Resitance is futile; Trying is catastrophic.

Is it wrong that I want to sleep all the time?

I want to sleep when I have to get up.
I want to sleep when I’m in class.
I want to sleep at lunch.
I want to sleep on the bus.
I want to sleep after school.
I want to sleep after dinner.
And I want to sleep when I finally crawl into bed at night.
The thing is, I think I do sleep all the time. I find it hard to focus my brain on a lot of things, to work at things. Even just conversation, I’m there, but I’m not present. However, even though I want to sleep all day, I like being woken up with the right person. The right person to stimulate my brain, to keep me present. Some could say they are awaken with an alarm, or caffeine or by a family member who pulls them out of bed in the morning.

My ‘alarm’ is a lot softer than theirs however. My ‘alarm’ pumps the blood quickly through my body as it traces the edges of my lips with kisses. My ‘caffeine’ awakens and captures my mind as every word said is interesting and valued. My family members would be lucky to find an alarm as good as mine. I’m sure they assume the progression of the day affects me the way it affects them. 
But you see, I’m not the same as them. Or maybe I am. Maybe we all just sleep throughout the day, and some of us are lucky enough to find an alarm that awakens our mind and pumps our blood to get us functioning. Maybe we don’t function as well as we should until we find that alarm.
I mean, have you ever tried to do an assignment, or go to work, or even make some food when you’re still asleep on your feet? You just don’t do the job as well as you would if you were fully operating and awake.

So I think that maybe, maybe so many people walk around still sleeping. Sleeping like I do, until that person snaps me awake. But they don’t know they’re sleeping. I think it’s kind of beautiful in a way. They think they’re awake, but when they find their alarm, they will wake up everyday the best way possible. But they don’t even know that they’re unaware. So that beautiful or dashing alarm will captivate them entirely one day, and maybe they won’t ever be asleep again. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

So I started thinking again..

It’s long, kind of silly and kinda quite personal. Read if you will. 

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Ever feel like saying so much, but are lost for words?

Do you know that feeling, that one where you feel like you should be saying so much. But when you sit down to write it, it’s like nothing is there. Nothing but that nagging feeling that mocks you as you feel the effort leak out of you. Yeah, well, I find myself there a lot. 

I can’t really articulate anything any more. It annoys me, because I used to think I was so good at it. But now I just frustrate myself. Always making new assumptions about myself. But I don’t even know me. No one does. I doubt I actually know about anything I’m thinking, and half the things I say just contradict each other. So what’s the point in saying anything any more? And because I get so irritated that everything sounds shallow or hypocritical, I just delete the post after I write it. 
That kinda defeats the purpose of writing the post, because I want things to be seen.

Farrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr out. I don’t even understand why I frustrate myself so much. 

The key.

“It’s like this,” she said as her hands motioned an invisible square between her arms. “You can’t actually see it, but it’s there. It’s always there. Sometimes things go into it, sometimes they come out. But it’s hard to get them back out again, you need to be the right person. Kind of like a key. Each person has another person that is their key.” 

She waited a minute. Then another, and another. Finally, she grew restless and her arms twitched in their fixed position around her waist. Her arms always wrapped themselves around her waist. As if some horrible blow had caused an open hole in her core and her insides threatened to spill. Day in and day out, her hands lay wrapped. Tightening in situations of stress or emotional confrontation, but forever claiming their position. Once she realised the looks she received from other children in the class. She tried to move her arms and set them about her body like the other children did. But quickly that plan was discarded.
Her arms had hung limply by her sides, doing nothing at all, when her body needed the security. It was open and vulnerable. This scared her more than the strange looks she received. So her arms had eventually returned to their comfortable place.
She could feel the static in the air grow more potent as she continued to stare at the floor, struggling to draw deep breaths into her lungs. 

“But,” she whispered to her shiny red shoes. “A lot of people can’t find their key. Or they break their key and then give it to someone else. And sometimes that breaks the box.”

“Do you have a key, Lacey?” The doctor tilted his head slightly. It looked odd when he sat in his black leather chair and tilted his head. But he never asked Lacey why she carried her waist in her arms, so she never asked him why he tilted his head.

“I do. But..” She trailed off, hoping he could just ask about her day instead. He did that a lot. Sometimes they drew pictures together or sang songs, but sometimes they had to have ‘proper talks’, too. She always had to sit down in a big leather chair and she didn’t like that her feet couldn’t touch the ground. 

“Would you tell me about your key Lacey?” He said as he leaned forward. His face was kind, and his head still tilted. It was easier that way. Even though the doctor never tilted his head outside of those ‘proper talks’, she found comfort in the prediction. Just as he knew when they had ‘proper talks’ her arms would constrict her waist and her face would drop a shade in colour. 

“I would, but I think I broke it,” She whispered. “Mum says that I’m too small to have a key, but she doesn’t share her juice or draw trains like we do. Mum broke her key. I think her key is her her work now, she’s always there. She says she loves it, but I think she might have lost her box too.” 

“Why do you think you broke your key?” 
“Because sometimes even my key can’t open my box. Not because another key can, but because my box is lost or broken like mum’s.” With the exhausting exhale came the tilt of the head, and the sure look that the ‘proper talk’ was over for the day.
“Would you like to draw something?” The doctor began as he reached for a box of crayons…

Running Races.

Running races are usually quite fun. They’re fun because you and only you control yourself at that time. You know how fast you can go. And sometimes you push it,  just to go that tiny bit faster. Sometimes you can win; win the race, win that accomplishment, win over the fear that you’re running from, or to. You can just win. Unfortunately, with a winner, there is also someone who fails. And sometimes, that can be you. 

Sometimes you can run as fast as you want, and it’s not enough. You can run faster than you’ve ever run before, and you still don’t get there in time. You can run until your legs don’t burn any more, and are limply numb. You can run until you feel so light headed that your chest is tightening in agony for a breath of air. You can even run until you can’t see anything, and it’s all a blur.
But sometimes, even after running so desperately, it’s still not enough. Sometimes instead of that medal, or the wave of relief that you were running for, you get hospital beds. You get tear stained faces, and hollow eyes. You’ll accomplish white walls and funny smells that threaten to send you plummeting to the ground. You won’t win the most epic battle of your life, or someone else’s. You might be lucky enough to catch the last of the colour drain from their face, but they’re too far gone to even recognise you. So soon enough, you can’t hear them breathe any longer, and you know that you just lost the race. 

Sometimes, someone is crazy enough to run any way. Knowing that they are going to loose, but because they’ve known it’s approach for so long, they run any way. Sometimes humans care more deeply for someone else, more than they could ever value themselves. Sometimes just knowing they tried would be enough. Other times it’s not. Sometimes the pain of waiting is worse than that initial take off. That moment of waiting for the gun shot to tell them it’s time to run. That it’s time to run, run faster than you have ever run before. Because this is life or death.

Some might say, that they are too old for running races. Or that running races are child’s play. But I disagree. I don’t think anyone could run away from this race if they tried. 

Do you ever get so curious, that you aren’t curious any longer?

Sometimes I get that. I can get so completely caught up in something, and keep pushing and pushing until I don’t want to know anything about it any more. 

I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. Or maybe, maybe it doesn’t need a label? I really don’t know right now. 

Labels.

That’s a weird term. Very weird. 

Everything has labels you know. Everything, whether you want it to or not. “Oh I don’t label things”, isn’t that just creating a label of you as person? When you’re like the other people that just don’t want to be judgemental? Why don’t you say you try not to judge people? Although, in saying that. You can’t not judge someone. I mean people think that judging someone means that you just decide what you think of them, but in a bad way. Buut, that’s not really it. I don’t think any how. I mean you have to judge the distance between you and the walls when you walk around the house. If you didn’t, you might walk straight into them. 

So how is it different with people? I think that many assume that when you judge someone, it’s just degrading your idea of them. But you have to judge people. Maybe without unneeded cruelty is what people should really ask. But you have to look at someone and decided that they’re in fact a human. Or a boy or a girl. That’s technically judging them if you assume that they’re a girl upon sight without actually having a conversation with them to which they confirm that they are in fact female.

Soo.. There’s my long post about nothing important for the day.

Good night bitches.  

You know you went to a good party when you come home the next day and feel the need to blog about it. 

Yei yei. 

Gooooood party indeed. ;3

I dislike finding blogs that are so full of shit.

Because honestly, it’s weird finding a blog and reading all the stuff some people say. I mean are people honestly that dumb?

This one chick. She wrote this mass long post about not getting a girl upset (which is never not going to happen), because “I know guys have feelings too, but when a girl is upset, all hell breaks loose”.

Okay. Let’s look at this for a second.

So first part is right. Guys do have feelings too. However, who says that it’s so much worse when a girl is upset? CLEARLY, a guy must have written this. Because it’s not bias at all. At. All. I mean, guys do have feelings too. But if all hell broke loose for a girl every time she was upset, wouldn’t we have all the girls being suicidal, not just some, but every single girl?
And what about guys who commit suicide? Does that mean that their pain isn’t that bad? Like the need to kill themselves wasn’t so completely full of intense pain because hey, they have feelings, but it’s hell for girls. So the guys can just go deal with it? What even?

So this makes me wonder. How can someone honestly be so dumb? Like so unaware of everything.
I mean I was talking to a friend on the bus, and she mentioned something about one of the girls I know to be depressed. But how my friend said it was as if the girl who was depressed, was depressed a while back and was better now.
Yeah she’s not. But my friend on the bus just assumed she was. My friend told me that she asks that other girl how she is all the time. So how could she
A) Not see right through her. I can, so easily. So I thought it was obvious. Or.
b) Just honestly believe that they’re nothing going on.
I just don’t get it? There are so many people that just look so sad. But, apparently not to other people. Why can’t other people see what I see?

So then I was thinking. Maybe, because from where I’m sitting. When I see other people make posts like that one above about guys, it’s like they can’t see the full picture. Because they’re mind isn’t open enough. But then, it has me thinking. Maybe my mind isn’t open enough? Because I just can’t understand how someone can limit themselves like that, or how someone can just not see what I see.
So maybe I’m the one with the small mind? Maybe everyone else sees so much more than I do?

Mind is spinning out right now. What is happening.

Le rant.

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I just remembered how much I struggle with titles.

It’s late. So writing now is probably a bad idea, but I guess not writing will just keep me awake longer. So. Talking shit it is.

I don’t have a mood right now. Not that finding one of those is ever easy for me, since things seem to blur constantly. But that slight clarification has left me tonight, and the effort ran away too. Bastards.

Basically. I find it hard to accept a lot of things. One of which is the happenings of my own mind, compared to those of other people’s heads. I just think that my head works differently. Painfully different to others. I hate feeling like such a twat because the tiniest things just trip me up. And it’s not like I could begin to explain any of it to someone, because nothing makes any sense anymore. It hasn’t for a very long time. It’s like. I don’t know. Beyond blurry now, beyond surreal. I thought it was getting better, but I struggle to determine what’s real and what’s some dream that I never get at night. Dreaming only at night would be nice. Or just dreaming at night, full stop, would be nice. I don’t remember any dreams, just black. 

Although I feel as though I’ve said hardly anything, I think saying anything more of my frustration will just cause a waterfall effect. Something I’m not keen for when the topic is myself and my own mind. 

So it’s time for me to go to bed listening to ‘No One Does It Better’ on repeat, still covered in pastels from my drawings and giving such a shit that I can’t give a shit to give a shit. 

Night bitchess.