dance class after Easter Break. Was not that rusty, surprisingly, since I usually am after having some sort of holiday. Somehow hit my little finger on someone's sharp nail and it cut me so that I was bleeding onto the floor of the dance studio. I am so talented at getting myself physically hurt. I'm just so clumsy. I burnt my hand the same day while getting scones out of the oven.

Wednesday I had my first ever session of hair modeling. I was at this hairdressing and make-up school since 10 AM. They did my hair and my make-up (for free might I add) and gave me free vegan pizza and soda while doing it. There were eight of us models, and it was really fun meeting new people. At 3 PM we went to the place where we had the seminar/show for clients aka hairdressers and hairdressing students. I got to wear a 179 euro summer dress (!). They finished up our hairdo's on stage to demonstrate their techniques and after the show all the people came to take pictures of us from all angles and it was kind of intimidating but fun. I ran from hair modeling to art modeling. I still had my bright orange eyeshadow and fake eyelashes while posing for art students. It suited the moment, though, since it was the 1st birthday of the whole Drink&Draw thing. I was asked whether I'd like to pose for this arts class every Friday for four hours. I could make some very much needed money from this.

And noooow... FRIDAY BLOG HOPS!

Friday Favorite Things #8

2012-04-13T21:07:00.000+03:00

Classy

2012-04-13T16:29:00.000+03:00

Classy

Surrogate heart

I hear laughter down the steps

In the pharmacy style cabinets

Their glass doors with fulltime fog

I ogle at shapes and shadows

Somebody stole my medicine

An asymmetric whiskey bottle

Hides between tall plastic boxes and

At times I forget it is there, not to drink

But to purify, to disinfect

The well-known gaps along my vegetable knife,

Forty-five bumps smoothened by years

Of potatoes and carrots and

Shaky white wrists,

Longing for the high that never comes.

100 Things About Me: #6

2012-04-12T15:50:00.000+03:00

I have a tendency to being weird and doing weird things and also, liking people who have the same tendency. I don't know how to define weird. I don't think of it as a negative word at all. But I am one weird kid.

Weird things I do:

I personify things and objects. A lot. I hadn't noticed this before, until a friend of mine pointed it out to me. I'll talk to objects and give them orders. I'll tell a wobbly bottle not to fall over. If there's just one tomato left on the table, I'll put it back in the fridge so that it doesn't get lonely. The list goes on...

I try to sing along to songs on my iPod when I go running. Which makes me pant and groan like an old horse at times. I also have to run to the rhythm of the song. If it's slower I take bigger steps or leaps...

I shave my legs with hair conditioner. My skin hates those foamy things, I'll get a terrible rash. Plus hair conditioner is smoother anyway so it's easier to shave, and it's pretty see-through depending on the product of course.

I arrange the clothes in my wardrobe by their color. I just think it looks neater. People I know have thought this weird because I might have long sleeved t-shirts and sleeveless tops in the same pile. So? I know what clothes are in which pile on which shelf...

I read books out loud when I'm alone, usually trying out some accents I very much suck at and I make myself laugh hysterically. It is also similar when I read normally; depending on the location of the story of the nationality of the writer, I read them in different accents in my head.

I have zero ability to sleep on my back. I always have to sleep on one side, with one knee stuck out and a pillow between my knees and something (usually my teddybear or when I'm at my girlfriend's I curl up around her) to cuddle with.

I put ketchup on macaroni & cheese. My girlfriend thinks it's weird but I don't know the standard since it is no normal food where I come from so... Is it weird?

When I can't sleep I listen to Coldplay and pretend I'm on a boat or a hammock, something that feels like floating. I also imagine myself levitating above my bed - it means I start losing feeling in my body which means it is relaxing and when I have no feeling at all I am just floating through the room until sleep catches me.

Misadventure

2012-03-31T00:10:00.000+03:00

Misadventure

I gave beauty a kick in the teeth

With my bootlaces loose and my heel

Sore from crunching all the rocks on the

Thawing pavement and now I’m feeding the Fury

With white grapes and Smarties

Before I create oceans of iron underneath

The cuff of my sleeve

Sunset sundown sun in full closure

I reap the dying thoughts from my

Temporal lobes with forks and spoons

Too eager with my promises

Too eager with my loyalty

Too eager with my trust

I suckled on the hope

Until instinct became duty,

A numbed down task I would perform

When limbs opened wide in front of me

I hung blankets over the window,

A rug with a city that I put upside down

I feel insects crawl beneath my skin

I am a safe house for those who run

From pesticide—

I never stopped feeling his hands on

My skin

Mourn the memory later

Hate the motherfucker later

Do it all, but later

The brain learns best at night

Till I die it will grow fatter

Inside the hollow above my pelvic bones

Beneath my tailbone, above my highest vertebrate

It will suck on the marrow and feed

While my hands panic in search of all things sharp,

Anything to penetrate the dry and crackly crust

So the Fury will stop screaming inside my lungs

Ecstatic and lustful for the anticlimax—

The comedown, the relapse, the revelry.

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Sharing at OpenLinkNight at dVerse Poets Pub and at Weekend Creation Bloghop at WordsinSync.

Friday Favorite Things #7

2012-03-30T19:04:00.000+03:00

Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen in the Hunger Games. Just went to see it with a few friends. Yes, I'm a sinner, I went to see it and haven't read the books... But I had to! It was filmed right next to where my girlfriend lives! (And Jennifer Lawrence is preeeeettyyyyyy...)

My new super eco-friendly TakeAway cup for my tea-madness. I shall be carrying this everywhere with me once I go back to school (and carry my own tealeaves with me too probably, eh). It has pink! =3 It's made of porcelain and the pink parts are 100% silicone and you machine-wash it.

One word: P-O-S-I-T-I-V-I-T-Y.

Smarties. THEY ARE VEGAN AND I NEVER KNEW =O !!!

Wordless Wednesday #15

2012-03-28T16:29:00.000+03:00

Featherbed

2012-03-27T16:02:00.000+03:00

Featherbed

Drunken and wide-eyed,

In the cold cement alley,

Tremulous crowns

Upon tremulous heads,

Whispering,

We seek the treasure.

It must have been love,

That threw kings down the walls,

Pleasure stains on their palms,

Whimpering,

We seek the treasure.

Freckled cheeks crumple from the flesh

Disinclined to open,

Clouds of cotton,

And a dash of formaldehyde

Decomposing in coat pockets,

We seek the treasure.

-----------------------------------

30 Days of Truth: Day 7

2012-03-25T23:45:00.000+03:00

FINALLY BACK ON THIS CHALLENGE AGAIN! =)

Day 7:

Someone who has made your life worth living for

There are many people in my life who make it worth living for — my sister, my closest friends, my little brother. But there is one who stands out the most as to making my life something I cherish and respect and want to continue. That person is my girlfriend. I originally met her by chance but now, and pretty much from the first days of speaking with her, she had brought new light to my life that cast away some of the darkness that had been swarming around me and showed me there were more paths to go along. That it would be hard, but going straight through the bad would prove to be more advantageous than dancing around it and traveling on detours.

We have both gotten through, even though some parts of our lives have been close to deadly. And I guess, knowing the other has been through something similar makes a special connection. I’m not trying to sound corny and talk about soulmates and higher powers putting people together with fancy, glittery wings and wands. I’m just saying I got very, very damn lucky in this life.

We’re similar and different in a rather harmonious and balanced way. We also look alike and have similar names and more than one person has said we ought to be twins. We were apart for nearly a year before meeting each other, and even though our connection had only been through mind and speech and sight and there had been that big geographic gap between us, it was as though we had lived in the same town all that time. As though we had seen each other every day. And in a way, this has been better, getting to know the other from head to toe, in and out before actually being able to lay my head against that other head and press my toes to those other toes that lived on the other side of the planet and liked to wiggle when happy. It’s like the moment your web browser finally opens that page that has been super slow in loading, except you have to multiply that feeling with million and add it’s square root to it and… you know, the works.

I’m very thankful to have my girlfriend in my life. I know that no matter how many mountains we have to climb (be it metaphorical or real) we’ll have the equipment we need and when we run out of them we can carry each other and switch when we get tired.