myimpulsivethoughts

My chest felt like it was collapsing, like I was standing on the edge of an unstable cliff, awaiting my fate with the earth below.  I tried to not let it consume me, though I could feel it weave it’s way intricately through the fibers deep within me.  I tried to hold it in.  I tried to reason with the inner demon stroking my patience ever so slightly.  I didn’t know what I was capable of in that moment.

I needed you, but I couldn’t tell you. How could I? With your fangs and your hungry eyes, how could I?

Are there enough rations to satisfy you?

It seems as though mine aren’t my own,

And I’m living for you and everyone else.

Is this even living at all?

My existence is yours,

So what does that leave me?

Fighting the ongoing war within me, and me, and, oh yeah, also me, calls for another impulsive “Note to Self” — so there are no excuses to not be the best version of whichever me I am today.

1. Don’t complain, cause what the hell does it do for you anyways? Spike your anxiety? Yeah, so chill out.

2. Just get up and do what you want to put off: Don’t think about it. Don’t talk about it. Don’t overthink about it. Don’t cry about it. Just do it. No questions asked.

3. WRITE MORE! It is LITERALLY your favorite thing to do. Why not do something you love? It will make you feel good.

4. Stop overeating and do something that makes your body feel amazing instead.

5. Keep it to yourself. Log it in your journal. It’s your business, so mind it.

6. Sleep. You know you’re exhausted. You know you have to work in the morning. Staying up all night worrying about things that are out of your control is driving you mad.

7. Speaking of mad, let go of the anger. Let it out first, and then let it go. Punch a pillow repetitively. Scream with your face under water. Make art with your emotions. Then, move forward.

8. Know that it’s okay that you have too many feelings. It’s also okay that they aren’t compartmentalized in your filing cabinet in your head in alphabetical order.

9. Things will never be perfect, so stop expecting them to be.

10. Love yourself. You are strong and smart and thoughtful and creative and caring. Say it out loud. You are worth it, even if you don’t feel like it.

If I don’t feel like home anymore, you don’t have to stay. You can venture all over creation to find that feeling you’re yearning for; the feeling I once gave you.

If I don’t feel like home anymore, you can leave. You will be forever freed from my arms that have held you like four walls and a roof to protect and shelter you. I’ll be here, vacant, but still standing, should you return.

If I don’t feel like home anymore, I won’t be your welcome mat. You can kick your shoes off and walk all over someone else. I won’t try to greet you with the same warmth and comfort that you leave at your feet every time you walk out the door.

If I don’t feel like home anymore, you can be alone. I won’t be the shadow that follows close behind you, I’ll leave you be.

If I don’t feel like home anymore, I hope you find someone who makes you feel like you’re already there when you look into their eyes — because that’s how I feel when I look into yours.

And I could see you changing — I could see the walls coming down.  You were exposed, but only for me to see.  It was real and raw, and I was afraid with you — I’m still afraid. 

And I still don’t know how much to show or what I should hold back.   Because what happens if I share too much?  What if I’m too much — or not enough altogether?

12 days

7 days

5 days

3 days

A collection of times where I kept track of all our conversations; all of our moments.  I compared days and feelings and wondered if I was aging with each day and if you’d feel differently— or when, you’d feel differently.  My very own collective works of the times I waited patiently, and other times, not patiently enough.  A complete contradiction of thought and perception and time; because time never seems to exist with you, except for when it’s too real and it hurts to watch you leave.  Then the pain becomes too much, and it only makes sense to numb it.  I don’t always make sense of it though, so then I ache and emptiness becomes an old friend checking in routinely to see if I’m “doing okay,” whatever that means anyways.  I guess I’m okay for now, we’ll see in another day’s time. 

You can’t tell me how to cut my hair anymore. I can have it long or short, or have it hacked off altogether. And I can sleep with the tv on — I can let the lights dance from the screen, across my room, and over my eyelids. I’ll feel a sense of comfort from the brightness and the quiet voices speaking distant words. After all, it’s more than I’ll ever hear from you. I’ll eat all my favorite foods again, all the things you hated. Mushrooms and onions and olives, things that are pungent and strong, just like me; things that rid the body of impurities and infections, and protect your heart — something you knew nothing about. But I guess that’s why you didn’t want me to eat them around you; because then you’d be nothing.  My body would have purged itself of you and your vile intentions. I’m reminding myself that it’s okay to enjoy all the things I loved, that you told me I could do without. One day, I might even love myself again.

You loved me when I was lost; you were lost too.  I struggled to fight my demons but conquered them, with you by my side.  When I was finally ready to leave the darkness, you let your demons consume you.  I waited for you day and night to take over those demons, but everything remained the same.  You were drowning and I tried to save you, but you wanted to lay on the ocean floor.  I loved you when you were lost, but I wasn’t lost anymore.  A sea creature who wants to dwell in the depths of the ocean cannot be with a bird who wants to soar above it all.

you don’t deserve my love anymore

but i keep giving it to you anyways

Please reread this to yourself everyday, because you’re losing you.

1. You don’t have to constantly stare at your phone waiting for a reply. People are busy, it’s not your fault; you said nothing wrong.
2. Stop judging yourself so harshly. You’re beautiful, bitch.
3. Try to stop being so panicky. Just because you’re stuck now doesn’t mean you always will be.
4. Don’t worry about anyone else. Worrying sucks, you don’t have to do it all the time. If you feel like you have to, worry about yourself because you are important.
5. It’s okay to let go. You’ve done it before, you can move on. It’s scary, but you’re strong.
6. Keep exercising no matter how depressed you get. It makes you feel wonderful and your confidence is a refreshing change of scenery from your norm.
7. Explore more. You love being outdoors; it makes your imagination shine.
8. It’s okay to feel, you can cry. You don’t have to hold things inside, and you most certainly don’t have to apologize when you let them out. You are entitled to your own emotions, just don’t let them control you.
9. Quit apologizing for everything, and stop letting people walk all over you; find your backbone.
10. Learn to love yourself, because if you don’t, what are you even doing?

Anything pine-scented reminds me of you.  Every Christmas and every birthday I bought you candles that reeked of the forest; your happy place where you could lose yourself in the wilderness.  Most of the time, you forgot to burn them.  They sat and collected dust that I routinely brushed away, hoping you’d remember them after they were freed from beneath the fine collection of filth.

Occasionally, you would see them and burn them on a cold, rainy night.  Your face would light like the flame and the house would smell like the backwoods in Nova Scotia: your true home.  Those were the days my heart could sing.  Then, the Earth took you away from me, and your pine-scented candles.  The dust began to collect again, and I couldn’t find it in me to brush away the dirt.  I didn’t have to silently remind you to burn them, anymore.  My heart forgot the scent of pine, and more importantly, to sing.

I began to decompose inside.  Days turned into months where I endlessly wrote to you telling you how broken I was, expecting that you would come back to hold me and fix the pain.  My room became my tomb, where I slowly allowed myself to drown my sorrows away.  That was the only way I could stand being alone for a long time.  When I surrounded myself, I wore a smile that I practiced for hours before leaving the house.

Eventually, that smile became a habit.  I cleaned the house the other day and found your candles beneath a thick film of sediment.  My heart started to hum.   Tonight, I decided to burn one of them.  The house smells like a combination of our old cottage and Christmas. I know if you were here, your face would light again like the flame dancing on the wick.  I don’t know if my heart will ever remember to sing the way it used to, but tonight I heard it sing a tune I hadn’t heard in over a year’s time.

My stomach is in knots over the constant war going on within me.  I can feel my heartbeat vibrating every inch of my body.  My organs are merely caged animals, fighting for the scraps of stress I feed them daily; they are riddled with that parasitic nature, now.  The anxiety won’t leave me, though I try to shake it with the tiny, white pills that put me to sleep.  Sleep has yet to engulf me in its own horrific environment, where my subconscious fires empty neurons filled with reminiscent times, left to haunt me forever.  I’m trying really hard to be the one to fix me, but I’m afraid this parasite has carved its way too deep in my being.

It seems I’m constantly regressing; forever trying to relive events that occurred when I had a piece of myself to love.  Lately I’ve been traveling back to when I was feeling sorry. Back then, it was so easy to just tilt my head back and let the bottle do the work; it was easy to drown.  I decided to let my ship sink again and revert back to my old ways.  I don’t want to be rescued this time, I want to sit and sink with all the complications I’ve caused myself.

They go back and forth like this all the time.  “You can do this,” my head tells my heart, but my heart is foolish and always has been.  It enjoys being wounded, so my head lies to comfort its old friend.  But my head has a conscience that says, “I told you lies.”  My heart smiles to my head, “I know.”  My head thinks for a moment, “Why are you happy?”  In return, my heart slows, “Because I can do anything.”  The room starts spinning along with my head.  Before its last beat, my heart laughs, “I can do this.”

My first blog post. My thoughts?  Whoa.  I’ve thought about starting a blog for quite some time.  Now that I finally have hiked up the courage to push myself further as a writer, I am sitting here staring at the letters on the keys, as if I’ve forgotten the alphabet.  I’m extremely anxious.  I’m almost positive that my heart has decided to relocate to my throat where I can feel it choking me, leaving my chest an aching cavity, longing for it to return.  I can barely breathe, and it’s kind of spectacular.  I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.  It’s scary to think that I’m putting myself out there for the world to see, feel, and connect with.  Leaving myself vulnerable has always been rather difficult for me, because it defines everything I’m not.

“Will you believe me when I say I’ve been trying to be better than I was?”