Sunday, January 19, 2014

This Old Knot

Stress is such a waste of time. I mean, seriously, what's the point? If it has a solution, why worry about the issue? And on the other hand, if it has no solution, once again, why worry?

It's like we're programmed to lose our hair (or have it  turn gray) over everything. Lack of money, lack of space, lack of privacy, lack of sex. There's a worry for each one of us, and it's bound to occupy our minds whether we like it or not. And no, gutter-heads, I don't have that last one!

I had this teacher in college, Professor Luis Santana, that would say he was actually able to decide what he was going to worry about, and when. If he had to have a nasty conversation on Monday morning, he wouldn't worry about it until that Monday morning. If he had a tedious ordeal to handle on Thursday afternoon, he didn't prep for it until Thursday morning.

I found it exquisitely amazing. And have always wanted to be able to do that. It's the epiphany of using logic. Not letting emotions take over you, not paying mind to the things that simply don't deserve it, not going insane over something that will resolve itself with time.

To have control over my thoughts, group them up and put them where they won't bother anyone, and decide when to ponder about them... is such a beautiful dream. A dream that someday I want to turn into reality.

Someday I want to get rid of this knot in my throat that's just so darned tight. I wanna be able to accept problems and decide if they're worth my sleep, my hunger and my above all, my tranquility. I want to show my brain that it doesn't rule me, that it's the other way around. That positivity can actually exist within me, and that I can portray it in my actions. I wanna be able to laugh at problems, challenges and issues, just like I have no problem laughing at myself.

This is beginning to sound like a sappy mantra. Sorry about that! Back to basics. One of my biggest flaws has always been worrying about people that are perfectly fine. In other words, don't need me to worry about them. And in even better words, haven't the slightest interest or consideration in the fact that I worry about them. And in the latest establishment on the issue, have been rude responding to my worry. It hurts, but in the grand scheme of things, what really can I do but stop worrying and hope for the best? What can I do but know about them drinking into oblivion, put their life in the hands of God, and hope that some day they realize that all I ever wanted was their happiness?

At what point do I just back off and realize that I'm no one important in this person's life? At least not important enough that there would be some sort of two way street when it comes to basic communication? Why invest my worry in someone that clearly doesn't deserve it?

So many questions I'll probably never have the answers to. But so little I can do about it. I need to know what the absence of worry is about, really embrace it, detach myself from a senseless friendship. Let go of someone who just plain doesn't need me anymore. And deal with the stress as best as I can.

This is something I think I've never done before. At least, not with a friendship that got to possess so much intensity. Maybe I'll write about it again. Maybe my reaction will make things change. All I know is I'll never feel this way again. And I shouldn't. No one should have to stress about something as beautiful as friendship. I've already lost too much time.

Yani DLC

Wednesday, January 08, 2014

Poisonous Silence

It stings. It feels like I have seven hundred bees injecting their poison into each one of my veins, repeatedly. Like if a Mack truck decided to run over my knees, over and over again. It hurts like nothing I've experienced in a very long time.

It burns. It feels like I'm slowly walking along the hallways of a burning house, feeling the flames piercing my skin, excruciatingly tearing off my face. Feeling my lungs get inundated with that deadly smoke. Feels like it won't stop.

It insists. Just when I think it'll get a little better, it makes me remember, and it hits me harder than before. It reminds me that it can be stronger than me. It convinces me that it's bigger than me. That I can't possibly get rid of it. That it'll do with me whatever it wants.

It is here. It will not go away any time soon. It will make its house in the edge of one of my ribs, and just tighten, and strain, and break me, and be as painful as it can be. It will have no mercy of me. It'll laugh straight at my face whenever I think I can forget it.

It's trapped. It has found a home in my soul and taken over. And it will last forever. Not with the same strength always, but it will frequently show up to flaunt its power. It'll never really leave. It's a part of me now. And I will never know another pain comparable to this, ever.

It will make me stronger. Just like everything else. Yet I will be weak for a long time. Because I became a slave to this twisted dream. But it was my dream. It will never be a nightmare, because it's too beautiful to be called that.

It makes me weak. And it'll make me strong. It changed me, and I will never be the same. It passed the test of time, but not the test of circumstance. It is mine, but I'll never have it. It's what I'm made of, but I'll never embrace it. It's what I want, but not what I need.

It will not be resolved, because it's not a problem. It will not be measured, because I could never show it in full effect. It will never spread its wings... Because it never learned to fly.

It hurts, but it's mine, right? I can't die of this, correct? A body in pain can still live, can't it? A burned soul will still find it's place in this sick world, won't it?

This sweet, gentle poison of seven hundred bees traveling through me... It can't possibly kill me...

... Can it?