Burial on the Presidio Banks
I remember a time where the only thing that consumed my thoughts was death… that I should die, be slain by some tragic misfortune — the sapling of an oak, cut short far from its time; long before it was ever given the chance to blossom and grow into a mighty figure, lifting its limbs high into the sky, stretching its leaves wide… well, oaks don’t have wide leaves but that’s beside the point.
I’ve come a long way since those days. I don’t wish such a fate upon myself anymore… I want to live, to love, to see the world, to marry and have children, to teach them and give them wonderful lives and be a wonderful parent, avoiding the same mistakes my parents made with me…
After I came to the conclusion I wouldn’t kill myself, I began to wonder, in those tortuous, scarring moments, how much more my mind could take. When would I break? When would I lose myself to the bitterness and anger which flowed in place of blood through my veins?
Again I wished for death. Not for myself, but for those around me… no, it wasn’t death I wished for, it was pain. I wanted them to know just how they made me feel… How else, though could I grant them this understanding? I figured I’d have to do something drastic, impulsive, in a frenzied state of mind when sanity had lost its value. I wanted so badly to lash out, to let the red in my vision be all there was between these hands which thirsted for blood and them…
Then years passed. Things got better.
But we humans, we never truly forget, do we? I still feel this beast, caged, tombed beneath the sands of my past.
But don’t worry. Every now and then it just likes to rattle its cage a bit… those bars will hold.
That doesn’t explain this useless rant. My apologies… goodbye.
When the Sky Ends
The smoke is still stinging my throat slightly, dancing with the familiar taste of tobacco in my mouth. Perhaps I’ve developed a mild nicotine addiction… Lately I’ve felt as though I’ve had to have at least one every night. “It’s okay though, I can quit whenever I want.” Nights where I cannot find the time to smoke don’t seem like a burden to me, and often times are followed by a couple nights where I simply forget to greet this habit.
Poor me.
Got into a huge fight with my mother today… It all started when she asked my brother to start his car for her. My brother, jokingly, said that she should ask me to do it instead. He was finishing up his lunch or something… I was busy with Twilight Princess, a great game that I haven’t had the time to get into since its release. So, she asked me if I could do it for her. So I told her that it’s his car and that she asked him first, so naturally he should do it. These innocent words devolved into “Hey! I told YOU to do it, so go do it!” I resisted, and then she began making comments about how lazy I was and how it was just shameful that I was never willing to do any work around the house. She kept going about how ungrateful of a child I was, one bullshit remark after the next.
I wasn’t having any of that today. So, I lashed back out at her. This argument went all over, touching on subjects ranging from how I wasn’t able to find a job this semester, to her and my dad’s inability to find jobs this season either, to my brother’s greatly belated high school graduation (coming this December… he’s 20 now), to the sensitive (for her) issue of me having to take her car to college this semester instead of my own which had expensive transmission problems, to my parents playing favorites when we were children, to statements such as “Why don’t you just move out already? We should start charging you rent,” to “I’m the only one in this room who’s actually planning on doing something that matters with my life… you’re the one who’s a failure.”
It was fierce, abbreviated only when she realized she was running late for some errands she had to attend.
I’ve come to a realization today. When I was younger, when I needed friends and company and relationships the most, they were the ones who were never there for me. Due to some masterful work by my then-manipulative, brown-nosing brother, he had managed to convince my parents that I was the source of scorn in our family. I was labeled as the misfit, the mischievous, selfish child who twisted the opinions of my friends against my own family members.
It all began when they first held on to the notion that I was abusing my brother, trying to turning friends and family against him. In a heroic attempt to foil my evil plot, I became the evil one. They were the heroes who had stepped in just in time to save my brother from certain peril, sentenced to a life of depression and loneliness ushered in by me, who sought the approval of my peers more than the bonds of family. I was the problem child from then on, the one they had to unite against to undermine.
They needed someone to fill this role in their lives. I happened to be in the right place in the right time. Thus the evil one’s schemes would be forever put to rest, the villain locked up and bound. No more would these plans come to fruition, no longer would this terrible concoction of blood, tissue and bone which had gone awry continue to herd corruption between their precious family bonds.
What’s it like to have your family stand up for you, to protect you when people aim their fragile fingers your way undeservingly? What’s it like to be encouraged by a loving father when you’ve been paralyzed by the fears of a reality which seeks to destroy you? What’s it like to hold a deep, genuine conversation with a mother who’s interested in your thoughts and feelings, interested in the relationships you’ve managed to build in the mere 10-20 years of life you’ve been granted thus far?
Tell me… somebody please, tell me…
These days hurt so much. Each day I walked through this desert, chapped lips seeking water. It wasn’t long after stepping onto this baked earth that the wolves first spotted me… wasn’t long before I could hear them pacing around me as I slept, each night drawing closer, biding their time to strike. My father once told me I was the worst sibling he had ever known. “I would never want to be your brother,” he said to me. Even as my brother defended me, he held fast to this idea.
I wanted to die… I wanted to die…
When have I ever been the wanted one within this circle? I’ve always envied this love, the bond of which I apparently am undeserving of. Even now as they talk to him… my brother, the victim… Each time they laugh, each time they share something of themselves… Hell, each time they so much as genuinely listen to the words he speaks, I wonder if it ever could have been me.
…But sometimes I wonder if I truly wished it could’ve been.
I thought that these cuts would be for my friends, those who’ve fallen where I’d managed to stay strong. But now I believe that these cuts will be for me.
I wish I may, I wish I might
On crimson-coated steel tonight…
Oh God… I need to get out of here…
The Color Theft
I need to cut again. I need… need…
Perhaps I have seasonal affective disorder… This seems to be a new recurring trend for me in the wintertime.
It’s the same as last year. These cuts will be for my friends who are falling… who feel they are not good enough. For those who feel as if there is no escape for themselves, who let the blackness within them grow.
I think I care too much. That’s my problem… that’s it…
…I’m holding out until I leave for home.
The Beast
An old poem I wrote. 2002 or 2003, I believe…?
Just as one and one is two,
And two fives equal ten,
Between us churns the war machine
That feeds upon the dead.
Mechanical and lifeless grind
The gears, once were a soul,
Now calloused, cracked, and petrified,
Emotionless and cold.
This stigma and what lies behind
These vengeful eyes of mine
Have lingered far beyond the care
Of all of mortal kind.
And so I sell my soul once more
To feed the beast again;
To keep this hole I call a heart
Alive to thirst revenge.
I’ve never seen this side of sin;
The beast within the well,
Who’s willing, wanting, needing me
To usher you to hell.
Pull back the reins on your demise
Before she charges in
And all I’ve done is fed the wound,
The poison from within.
It’s killing, mutilating me…
It’s beating me… it’s burning me…
I curse these chains called common sense
That’s keeping me from hurting me.
I wish I may, I wish I might
On crimson-coated steel tonight
That someday we will meet again…
I’ll make my pain alright again…
I suppose those chains in the second to last verse couldn’t hold up forever… right?
Again, the Light
Happy Thanksgiving! Though somewhat belated…
I’ve been drawing a lot, lately. It’s not that I’ve been bored, far from it. I’m staying over my significant other’s house for the weekend, until Sunday night. It seems as though I’ve a thought in my head, one which has taken shape without words and is wanting to escape. I suppose I’m trying to set it free, yet nothing I’ve drawn so far has done it.
Perhaps I should just go to bed and forget about it. Maybe I should read a book or play a game by myself…
I don’t know. Perhaps I’m slipping again. Amidst the comfort of this home and the warmth of my partner’s arms, I have unwittingly managed to feel lonesome. In these moments, I wish to disconnect myself from everyone around me. I wish to gather my things and say goodbye for good. “You thought you were a part of their lives,” my mind tells me, “but you never truly were, nor will you ever be. Loneliness is your calling, Jordan. Your destiny.”
Yet I must maintain this calm composure. I can’t give away these thoughts.
I guess I’m not as rational and level-headed as I’d like others to believe.
It’s been a while since the incident with my other friend. I feel as though I’ve just cheated on a test I forgot to study for, got an A, and gotten away with it right beneath the teacher’s eyes. I feel strangely free, yet unmistakeably empty. I’ve awoken from my dream standing alone in a familiar desert, endless on all sides; silent, save for the wind. I feel unworthy of life, yet I wish too strongly to continue living this lie, the lie that everything is fine, that I’m this wonderful person who’s so in love.
But it isn’t a lie… no. I am so in love. It was just a mistake.
I feel as though I write here in place of speaking to myself verbally, saving myself the trouble of sounding like a schizophrenic.
Funny though. When I was younger, in the midst of more trying times, I always wondered when I would snap and lose what frail sanity I had clung to.
…I am finished. Goodbye for now.
Schism
Well, I’m over the initial trauma of what happened a couple nights ago. If you could call it trauma… I suppose it was my own fault. Then again, it takes two, doesn’t it?
My mind is as a tornado, throwing debris and junk into all my vision perceives, tearing things apart, grinding away at the luster that had begun to catch my eye. Behind me, the dust seems to settle, leaving ruin and withered life.
The guilt comes in waves. Am I sad, angered, betrayed that a trusted friend would be in that situation with me? How could I be? I am filled with fear of this side of me, something which seems to have been spreading its malignant roots through my subconscious for far too long. I am filled with a sense of urgency, for I no longer see myself as a good person. I keep telling myself “You’re not like that… that’s not you. You’re not that kind of person.” But perhaps I am? Were I truly not, I wouldn’t be in this state of conflict.
I truly believed that I was better than that, that I had a stronger respect for love than that.
But should I really be surprised at my own humanity? I like to think I know the different sides I call “me.” I’ve long recognized a darkness in me, yet I seem to have severely underestimated its pervasiveness. This evil has penetrated its fingers deep into the core of who I am, to clench its grip upon the stripping of my inhibitions.
Now that I am aware at the extent of this side of me — manipulatively evil, filled with a sadistic disregard for the well-being of those I hold dear, and fueled by a blackened human nature — I am set to face a new battle. Long ago I had resolved to never let my fears control me again, to never let these things prevent me from doing what I feel is right.
Yet something within me wants to embrace this. A part of me finds release within the atrophy.
I won’t tell.
But, “to never let these things prevent me from doing what I feel is right”… Perhaps I should face this fear of losing what I’ve grown to love the most? Everything has a consequence, right? Shall I forfeit nature and elect to save myself from consequence this time?
Listen to me. I sound so over-dramatic.
I talked with the person I cheated with last night. We agree that it was a terrible mistake and have both vowed to never tell a soul. At least, not without making it a mutual decision first.
I have far too many secrets. I fear that they shall one day alienate me.
Since I’ve stopped, I have never wanted more to cut myself than I do now. A growing part of me feels as though I deserve it.
Silence
Hello. My name is Jordan.
I just made the biggest mistake of my entire life last night.
I slept with a friend of mine last night… And it wasn’t my significant other.
I cannot even begin to describe the shame I feel right now. What have I done? What the hell have I done? I’ve just risked the most important thing in my life.
We were so drunk… It was as though I was watching myself do all these things from the outside.
What the hell have I done?
I want to die. I will never be able to have the same respect for myself again.
What do I do now?
Runaway
Depression is a funny thing, for me. It’s like a friend who only calls once in a while, but when he does he’s inviting himself over for a while because his roommate’s kicked him out or he can’t afford to pay his rent.
He’s called lately, and I can hear him knocking at the door.
He’s here, but I think that’s as close as I care to let him come. I’ve got too much going for me now.
I’ve been optimistic lately! However, saying this is somewhat misleading. I always come across as optimistic. Perhaps I feel that people will not accept me if I’m not always bringing something to the table… In this case, hope. So often inside, I’m expecting the worst.
If only it were that mankind didn’t value a person’s worth based on how much one can get out of the other before they part ways.
Perhaps I’ve been too cynical.
I’m taking a drawing class this semester, and it’s been wonderful! However, these hidden sides of me seem to find refuge in my artwork more often than not. I can’t help but wonder how my peers interpret this.
There are some remedies worse than the disease
It certainly has been a while, hasn’t it?
Life hasn’t changed. I remain in the same situations as my previous post… Still the fleeting doubt, still the resolute belief that I’m doing what’s right, still the friendship that remains something more only on an ambiguous level. Still the exercise, still the diet plan, still the hunt for the perfect job, still the ever-increasing workload, and still the procrastination.
Life changes take too long to take hold… anyone else ever notice that?
I suppose I shouldn’t expect too much. After all, it seems as though life is defined not by how much grunt work one has, but what kind of grunt work one will inevitably have to do. It’s not that I’ve tired of doing such things… I simply wish there were more hours in the day, or that there was a place I could go to stop time and simply collect myself without losing precious hours.
I still have yet to speak to my ex since we’ve broken up. Yet, I’ve been checking their Facebook and MySpace pages like a stalker.
Today is my birthday. Maybe today would be a good day to call? Not knowing which direction I’ve sent both our lives spiraling in is destroying me from within.
I read PostSecret.com frequently. I often check the site as soon as they update. If I were to send in a secret, it would read “The only thing keeping me from cutting again is knowing that people at the gym would notice.”
It’s not life that’s pushing me down into this hole again. Life is good… it truly is. It’s that something that’s been eating away at my insides like a parasite I’ve had for as long as I can remember. It’s the death within this life… the unanswered “Why me”’s and the haunting “Not good enough”’s. Tonight I just want to hate, but I’m trying so hard not to.
It’s a good thing I can’t find my razor… I might just do something irrational.
