10 posts tagged “love”
What is the nicest thing someone has ever done for you?
Submitted by tammy
She wrote "If you kill yourself, I'll kill myself aswell."
I know it's morbid and stupid and depressing. But that's the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me. I was in a weird place back then, being beaten up by my former step-dad on a regular basis ( fancy how I can just write that, just like that. In this non-chalant kind of way. As if it was the past now, forgotten, forgiven. Over. It isn't. ) and all this depression going on in my head.
Diana had been on vacation during the summer, some house, some friend, some place. I loved her so much that year, that summer I could barely stand it. She was about 5 feet, tiny and punk all over and inside. She never cared for how she looked. Where she stayed. What she did.
And weirdly enough she loved me back. We were the bestest of friends for a whole summer. Maybe even longer, it's all blurred out by now.
I was in an odd mood that day, being all self-centered, truly 14 with all my senses. I couldn't see forth or back or be in the present. And she wasn't there. We talked on the phone a bit and afterward I txted her how much I couldn't do things anymore. How i just couldn't.
That was also the summer I had started cutting myself. By that day my arms were slashed with cuts, deep, thick ones and tiny little scratches. I think that must have been the summer when people stopped seing me in short sleeves. I was making up this story about how my skin was sensitive and how it got burned too easily. That's when I started getting pale aswell.
It was never anything dramatic or well thought through. I just did it.
There was no giant media coverage on self harm back then - that was about to happen three or four years after with all the emo kids. I didn't know what I was doing was self-harm. It was obviously harming myself but it didn't feel like it... I haven't thought about this in what feels like decades. It's a whole different life.
There is nobody waiting to beat me up after school anymore. There is no fear of not understanding maths and getting hit for it. There's no anxiousness to get the last train before 7 or otherwise I won't see daylight ever again. All this pressure, this giant, massive boulder inside me is gone. It's gone. Back then it seemed like that was how life was supposed to be.
Full of pain and harm.Of not being in control over your own happiness. I couldn't decide wether or not the day would be a good day or not. The day could kill me if it wanted, lift me up, hit me in the face over dishes or a messy room. Over how wrong my clothes were, how unsporty my attitude was, how I was wasting my life in front of the telly.
The telly teached me english. I am self-taught. All of this. I taught this to myself. Tenses, grammer, jokes. All of it. I always had F's in school. In english. They didn't teach me. I did. I spent 7 seasons of Buffy in front of the telly watching the original series with the transcripts next to it and now I am fluent.
He hated it. He hated the potential I was. Reflecting how he has lost every single bit of his by now. He hated my life in front of him where there was none of his. He hated me being smarter then him. He hated me having more opportunities.
Atleast I wish those were the reasons. I don't actually know. But in my twisted head those are valuable reasons to beat up a girl. They are atleast understandable. They make sense to me.
What if he just did it? Just like that. Because he is who he is.
I want him to be a noble. I want his fists and abuse to be noble. I really wanted him to be my dad.
So I cut and I wanted to die. And she just wrote that if i end my life hers will end aswell. How can anything be nicer than that?
It will. I'm pretty sure of that.
How I'm able to ramble about shoes being the ultimate escape from myself?
I'm on drugs.
Today was the funeral of a good friend of my grandpa. 14 days ago he basically just fell over and was dead while shopping with his wife.The day before he had been for his annual heart-check. All good, all fine you go and shop with your wife.
It's funeral number twenty one since I was seven years old.The only funeral I didn't attend but would have mattered was that of my fathers.
Ever since I was about seven or eight I called my step-dad "father" and "daddy". With my actual father never really caring for me and my new-born litle sister calling her dad well, "dad", obviously there was nothing much else to expect from an eight year old than to call the man living with her mother under the roof her sister was born "daddy" , too.
My mother tells me that he sat down with me and had a talk with me about how - if i choose to call him dad - i couldn't just take it back whenever I would be angry at him. It was a all-or-nothing deal.
I'm twenty now and I have finally accepted that my father has never cared for me when I was little and that my father died when I was 13. My daddy commited suicide and left me.
My step-dad has always been dead, atleast as far as I can remember he has only been alive whenever he hit my mother or me.Or his daughter.I've never seen him much more alive than in those moments, maybe that's one of the reasons we never left him until now - the overwhelmingness of all that life exploding in his sheer agression against us simply darkened and dumbed us.
I've got a step-dad left now I can't love anymore cause he has misused, abused and lost all that love I used to have for him and I've got a dead father six feet under.
My best friend is seemingly vanishing out of my life without me being able to grasp her at all, Chris is going to be dead in a few weeks time, my mother is starting to go down by all the things he needs to face now that my step-dad has left, all my friends have blocked me out because I have let one of them down once in the time I've known her, my uncle has abandoned me because I earned money instead of attending his wedding and really? I just feel lost. So much. It's beyond where peep-toes and swallows can rescure my footprints in the sand.
I'm facing the floor, basically. My whole body is. It's pressed onto the stained, dirty grey rough idea of a rug my room is filled out with. Scratching against my cheek and the palms of my hands pressing against it. It does feel like I could get up but reality has it i won't.
Not in the near future anyway.
Chris has been hospitalized.Last friday he came over and hugged me and soothed me in sweet new tunes he wrote while being coked up. He's looking like a death, false image of himself two years ago.
He's not going to make it.
I stared at him all through the night, really. After a hysteric call at 2am because all this angst and fear of loss inside me overwhelmed me too much he came and rescued me.
He's brought me ( aka has ripped from somebody ) a little golden ring and gave it to me.
He's going to die.
His ashy eyes are all whidened up and slurred into his head and the way his hands stroke over his guitars has changed in a way I can't put into words. There's a certain agony tagged to his movements I don't understand or get at all and when he kisses me I can't feel his breath at all. It's like a rotten rest of him is sliding inside me instead of him actually being there.
It's not like he is still there anymore either, who am I kidding.
We lay onto the cold, rough grey carpet together just staring at each other after I had calmed and the weight of my body has never felt more like a pressure than that night I think. I wetted the spots next to my face like a giant mess.
I don't want him to die on me.
i'm soaking wet.my arms feeling heavy and the sweat mingling with the pure clearity of the bright blue water around me clings to my body constantly.
There is nothing but me. I feel it. It's there and i can't grab it, can't describe it. It's me and it's not. I've got no control of this happening with me. The air around me is getting heavier and heavier. The deeper i sink the bigger loungs get filled with lost amounts of oxygen. It whidens my chest, blows it up like a big shiny balloon on a hot summer day out on the fare. I hear people screaming, they're dazed in the sunlight. I can tell they're shouting, fierce, loud, groans and shrieking noises. They resemble flashbacks, sound like i should know them but i don't. All i can sense and feel and take in is the ice cold water around me sliding through my skin and leaving me wounded like a rotten kind of animal.
Their voices are so far off i can barely tell if they are female or male.
I slowly feel my identity losing it's grip. With the air released by my loungs i feel like my sexuality is floating away too. It's getting ripped out of my breasts and my corpse. There is no sign of an uterus in me anymore. No vague description of any girl inside my bones. If they find me they might just never know i was a ever anything but a person.
I'm beautiful and I know it.
It's the breasts and the way i tend to walk in high shoes, it's my big hips signalising you that i'm ready to bear your babies. I've got the cutest nose aswell, tiny eyes but my big red lips make up for that and if i add enough classic eyeliner onto them you won't give a damn dare. I've got the biggest, shiniest hair with womanly curls in it if i want to. My skin is clear and paler than the moon.
I'm beautiful and i know that you know.
Right now for the first time in my life ever it does not matter. The volumes and masses of my body aren't in any way clear anymore. With my body drowning to the ground it is only one big mass of clothing and skin. You can't tell wether it's my neck or feet right now. If i'm upright or floating down with my head first.
I'm floating - i'm free. Sexuality doesn't mean a damn thing when you die. It's you and the elements fighting. It always is the elements fighting. Right now it's air versus water. Sometimes it's fire against water&air, maybe. With the fire usually winning over and burning you right out. Often it's just pure, clear gravitiy and the blood streaming out of your veins disturbing whatever it was you are leaving the people behind.
I'm soaking wet, my big hoodies fabric is feeling like savory right now. I knew the fiveteen bucks would be worth it. My heavy jeans are being a blessing and i'm glad i didn't wear the light skirt i inteded to wear earlier this morning.
The pressure is getting heavy - I breath in, feel my pulse getting heavier. The water is taking over. The hearbeat stars screaming. It's beating like an early Distillers song. So far off from a real beat it's quite a pleasure to listen to it. And it's all i can hear. It's me, it's my blood. It's all there is to me now.
I've just realized that i can write about all kinds of things about everybody else and how i feel about everybody elses business and ideas and minds and thoughts.
But when it gets rough inside me i don't bring it to paper. I don't even bring it to Vox. Which is probably the smarter thing to do cause that way i bring it to Holly or my mum or , sometimes even, to my grandmother or friends.
But i don't write about it anymore. My life is quite troubled currently. I worry about quite a lot, my graduation, my drivers license, my lack of sleep and food. There's more stuff.
And still, it's feeling like it's bringing me closer to myself. I've always had issues with getting in contact with myself. I could try to lock myself in a room and spend time with myself but this usualy ends with me being utterly depressed. Whilst i don't know if being with myself triggers the depression or if it's just me being stupid. Most likely the latter.
When i was younger i was battling this lack of contact with cutting and self-abusive behaviour in general. My (step-) dad used be violent against me. Quite much, actually. I remember my mum saying that i was provocing his behaviour and that secretly, I wanted to get the response he was giving me.
Of course she only said that when she cried hysterically, being completely overwhelmed with everything and not knowing what else to say. And of course i reacted like any 13 year old would react - hysterically calling her a cunt and storming off to get drunk ... Okay, well,not every 13 year old.
But the point is that she was kinda right. It's quite rough to admit that cause whatever my dad did was completely fucked up and i'll never forget ( dunno about forgiving, it's a thing you learn that your parents are just human aswell, somehow ). What he did was not right and even if i had physically made him hit me he shouldn't have done it.
However, in retrospect i think my mother was kinda right. And i'm still doing this - having people hurt me because i make them.
In his case he did it physically but we all know there are millions of other ways to hurt a person.
Back then the thought of me wanting to be put in the place of being hurt wasn't even crossing my mind but thinking about it know it does fit my self-abusive personality in a bunch of ways - which is scary in one way and peace-giving in another.
It's hard to explain. Amy Winehouse ( to bring in my latest obsession ) said in an interview that there'a song called "He hit me and it felt like a kiss" by the The Crystals. Most people would be like "oh my god, she's supporting domestic violence." ...But i know exactly what she's saying.
For the past, i dunno, about a week now? So yeah, for the past week my way to school has been lightened up a little. Quite a bit.
It appears I like geeks.
It appears i'm in a big hole called romanticism.
It's a beautiful, beautiful hole. I'm all sucked up in it and i like it a lot.
It makes me do things. Quite extraordinary things, yet so simple and delicate they're barely noticeable. This pitch black, wooden hole of romance is making me smile. This entirety of darkness and spring breezes is making me change my hairdo and walk like a woman.
He's tall and he's skinny and he has blonde geek hair, a black coat covering most of his slim body up. It makes him appear even taller, i think. I imagined him naked and whenever i do he's a little less tall so i can kiss him perfectly well in all kinds of cinderella manners i've been told about.They are true girl&boy kisses.
It's a very intimate feeling. All it does is make me feel crushed. I'm not a girl for usual relationships, it seems. All that was ever given to me was one big true love breaking my heart and useless attempts out of pure boredom and being suffocated by my surroundings.
Now there is something new.
He is passing me by every little morning and every time I grin when he rushes away into the train - he's always nearly letting it pass, he's always almost too late. Seconds later i smile at him through the whide, yellowed windows of the tube wether he's looking or not.
That's the time of the day I like most. For a week it's been my favourite time of the day. If i had to fill out a survey about favourite times of days i'd check the box next to where it says "7.27am - 7.29am". It's a very very good time of day for me.
He's got the geek-purse. It's beautiful, black leather, with a long leather band sliding around his long, long upper body and back. He's always walking very upright. It's a big purse and you can tell it's been used for a little while now, contrasting his black, new fleece coat.
I like his shoes, too. Men never wear good shoes, do they. There's the emo or rock kids with their Converse looking like bummers and the slick types with their smooth sneakers or black boots looking overdressed. Also the ones with their white-white-white sneakers which they love more than anything else.
He's got perfect shoes.
Every time I close my eyes seing him step inside the train. I count to four, it's one and two and three and four, my fingers counting down - then i open my eyes up again. I try to find him, catch a glimpse of him inside the packed train. I'm feeling like i'm window shopping and wish i could just shoplift him. From where i'm passing the street as the train takes a turn and leaves in my direction.
I've never been the type for the usual relationships. Really.
He's beautiful and I just wanna kiss him.He's a geek. You can tell entirely from looking at him. He's got clear skin and a beautiful face structure. With the way he rushes by you can almost smell his awkward way of talking - atleast that's what i pretend to smell.
When he's gone i forget him again for the rest of the day. He just doesn't appear again. But the very next morning he's there again, rushing by, catching his train, me passing by being amused by my reaction to his random appearance in my system.
I'm waiting for the day he'll miss it for the first time, having to notice me.
I'm not made for real life friendships, really. Not those everyday-school-and-afterwards-girl-shit.
None that require constant occupation. I feel like a bad person for all the things people do for me without getting anything in return - when i really shouldn't.Of course it's sweet to see rock 'n' roll bands in towns. It's nice to have somebody whos house i can go to after work. It's nice to have somebody i can ponder around school if i feel the need to.
But the whole getting to know her?
Not happening. It didn't with the last girl who i wanted to be my "best friend" , i doesn't with the one right now.
The reason? I do not care.
I don't care where she's from, what her childhood friends are called, if her mum is crazy, if her sister is driving her nuts, i don't like hearing stories about her past or what is happening in her life right now. I just do not care at all.
It's a weird thing and i wish i was better than this, i wish i could listen to all these tellings and enjoy it truthfully and honest - truth is, i'm not.
I've realized this by now.
I wish i could be a best friend for everybody who wants me to. I wish i could be Chris' heroin he asked me to be, i wish i had the guts to tell Janine that she's missing out, that her relationship is going somewhere wrong, I wish i had the balls to be a good best friend for the person who considers a best friend at this stage in my life.
But I'm not. I'm not her best friend - that's another girl she's know for years. And that's just fine for me. It's reality. Just like the person who's been her best friend is hers, Franzi is mine. That's the way it is. It's like with my (step-)dad not accepting that i am not his natural child. And that it's just fine like this, that it doesn't make a difference but that it is reality.
Thing is, ever since i've stepped into this girls life again she has started talking some shit about her old best friend to me. I never respond to that. I always tell her that she should talk to that person about it - cause it's not my business. It's their shit.
She just relies on me cause i'm the easier option right now and as much as i can understand that i still think it's wrong. I still think it's not right. I still believe that i'm somehow wrong in the picture.
I can only be what i am.
I'm the kid you call up if you wanna go rent movies with greasy hair or mosh in the club or get wasted and fucked. I'm the person you spend time with if there's stuff to do.
I'm not somebody to talk your life through with.. I've heard childhood stories. I've heard puberty stories. I've spend my teenage time in houses of others. It's cool. I'm through with it.
It's the reason i've turned down Stefan.
I'm tired of everybodies stories.
I'll listen to you if you've got an issue. I'll help you trough. That's what i do for the people around me. I would never not. I'll get you a lovely birthday if nobody else does. I'll send you parcles for Valentines if i know that's what you need. I'll tell your sister off if i know you can't bear it any longer. I'll pick you up in Stuttgart cause you're on coke and without money. I'll do your math homework with you calling the math geeks because you've got a presentation the next day.
- And i wouldn't have it any other way.
But i've realized that i'm not made for phone calls. I'm not made for listening to stories about first drunk times. Not if they're just random convos. If they mean nothing - if they're just to get to know you better.
I never tell stories about my past either.I've never really recognized that i purposely don't do this. But in my life nobody knows my story.
When i've told a girl in my maths class about me living on the street a year she couldn't believe it - even though it was only mentioned as a side note to explain a certain belief i have on a certain topic. Nobody knows about my past friends. The stories happened to me. I never talk about them - i think that is because whatever they have made me become i stand for. Me, that is what those stories are. Everything that happend to me is me right now summed up. I am the deep down meaning of those stories about past loves and happenings.
It's a stupid thing to do. It's worse probably than being a loner and just hating the world. Cause i'm letting everybody in - but i'm keeping them out at the same as far as can be.
I'm not made for bff shit. I'll go shopping with you if you wanna go shopping. Or if you need new clothes. But i won't be at ease. I won't enjoy hearing what you like about this shirt or that jeans. Simply because i do not care.
I care about the people new in my life. But i don't care about their stories. They've got best friends who know the stories. There's no need for me to know them too. If you want to talk about how you felt that night, where it has taken you, when you broke, who made you realize things. Go ahead. Tell me. Tell me the meaning of your stories. That's what i care about - the meaning. Not the bullshit around it.
I'll get a picture of you that is not true - not you.
I'll get a version of you filled with stories, not meanings. To me, that's an empty picture. It means nothing and even more so it tends to annoy me.
Why are people always having to tell their stories? Why aren't they coming down to what they mean?
Back then when you had your first beer or your first breakdown, the first bad mark in school, the first kiss, did you care about the way things happend or do you remember what it meant to you?
I think stories should be told. Tell them to everybody, but tell them because they mean something, not just because they happend.
to leave you no doubt,So i write you this song
not the least bit of any kind of it,
i'll write you a million of these,
i'll drown you in them and let you forget,
whatever i said,
i'll hand out the lock to my heart,
and drown the keys a hundred miles apart,
i'll drown them in words,
whilst i know,
i know that it's the one thing,
the one thing and that's the worst part,
the one thing you have no use for,
no use for at all.
i miss my love.
can't say it any other way
i miss my love.
i love my life and lead the path, i walk the way and struggle hard, i walk on by, i pass the boys and kiss their mouth, i bend underneath them, i open up thighs and release the pain, i cut the pain out, cut the love in, i wander around and meet up with friends, i listen to music, i read all the books and keep on fighting the way that i look, i change and i turn and i break and return and late at night with the liquor in hand i miss my love and the very next morning i keep on pretend.
basically.
Can you tell i'm concious of loving you?
Friendships for that matter are much more complicated.I find it terribly, terribly hard to balance all my close friends and relations with all of them out.I find it so stressful ( not in the negative sense though if that makes sense ) to make sure that every single one of my friends is getting the right amount of me without losing myself entirely.
It might sound complicated but i think we never really lose ourselves in 'just' friendships anymore cause people tend to believe that friendship aren't something as steady as relationships.Which is in itself is kinda hypocritical, cause if one can't really keep a good, working friendship with somebody how can they maintain a relationship which is supposed to mean so much 'more' ?
It feels wrong for me, somehow.It scares me to see some of my girlfriends entirely losing themselves in those time and energy consuming relationships they have.19, 20 year old girls talking about marriage and having their relationships ie boyfriends being so connected and inflicted with their 'own' lifes.To see somebody at age 18 telling me that they found the person to stay with for the rest of their lifes makes me feel awkward for some reason.It's mostly those girls who don't have any other working relationships outside their little love shell..of course one could turn that up side down and say that , for example, it's always the people who don't have a deep, love-like relationship with a significant other compansating their lack of the said with their friendships.
I don't know if either one is proper or not but the awkwardness i feel when people who are obviously entirely sucked into their little micro cosmos called relationship ( and i'm purposedly not using 'love' here because i do 'love' several of my friends deeply and from the bottom of my heart ) while losing the connection to everything else around them doesn't go away.
& i'm not even talking about those entirely in love and truly believing that there is nothing better in the world than what they are experiencing right now cause obviously there are couples like that.But sometimes i find myself at a club, or in a pub or a gig of a really spiff rock band and i see my friends in relationships and the girl looks at the boy who is supposedly the man she wants to spend her life with like he just ripped heart out cause he said he didn't want SevenUp but rather Dr.Pepper.Those looks and the guilt in their views at each other over the most simple and innocent things scare me.And they make me wonder if having a hard time trying to be a really good and loveable friend to a bunch of really awesome and loveable people who'd give their heart for me and I for them isn't going to make me happier than a tiny universe of once-had-love burried with daily guilt and promises to stay forever together for the sake of knowing that the other one is 'the best ever happend to me'.
I spose love is a very complicated and irritating thing these days and it won't get easier with the days passing.But i keep asking myself if the people around me are actually allowed to pretend that what they have is supposed to mean something 'more' than what i have and if i shouldn't stop searching for something that i might already have with me.
