To Give and Give and Give

Depersonalization. What a silly word.

I want to be a good person. I want to fix everything I've done wrong and be the best that I can be. I want to seek out truth. In myself. In everyone else. Truth must exist. If it doesn't, then I have reason to doubt the existence of just about anything.

I want to be honest. I want to be sincere. I want to be cool and collected. I want to inspire. I want to impact. I want to give. What better way to live?

I don't want anything from anyone. I just want to make people happy.
I've realized that it's mostly the main reason why I've been so promiscuous. It's not because I personally want to feel good... But because I like to make other people feel sexy and confident in themselves. I want to boost their egos and make them feel wanted.

But... No one can do that for me. Because I won't let them. And it kind of makes me feel empty. Maybe I'm just trying to justify myself for using other people to feel better about myself. Though honestly, that isn't it, is it? Well. Fuck.

I don't want to be promiscous anymore. I don't need sex to survive... So why do it?
I just want to be intimate. I want to bond emotionally with someone. But everytime I do... It feels a little bit wrong... And it fucks me over in the end.

I don't want people to get closer to me... I don't want to depend on or need anything from anyone. I just want to feel... Like there's something more profound between myself and society... So I won't have to feel so completely alone.

I'm adapting this to a painting

Don't be alarmed. This is something I sketched long ago. But... I felt it deeply... This was a manifestation of my reality slipping.
Sometimes it feels so intense and amazing that I want to embrace it and hold onto it and prolong the moment and the images and feelings.
Sometimes it scares me. And it makes my heart beat out of control. And it feels horrible and I feel like I'm falling without end. But I like it a little. Only a little.

The Irony of Connectedness

Am I a bad person?

I do very bad things. And I hurt people, almost to the point of no repair. But why? Sometimes I wonder if I do these things on purpose... Or if I convince myself that I do these things on purpose so that it's easier to live with the fact that what has been done can never be undone.

I have admitted previously that sometimes I am intentionally manipulative. And again, I pose the question; why? I honestly don't know. Or well. I suppose my reason for it is quite sick.

You know that feeling you get when you tell a little white lie and get away with it? It's almost as if you are washed over with this sense of accomplishment. Or is it relief? No matter. You put on a great show. Suddenly, it is as if you are a marvelous actor. And what's wrong with acting or pretending, if you're good at it? Nothing, of course.

So then... I am nothing more than a simple actress putting to use her innate talent. Can anyone honestly chastise me for that? If you have never used the natural will within you to manipulate or control any situation, you may hurl the first stone.

And again, I justify my actions, hoping not to merit my rightful consequences. I'm the prime example of a vulnerable, flawed, imperfect human being. But I think I embrace these qualities. What more can I do? Perfection is unattainable. Sad to say, my mother trained me to never give up on the search for this perfection. It's tearing me to pieces just to accept the fact that there's nothing else for me to do. I was wasting my time on the wrong pursuit. Happiness comes from within.

Someone once told me that I am narcissistic. I have been self indulgent in my actions and am often careless of the effect I have on others. My universe is all that concerns me. And he's right. I am very narcissistic. And why shouldn't I be? I'm not selfish. I'm simply honest, to myself and everyone else. I contain a universe within myself as we all do and each and every individuals' ultimate goal and destiny should be to discover their SELF.

You cannot connect intimately and sincerely with anyone unless you have first discovered who you truly are. And in order to reach this point, you must isolate yourself from the impression others may have on you.

Ironic isn't it? We must be disconnected in order to become connected.

Will You be My Host?

My words threaten to escape my lips, as if secreting from my pores, permeating the very oxygen I breathe.
I inhale my thoughts. They are used, abused, recycled.
My eyes follow the electrical wire that is my life line, in a trance, deceived.
And these wires expand and collapse like an epiphany never given birth.

Time is subjective and I hold the hammer in my hand.
Time to rebuild, to piece together.
Time to restore, to resurrect from destruction the shattered pieces of this world.
Tikkun Olam they call it in Hebrew.
And I have made it my personal mission.

My soul and energy are evanescent.
I can't focus my eyes on a single shade of gray.
My body is weightless, floating...
It doesn't belong to me.
It is the carcass, the putrid meat, left for the hounds and vultures to devour.
It now belongs to the ravenous parasites...
So that they may voraciously consume what's left of me.

I am non-existent.
I reject your reality.
I reject this face and this persona.
For I am only meat.
I cannot be this.
This doesn't feel right.
How can I find sincerity...When everything I do emanates this subliminal message?

I am a subliminal message.
I feel my cells meeting with one another.
They are conspiring against me...
And I, like a coward, lock myself away in the prison that is my mind.

I am a subliminal message.
I prey on your feeble mind.
For I have found strength.
I have discovered manipulation.
And I am perhaps the most vicious and deceptive leech you will ever meet.

Will you be my host?

For my Once Upon A Time Muse

I wrote this for someone. Sometime ago. I kinda like it.

Sometimes I wish I had a rich, more adequate vocabulary, so that I can convey to you my emotions and how wonderful I believe you are.
I feel as though the few words I have to offer can't match up to your beauty. For you are so precious; nothing I can give you will ever be enough and every recurrent thought I have about you perishes the instant it leaves my mouth as I am detached and not brave enough to carry out a demonstration of the importance you hold in my life.

I want to hand you the stars and remind you that you deserve the heavens and every single wonder the earth has to offer. I want to describe to you the mental imprint I have of your facial expressions, so that perhaps you can delight in the reverence to which I hold you.

I want to tell you all the things I've kept pent up inside of me for both our sakes and recreate every moment I let die and fade away, all because I lacked the bravery and strength to speak my mind and sing my heart and soul.

I don't know when or how it happened, but you've become everything to me. And if my world was once made of glass, it shattered the day I realized I couldn't have you.

Somehow, pouring my heart onto a sheet of paper doesn't feel like it's enough. It's only a sad, pathetic effort to keep my emotions in check as I strive to be the consistency you crave.You deserve better than this. You deserve the most lavishly beautiful words in the English language. No, forget English. You deserve every beautiful word in the Japanese, Spanish, French, Italian, and German dictionaries. I want to hire a poet, so that he may tell you how amazing you are with the diction you are worthy of.But all of this is meaningless. It doesn't matter how incredible I think you are. I can't kick down your doors and storm you away. You are safe and secure exactly where you are now... But I am willing to wait.

Perhaps, during my extended stay in Limbo, I will finally find my way without you and continue to be detached. Maybe I will learn to forget these pitiful emotions and lack of words to describe them.

You deserve the best this world has to offer. Forget karma and energy and silly superstitions, you're beyond it all simply for being one of the most beautiful, sincere, wholesome, and kindest people I know.

Sadly, I still feel that none of these words can even begin to describe how amazing you are or even convey my ever looming thoughts about you. None of this is worthy of your eyes and I will therefore be forced to continue hiding in my sheltered little head, where reality and happiness only exist within your presence.But I will always be a coward, unable to speak from the heart.

Truth in perception

I often picture what my funeral will be like. I imagine the way my loved ones would react to my death, and I think maybe they would try and reach a higher understanding of my thought process.
Perhaps my parents will read my writing, browse through my journals, interpret my philosophies and words...

But I don't think anyone will ever even come close to comprehending what my mind truly encompasses. No, they don't know how trapped I am. How fucking overwhelming this is.

On a different note:
I'm training myself not to care anymore. I've realized that I was just a pawn in your game this entire time. "You can't have your cake and eat it too." I've wasted too much time pining over you. It's time I faced the facts. You don't fucking want me. You were just playing games with me all along. I guess I must have been obviously vulnerable... To the point that it was simply unbearable to spoil such a chance for manipulation. Fuck. It must be karma. I deserve it.

You know... It's funny. I used to try so fucking hard to be a good person. Then, when I realized it was close to impossible, that perfection was and forever would be completely out of my grasp... I gave up on that search for altruism and sincerity... I trained myself to believe I was a horrible person. But I justified my selfishness by holding a vile contempt against humanity. I told myself that all human beings were as vile and horrible as I and therefor, what did it matter if I was good or bad? It's all the same. We're all just parasites.

Now I regret that belief. I still want to be a good person. I'm trying really hard. And it's become so difficult. To find truth... Seems like an unbeatable battle. I must first find my roots, my inner truth. And in order to do that... I can not perceive myself through the eyes of others. I must have my own perspective of myself. The true perspective, natural in the sense that it comes from within.

I can no longer rely on what others say. The only reality that matters is my own, not the fact that I mean anything at all in anyone else's reality.

Recluse

I can't stand being alone. I think too much when I'm alone... But at the same time... I really can't stand being in the company of anyone.

Whenever I find myself surrounded by other people, I realize how truly disconnected I am. There's nothing worse than being disconnected in my book.

I have faced the fact that... Perhaps I want to sever all ties I have with society. I want to go far far away and live within the wild. I don't care for material possessions anymore. And I don't want to be corrupted by media. Greed is consuming us all... And depriving us of real happiness. I don't want to fall prey to the superficial bullshit of this world. I want to be my own and separate entity, something bigger than what civilization has to offer.

I used to think that connectedness was the meaning of life. Now, I find myself shying away from human connectedness. I want more than anything to be completely alone... So that I may never have to endure the pain of rejection or misinterpretation. I long for self-inflicted isolation. I long for severance. I long for distance.

I want depth and beauty. I want to find something bigger than all of this. Something more powerful than any of us.

I don't want to be told that it's god, I don't want to be told to worship a higher power. That's brainwash. And why would my life mean anything if I abide by the worship of something I can't prove? I want to find it myself. I want to see it. I want to feel it. And I want all of this disillusion and disenchantment to be washed away. Life here has become insipid.

Lose Yourself

The psychiatrist's words were, "sometimes bad things happen to us when we're little... And we come up with different coping mechanisms. Some people find a place to go where nothing can touch them and they avoid fixing their problems on their own."

Sure. I have DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder. That's why I've only been experiencing symptoms this year.

Then he proceeded to tell me that my episodes sound like Schizophrenia and that it may be caused by a coke binge. A coke binge. My one coke binge that lasted five days... That came after my symptoms began. A coke binge he says.

No one knows what goes through my head. How can they diagnose me? When they don't fucking understand. No one will ever understand... Because you have to see it. You have to feel it. You have to hear it to know what it really is. No one can begin to understand how safe yet incredibly scary it feels to be caught between reality and fantasy.

You know what.... Fuck this. It's the end of the world in this small universe I like to call "SELF".
She has become a black hole soon to consume herself completely... Devouring her own entrails one after the other and licking her lips for more. The brutal pain is ecstasy... And it is the only thing that feels real anymore.

Does anyone know what true ecstasy is? It is that one beautiful moment in which you lose yourself completely. It is the moment you become the steady, rhythmic beating of the bass bass bass and nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. You cease to exist. And perhaps... That is the meaning of life. Nothing more and nothing less. Just to be a part of the bigger picture. To become so microscopic and insignificant that all you have is that moment... In which the universe consumes you and you become a part of it. You become the universe. YOU become god.

There's nothing more powerful. Nothing more exquisite. You contain the lavish cosmos of the world. We are never really touching. We are billions of light years apart. You will never reach me. And I will never reach you.

I feel alone. I feel helpless. And I feel ready to perish.