Till human voices wake us

 Recently, I have started listening to My Chemical Romance, and one of my friends likes to comment on this incessantly. Here is the last conversation I had with him on this subject.

Him: But seriously, My Chemical Romance? They're so emo-

Me: Hypocrite.

Him: What?

Me: (Looks him in the eye) Nirvana, bitch.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ (WARNING- moderately depressing) ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A couple of weeks back, my family drove to San Francisco for the day and went to the beach. We brought kites and the dog and went down to this little cove and played around for a few hours.
It was San Francisco, so naturally it was extremely windy, which is perfect for kiting, but rather annoying if you have long hair like I do. But in one of my few moments of complete sight, I looked down at my shadow and saw my hair dancing around me, looking like some sea creature from the depths of the ocean, like the world had suddenly changed order, and the wind rushing in my ears had turned to water, and if I looked up, I would see fish swimming through the clouds and gulls soaring through the surf. And as this surreal image occupied my mind, I was reminded of the ending stanzas from T.S. Elliot's "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock"

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

  I do not think they will sing to me.

  I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

  We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

This is kind of what it's like to be bipolar. You have these moments of- not exactly happiness, per se, but optimism. Unconquerability. You feel this wave of triumph and hope wash over you. Then the human voices ring out, and it's like waking up into a nightmare. The human voices wake you, and you drown.

"And now it's time," the walrus said, "to talk of many things..."

I feel really helpless today. Yesterday was wonderful, I spent time with friends, I barely felt depressed, just a bit under the weather. But today...
I feel lethargic. I wrote a few poems, sketched a picture that I'm going to transfer to scratchboard, but all I want to do is sleep. I'm not even tired, I just want to not be awake.
One of my friends told me he loves me. I don't know what to do. He doesn't even know me that well.
I can't believe it's almost been a year. It feels so short, but at the same time, I can't believe it's just been a year.
One of my friends tried to kill herself.
Another one relapsed.
A third tried to take advantage of me.
A fourth has changed for the worse.
It's a nice day out. Rather warm. I think I might go outside and just lay down and look at the sky and exist. It's nice to do that sometimes. Exist. A lot of people mix up living and existing. Living is busy and complicated and loud. There's always something going on, but existing? Existing simply is. I'm quite happy with existing. It's just living that's the trouble.
I'm really excited for Tom Milsom's new album.
I don't think I've told you, but I have a lot of trouble showing emotions in my voice and facial features. I thought you might like to know.
I listened to Eddplant's most recent album. I liked the acoustic version of "Nothing to Worry About" better. It had a beautiful sort of simplicity that very few male artists have.
I didn't eat yesterday. Or today. I'm not that hungry.
I learned how to play "Hallelujah" on the ukulele. It sounds pretty.
I have recently started focusing on art a lot more. Both visual and auditory. I like Ron Mueck and Jaymay and Salvador Dali.
I like that I don't have to pretend here. I don't have to be happy all the time. I can be the fucked up person I am.
Maybe I'll put a few of my poems on here. They're not very good, but they're readable.
One of the most annoying things in the world is when people come up to me and say, "Are you okay?" and I'm like "Yeah, I'm fine." and they just give me this look of complete non-belief and incredulity and say "Are you sure?" and I'm thinking 'Dude, if I say I'm fine, then either A) I'm actually fine and you're just being insulting, or B) I'm not fine, but I don't want to talk about it and I really would prefer it if you left me alone,' but I can't say that, so I just smile and say "Yeah, I'm sure."
And I am fine.
I may not be okay, but I'm fine.

Please.

I need someone to be there. Please, talk to me. Why isn't anyone there? Why do I always have to be the one who listens to people? Why do I have to be the one who rubs their shoulders and listens to their tears? Why doesn't anybody ever help me? Why don't they listen? I need someone to tell me I'm wrong. I just relapsed and I'm freaking out and I can't do this anymore. There's so much blood and I don't know how I'm gonna hide it. My girlfriend left a month ago. I know why. Why can't I be pretty? Why can't I be thin? Why do I have to be so fucked up? Why can't I be happy? I need someone. I  need a hug. I need to not exist for a little while. Why won't anybody listen? I can't do this. I can't do this. Why do I even try? I'm going out of my fucking mind. Why won't you stop me?

So this morning I woke up with the intense urge to write. To just put fingers to keys and thoughts to screen, even though, to quote Augustus Waters, "My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations." It's like there are a thousand colours, a thousand musical notes all rushing around in my skull, dancing and whispering and singing in a language that is just beyond my cusp of hearing.

It's very quiet. everybody is either asleep, or gone. It's cold, too. My house is filled with artificial heat, but I can tell that if I stepped outside, my skin would turn to gooseflesh and my breath would make clouds in their own miniature sky.

I've been thinking a lot recently. And singing a lot, and writing a lot, and talking a lot less. It seems that nothing worth talking about is being talked about, so I can't share my mind with others. So I'll write a poem, or draw a picture, or mutter to myself until the words come out right. I've found that I rather like words. It's gotten to the point where, if I close my eyes, I can see them. They look like water, or ribbons, or dust that's caught up in sunlight, or the sun beams themselves. They writhe and twirl and give suggestions as to what they could mean. Colour gives their tone. Red for confusion, a tumbling grey for nostalgia, and metaphors and hidden meanings glide by in a blue that is somehow both electric, and the deepest blue you will ever see.

It's three days until Christmas, but somehow, I don't feel very cheerful. I don't feel the breathless excitement that I used to around this time of year. It's not the same. I miss home. I miss it so much, it physically hurts. It's been almost a year since we moved out, but I still haven't finished unpacking. I can't, because that would mean that this is home. It would mean that I've given up. And I can't do that. I know that can't stop fighting, but I'm so tired. I'm so, so tired, and I feel like I just can't do this anymore. I don't keep sharp objects around me anymore. If I do, then bad thoughts come into my head, and what if one day, I just can't shake them? I almost didn't, once, but I got scared. I don't think I'll ever be brave enough, so for now, there's nothing to worry about.

Now, I think I have to unpack some boxes.

Message from a post-apocolyptic world

If you're reading this, the Mayan's were wrong.

Thank you.

Hi. I haven't posted in a long, long time, but I swear, there's a reason. Or rather several.

1. I went on a college trip with my mother and my sister for her to look at colleges in Oregon, Washington, and Canada. Ten day road trip. There was many an argument between the elder of the participants in this journey and I got a crap ton of knitting completed.

2. My first year of high school started. Holy crap in a mosh pit. I seem to be getting even less sleep than I was previously (if that's possible) and the homework NEVER FREAKING ENDS. I do have excellent teachers though and my classes are shockingly fascinating except for biology. I love the subject, but the teacher makes me want to kill someone. as my girlfriend said, "I learned more by drawing a dragon in class than I would actually listening to her.")

3. And speaking of which, I got a girlfriend! Clara has gained 62 exp points and has moved on to level 12!

4. My friend lent me Pokemon Red. 'Nuff said.

5. I blame YouTube. And Tom Milsom. I spent 13 hours yesterday listening to every single Tom Milsom song I could find on Bandcamp and drawing.

6. I am a lazy procrastinating bastard.

"Well, then. Why are you posting now? You've waited so long, why now?"
 
Someone commented on a blog post saying that they missed this blog. That it made them happy, and that caused me to realize that something that has never happened to me before is happening right now.  Someone is listening to me. someone is thinking about the same things I think about, taking my opinions into consideration. And that's scary. To think that I am communicating to people, be it many, a few, or just one is possibly the most frightening and most wonderful thing I have ever pondered. And I promise to post more often. I have a commitment now.

So, thanks, Shira. And don't worry, surviving is an instinct. Soon, you'll be able to do it without even thinking about it.

Surprise Zombies. Fan. Tas. Tic.

This past week has been rather... eventful, to say the least. I don't even remember most of it except for a disoriented blur aided by lack of sleep and an overdose of caffeine, and the often appearance of the name Elspeth Moonfeather. But let's start at the beginning.

In the past month or so, my sister and I have been discovering the wonderful new world of Star Trek: The Next Generation and in doing so, we tend to stay up until the wee hours of the morning watching the adventures of Capt. Jean Luc Piccard and talking about how incredibly awesome Brent Spiner is. This paired up with the fact that we then get up at ten in the morning to do chores and, in my case Algebra, leaves us stumbling around the house in a bit of a daze. This sets the scene for the past week.

As anyone who looked at a calendar on Wednesday will tell you, it was the Fourth of July. Which probably isn't a big deal for most people, but I happen to live in America, so, of course, everything was awash in red, white, and blue. I tend to interpret the feelings of the American independence day as such: Today is the anniversary of the day when we became a country and gave freedom to wealthy, white landowners with respectable backgrounds AND NO-ONE ELSE. Let us all celebrate with mini hot dogs and Doritos! I wore a special T-shirt that I got at FanimeCon for the occasion. It has a picture of America from Axis Powers Hetalia with a caption that says "I am a Hero!"

I felt it was appropriate.


So we stayed up and watched Bollywood movies and Community and Holy Musical B@man! until late because that's the American, not quite Canadian, most of us are Mexican way, and because we had seen The Amazing Spider-man earlier that day, and were in a superhero kind of mood. (By the by, Spider-man, much like surprise zombies, can be describe by three syllables; Fan. Tas. Tic.) And that sums up Wednesday.


Then, on Thursday something brilliant happened. I got a book.


I don't know how many of you read Sarah Reese Brennan's work, (and if you don't, GET THEE TO A LIBRARY!) but she just released a book that she collaborated with Justine Larbalestier to make called Team Human. I am an enormous fan of SRB's, so, of course, I did what any self respecting book nerd would do; I constructed a blanket fort and stayed up until six in the morning reading, at which point I promptly collapsed onto the pages of my book.


I am a lady of the highest class.


I finished it later on Friday, and I must say, the lack of sleep? So. Totally. Worth it. My mother, my sister, and I spent the evening in a nostalgia fest in which we watched all the cartoons that we loved as kids (and adults, in Mom's case) and ate Popsicles and peaches. And that leads me to now. 3:00 on a chilly Saturday morning with a cup of tea and a blanket, feeling so tired, but with miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.