she holds back tears.
her biggest fear already unraveled
she can’t save you like she thought she could.
she sits, typing. pausing. typing. you’re all that is on her mind right now as she just wants to
ing from the memories flowing within.
she hates that she can’t be that person for you anymore.
she hates that not only did she close, but erased the door.
honestly if she could take it all back she would.
she’d have never went to that room that night.
she wouldn’t have ever even cared. even though she never really did.
I still hurt when you hurt, sometimes at night I feel random sparks of it and I wonder if it is from the connection …from your soul to mine…letting me know you are hurting at that particular time.
a kiss for your forehead. a worm for your sockets.
It’s that odd feeling that resurfaces from time and time again.what are you doing? Is this really want you want? what has happened?that feeling you push to the back of your mind as you reply with an I know what I’m doing, leave me.
but of course the mind is a restless thing. it never stops, not even in your sleep. beautiful and yet so incredibly and exotically dangerous… as though there are different ports that have the capacity to lead to different places.
within your mind, of course.
It’s as though laughter doesn’t remember exactly how to extricate from the entangled web surrounding your lips. It’s as though your lips can’t really even move, not even in the slightest.
the feeling comes from nowhere…
no, it comes from somewhere…
and in that moment she was cold as she looked at all the faces that surrounded her at the table…is this what she wanted for her future? Are these people…these selfish unthoughtful utterly outrageous conservative people what she wanted for the rest of her life. she turns. sees him. sees how he can’t say one word toward her. he can’t say anything for her. she sighs that oh familiar sigh of the usual. the normal. the every day. she was never going to like her. she would always hate her. jealousy? she had to let her son go sometime… she tried so hard…playing with her daughter…doing things out of the way…anything to be accepted. did she want to live the rest of her life having to do things to be accepted? she turned back to the playing cards in her hand…and she felt it …that all too knowing blackness wrap it’s fingertips slowly yet aggressively around her heart…engraving it’s darkened apathetic presence.
Honestly? I have never felt more insulted in my life. I feel as though my mother did a wonderful job raising me…and I feel as though I am a walking example of the success she did have in raising me. No I’m not perfect, but I am a very influential person within the community, I go to a oh you know, pretty hard school, I have not really had to pay for any of it, I’m highly involved in and outside of that campus, and I already know what my life goals are, as I step closer toward achieving them everyday. So I don’t think that I’m just some stupid girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.
I feel as though I was raised with great wisdom. Yet I am constantly finding people belittling me and yet instead of getting mad I can’t help but shake my head and chuckle. I mean really, chuckle. You can’t look at my life, look at the things I have worked so freaking hard to accomplish, and then say some of the things you say. they say. people say. whoever says. It just isn’t plausible honestly. It just doesn’t make sense. It’s a track record… you don’t just look at a person standing in the doorway, you look at who they are. what they do. what their ambitions are. what they have already accomplished… and if it over exceeds your preconditioned thoughts that they aren’t going to make it, or are not capable of it… how much sense does that make if they have made it this far?
I am only twenty, very soon to be twenty one. I realize this. I realize that wisdom comes with age. But I also realize that EXPERIENCE plays a role in there too.
I might not have experience at having my own child. But I can guarantee you that I have seen more parenting strategies…more disciplinary tactics… I have witnessed them. I see what works, I see what doesn’t. I see that it does depend on the child’s personality. So no, maybe I have not went through the belly popping process, but I can assure you I am no fool. I work with children on a daily basis, I see how they work. I spend more time with children than I do adults, because I love the innocence. My patience with children honestly can’t be touched. I have a deeper understanding than what most realize, and than what most people in my life have.
I might not have experience with having to pay my own bills such as a house payment, a car payment…But I know what it’s like to struggle. I have seen that too. Besides, I’m not like some who still live with their parents, don’t go to school, and don’t have any worries.
I am in school working my ass off day in and day out. There isn’t a minute throughout my day that goes by to where I am free ever. If I am not physically working at something I am mentally working at it.
I sit and think about all the people who back me up. My family, my volunteer friends, my professors, the people I work with on a daily basis. All these people who think I’m some walking saint.
well, I’m not a saint. But they are very right when they say I have my shit together. I am an impressive gal, and I will not be insulted and made to look like a child. I may have not endured such hardships, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see them on a daily basis and feel as though I endure it through their hurt and pain.
Not everything requires a title.
I don’t wear fingernail polish because I consistently pick at the polish. I really just want to eat and go to sleep. Neither one seems to have a bright future tonight. I can’t stand two faced people. I don’t see the point. why be friends with someone that you enjoy talking so much crap about behind their back? Why not just not be friends? What is the purpose? Yeah, I have issues. my mind is crazy, I think too much, apparently because I say I care too much that is me bragging.
But I can honestly say I’m not two faced. If I am not fond of you, trust me, you know. I won’t go out of my way to be mean, but I am not going to go out of my way to be nice either. I’ll be cordial, that is really all it takes.
People are going to talk. always. the argument that happened friday night? was from an immature guy who was probably talking shit about me to his girlie and because of their own miserable insecurities they thought it would be fun to try and bring me down a notch. The thing is it backfired.
oh sweetheart if you only knew. if only if only, that damn woodpecker…he’s always there, isn’t he dear?
People are going to talk. Mom is right. No one knows my relationship. No one has the right to tell me if I should leave… to suggest he isn’t happy…so suggest I am not happy. I love you all for caring, truly, but you just don’t know. You don’t know how much we give each other, and you don’t know how much we have endured, and how much stronger we have become. We have come a long way, I have come a long way.
I look back and wonder who I ever even was. Yeah, the basis of me is the same. I’m still the naive Caitlin who allows people to abuse her overly compassionate heart and run over her, sorry to brag. I’m still the girl who wants to save the world.
But I am not the idiot who keeps quiet anymore. I’m not the idiot who gives three…four…and five chances… who runs her drunken friends around while they make mistakes and she’s left feeling guilty. I’m not the person who is surrounded by people who do nothing but talk crap about her behind her back.
I’m not like any ofyou. I got out of my mess, to which I created more than likely.
Life amounts to so much more than this. This pettiness. With all of the people out there who need real help…who have real problems… and yet we all want to sit here with our immaturity “oh-so-complicated” lives.
yeah, we endure so much…ha..ha…ha.
sorry interruption as Rob just tickled me to death…apparently I was a jackle just now.
I just get so incredibly frustrated seeing all of the nonsense that goes on, however it is my fault because instead of just having intelligent people surrounding me I’ve allowed immaturity and…well…not so intelligent people to flood my walls.
if you wanna be someone else, change your mind…yes sister hazel, do believe I shall.
My hands are shaking, my mind is rattling and the tears are once again being held back.
I have always heard the statement life is not fair, and it has always gotten on my nerves because it was always that cop out statement…that..when you have nothing else to say, say “life isn’t fair”
when did the day approach that what is wrong overturns what is right? How is it that a woman who, in self defense from being abused ALL THE TIME, shot her husband…and now three years later she is the one having to pay for it? While he continues to live the way he is living… with her children.
it was the worst feeling because I couldn’t do anything as she did her best to hold back tears so that her children wouldn’t see that she was in pain… as she had to be strong for them. as she sat there with the knowledge that he is taking her down…so down… and she’s so discouraged because everything bad that could happen to a person is happening to her.
Yet, how does the fairness card play into this? How do we say that we care so much about domestic violence and yet he got away with it?
I have a headache, because ultimately it is the most frustrating thing. Not to mention she’s alone… she believed a man…she loved him…he was supposed to pick up the pieces that the other asshole left a million of…
and he’s been seeing another woman…
how could you be in this kind of a situation alone?…with utterly no one, except her faith in God…that’s really all she has… and yes it’s easy to say that is enough…
try being her…
I’m just so incredibly frustrated, and honestly I have no right to be…who am I to be frustrated at a situation that I do not even have to endure?
I feel guilty for even a glimpse of the happiness I have received today.
I wanted to rip her shoes off and run with them.
To the point of frustration and all you can think about is how you do do do for people. You’ve constantly done nothing but give and yet you are constantly placed behind the bumper of the car…and it’s a bumper car to be exact, so you are always having that head jerking motion as someone says a big FUCK you.
I sit and think about all of it and sometimes I just want to get in my car and leave. I am constantly having to put on this face that has to portray I’m okay with it all, when in all actuality I’m tired of being shit on.
there comes a point where you start to thinkmaybe it’s me…if it happens time and time again then maybe it’s me…but honestly? How could that be? I allowed each and every one of you to run over me.
hell…I put myself out there to care when I can’t stand his guts…yet you blew me off to go hang out with a bunch of fake people.
Been there. done that…well only I was sober and never forgot, but I hope those drunken parties and forgetful nights are worth it.
I was always the one there to make sure everyone was safe. everyone was alright. I allowed them to make their mistakes…I’ve never judged anyone… NEVER JUDGED ANYONE… even when I didn’t agree, it was one of those things where I told myself,who cares…they are their own person, let them do what they want.
I guess you can say this has helped me though. I’m a lot tougher and even more prone to speak my mind. If the chance ever approaches, you might want to step back
I’m also tired of caring… caring about things that are so minute and will not mean anything a year from now… caring about people whose brain IQs are less than that of a cow’s…caring about things that don’t make a difference one way or the other.
I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not afraid of my future, because I have made it this far…I know I can make it further, and I’m tired of caring about stupid shit. I don’t know how many “let go” blogs I have written. so I won’t say I’ll let go, because I’m human and sometimes it’s going to cross my mind.
but I am saying that I’m more than fine, more than happy, and everything is starting to create this masterpiece puzzle that one day I can hang on my wall, look at it sideways, give a little laugh, maybe even a sigh, a smile, remembering all the memories that brought it together.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes. ««««<that’s me…. ;D