Home

An old poem, from an old notebook, written on an older date.

Home...
"Is where the heart is" they say
But who are "they" to state
Where it is that my heart remains?
I'm just taking things day by day
For my hearts gone astray.
I left it in New Jersey
Or was is Florida, Georgia or Maine?
I've lived in so many different places
That I lost it along the way.
The word doesn't even register
To a brain, this brain, my brain in disarray.

Home.
At the end of a long hard day
Awaits a house, a bed,
And roof over your head.
It's more than just a place to stay
It's a feeling, a warmth, a comforting though
In knowing you have a place to go
At the end of the day.

Home?
It's a word I've never known.
From tents to trailers
To rooms full of night terrors
No food for days as these hunger pains grow
I looked up at the world saying
Damn this place blows.

Home.
Four letters
One word, one Syllable.
But a meaning incomparable
Incomprehensible
To the girl that never knew a home
Not now, not before.

-s.d

Patience in Isolation

I want to believe that true love exists but it's hard to fathom the idea of something existing when your constantly proven and given substantial evidence that it doesn't. I'm actually beginning to feel stupid, getting my hopes up all over again for someone I hardly know. For thinking I should follow my heart despite all the excruciation it's led me to. I thought to myself, that this time was different than any other time I had begun talking to someone. Sure, I was hit with different emotions and a connection like I had never experienced, but this time was no different than the last because this time, I was bound to get hurt again.

So that's why I'm putting an end to whatever this thing with this boy is before it even has the chance to start. I am young and I am lost. Too lost to get involved with someone again. Too lost to let someone in again because the last time I let someone in completely, it nearly destroyed me. I'm content with keeping to myself and managing the pain on my own. I don't want to be alone or feel this intensifying lonesomeness, but on the contrary, it's a price I'm willing to pay in exchange for my tethered heart not to come undone at the seams.

Loneliness is a second nature to me. I can be comfortable in the lull I used to know so well. I can be self sufficient and hold myself together without help from another. I will not be dependent upon anyone but myself and I will continue on this path of existence until I can find it in my heart to love again. I will keep my head up, my heart inside my chest, use my logic to protect me, and my faith to guide me wherever my purpose lies. In the meantime, patience is the most suitable form of action to move forward with in this voluntary isolation I remain.

Empty

I'm alone but without actually being alone if that makes any sense. Not sure why I even formed that statement in a question-some manner because it does make sense. I can only speak for myself as I can vouch for none other, but I have concluded that surrounding yourself with a bunch of people doesn't fill the emptiness. In fact, if anything, it intensifies it.

Here I am, surrounded by a bounty of people, great people, so many people and yet I'm lonelier than ever. I'm not sure I can pinpoint a time I've ever not been lonely.

Have I always been lonely with spurts of a feeling that fills the void, or do I just feel spurts of lonesomeness because that's a part of human nature? I'd like to assume that everyone experiences this feeling at some point in their life but I also worry that maybe I am part of a select percentage consisting of all the broken and unfix-able people who feel lonely until the day they die.

I give endless chances to the wrong people and I push away the ones that are actually willing to stick around and help me sift through the ruins. I push people away that I can see myself opening my heart to because my heart is already an open sore, bleeding disappointment from the few people in my life that I can't seem to close the door on despite every bit of logic that tells me I know better.

It's as if I'm so used to pain that I've become content with it. That pain itself is what actually comforts me and happiness that scares me because it is so unknown. Now how could that be? You may be asking yourself how it's possible that one could be more welcoming to pain than joy, but we are a species of habit- if you were to become conditioned to pain and how to cope with it on a daily basis, you too would be scared to open up to something more. Opening up to the chance of happiness is standing on a tight rope in the Grand Canyon leaving it up to complete faith that the wind won't blow you over.

I actually believe I am afraid of being happy because anytime I feel even an inkling of happy, my world seems to come crashing down in ways I didn't see possible.

No matter how much I try to decipher my seemingly magnetic draw to pain, I can't figure out why I'd be more willing to open the door to a man with a dagger than a man with a bouquet of flowers. Regardless, I suppose I've gotten to the point in my life where I expect the worst and that's what I will get until I demand better.

That said, I'd like to say I know what my next steps to a better life full of love and void of loneliness are, but I don't. I'm frozen in time. I go with the motions day to day and leave my life in the hands of fate. I embrace the pain. I embrace the loneliness.

Upon the beaten path I am complacent in a state of non existent nostalgia.

A Post About An Old Post

entry from a newly found old notebook, written on an unknown date

"I sit in my bed, yet another night with my back toward my roommate and my face staring at a blank wall where all of his pictures used to sit. I took them all down when I got back from the airport and now I like the blankness better quite frankly.

Sitting here looking at this blank white wall, I can relate to it. It's empty, lonely almost. You see, me and this wall have a lot in common. I can vaguely hear my roommate talking to me, but it's muffled and I don't care to focus in- so I don't. Day by day, I sit staring at this wall. My roommate eventually stopped trying to reach me, my friends stopped texting me, and my teachers stopped emailing me. In fact I stopped going to class completely, for I was just too busy.

Staring at the wall.

I stopped eating, nearly completely. I was wasting away- literally. I lost twenty pounds and I looked skinnier than ever, considering my new diet consisted of alcohol and the occasional grilled cheese.

I'd go out and drink myself to oblivion, and quite honestly, I think a part of me hoped that I would be able to just drink myself to death. A painless death in which my last thoughts wouldn't be the ones that drove me mad. I'd part quietly from the world, unnoticed and the slate would be wiped clean. Just like my blank white wall by my bed side.

In fact, a part of me was envious of that wall. It could hold whatever it wanted upon it's surface and it could be taken down at any time. If a picture was there, but it no longer belonged, it could just simply be removed. All of me pleaded and wished that the pain and memories could just be erased like such.

I stopped listening to music, because all my favorite songs brought back the sharpest memories. I stopped eating because I had no appetite. I stopped talking to people because I'd find myself drowning out the noise and lose track of the conversation. I isolated myself from everyone and everything. I no longer cared. I no longer tried. I just existed.

I would literally sit in my dorm all day and go for long late night runs, when the motivation would strike me and no one would be wake to see me. I tried to run away from the pain but no matter how fast I ran, the pain just ran faster. No amount of alcohol could stop it either. Nothing could stop my mind except that damn white wall. I know I've stressed it a lot, and have been a bit redundant, but the truth of the matter is exactly that. My days had become redundant, not that they aren't anyway, but each day was literally the same. I looked terrible. Everyone around me could tell I was deteriorating except me.

Freshman class president, with all the friends on campus, the most outgoing, happy and bubbly person all my peers had known to be, had vanished. People stopped saying hi because they got tired of not hearing a response. I got so sick of the pitiful looks, therefore the reason I stopped leaving my dorm completely.

Out of all the things in my life that I'd been through, it'd surprise anyone to hear that this was what broke me. After all the trauma, the pain, and darkness that I had risen from, it was a boy- heartbreak- that made feel so very unfixable."

It's crazy how we stumble across things that we had forgotten about. I forgot I had written this, but this is an entry from one of my journals. It's hard to fathom that I once felt like this, lost myself like this. It's made me realize that I'm actually still looking for myself. 

How Can You Move Forward Before You've Healed?

You can't.

I can't.

I tried so hard to fake it. I thought if I tried hard enough and tried forcing myself to look at/ document things more positively, that I may actually start to believe it. It's said that one can be so dedicated to a lie and so consumed in that lie, that they themselves, can confuse it as truth. Well, unfortunately that's not the case when  you are using the method to mask and diminish pain in hopes of not having to deal with it. Pain demands to be felt said Van Houton. There is no way to skip a step in the process; any and all attempts to beat around the bush, just feed said bushes roots until you finally realize there is no way around it's infinitely expanding properties. My life is simply in shambles. I've been avoiding it and I've taken every step possible to deface it. There is no way around it. No way out of it's grasp until you solve the problem. There is no way to apply positive thinking if you are applying it to a role it cannot possibly fill; it would seem, I've been trying to force a positive mind upon one that's grieving; I haven't given it proper time to heal.