Dido Style

I hate how the people I really miss don't miss me. It drives me insane to think that I'm constantly trying to be the mortar in the cracks of these relationships with no avail. 

You got me. My hands are up. It's all up to you.

Ciao

Well, kinda.

I am starting to have friends. (Though this is debatable).

I don't know what it is about living that makes me so grey. Surely I'm not the only one who sees the utter deification I am living in. And more than anything I think this makes me want to talk to people as though they all had a mental handicap that I somehow overcame, or maybe never had. I say the same generic conversation to avoid boring the surface mindset of such cookie cutter, average joes. It's always the same disconnect, so I sit on my thrown and observe every aspect of the people around me and analyze there potential thoughts in depth, just trying to figure out if they possess at least an equal amount of consciousness. I would like to say that like I have a high realization of life; I believe I do.

The main problem I face with dissecting people close to me is that I always find out too much and then I have to put my facade back up and pretend that I only know the them that they want me to. I used to scoff at the phrase "ignorance is bliss" because all I could think about was the agony of only having enough sense to realize that there are things you'll never uncover because you just mentally can't. Maybe I'm right, but I also know that in context, the saying is pretty spot on... except maybe it could have an amendment: "complete ignorance is bliss."
It's more truth full, don't you think?



... seriously, everything I just wrote is the problem with me. I'm too critical and self-righteous. I put my state of mind on this pedestal but want to play life like an equal with the same expectations I have for others. I care, but I don't. I just want to be happy and live life. It's all about actually trying to experience life, right? It's about being human, right? Maybe you'll fight me on this one, but this is me actually being happy. I really think all of this but in the most sickeningly cheesy way. If I could just reach a little farther maybe all my vanity would be worth while.

On Second Thought:

There's actually more for me to say.

I feel different than anyone: alienated.
It makes me want to congratulate myself: good job Mariah, you've broken out and managed to become something no one else is, lonely. Are you proud of yourself? I'm proud of you. Isn't that what everyone wants? And you did it! You didn't even try, it's just something you always were. You were always afraid to speak, always afraid to show someone that you had emotion, but isn't that where we're all headed? You just made it there first. Or maybe you're the only one who will ever make it.

Now that I'm done saying things that I'm about to nullify, I will nullify:

You are just like every other person on this earth, feeling like there is absolutely no one who really understands you and you think you're so clever for figuring out that you have emotion. EVERYONE already figured that out so long ago. You're just like every one else. Stupid. And moreover, you're worse than everyone else because you're ignorant to the fact that you aren't the only one who has shit happen to them, who has to try to live while dealing with life. How dare you think that life is so hard for you when you don't know a thing. You think your eyes are too callused to cry, but, in reality, you're just too dumb to know that you're supposed to be feeling these things, it's part of humanity.


I hate that I've started saying too much.
This is the internet.
In some ways, I don't care though because if you are taking enough time to listen to me whine, you're just as bad as me.

And so, here we are, together. I've accomplished nothing; you've accomplished nothing. I guess that makes us friends.

This started out for you.

Now, I guess, it's for me.
It's to make me feel something.
To make me feel real.
It could still be me being your puppet though...

This is going to waste your time, but was filling mine.

On nights like these when I squirm so restlessly and my mind rolls at an unearthly speed, I hate laying alone in silence. I question life; I question religion; I question myself.
It seems to me that my life has been a series of things that I have loved but could never have... I wish those words were mine, but I stole them from a book. All the same, I do feel this way. It's all forbidden fruit that I lust over. I like to pretend that it's for the best and that if I were to actually have what I wanted, the very fibers of my existence would unravel. I'M SO SELFISH. If that were fact, then I would be inferring that the world revolved around my life- all the decisions I make cause everyone else's existence. Ha.

I think the truth of the matter actually goes something more like this: It's not that I don't know how to love, it's that I don't know how to be loved.
Who am I to pretend I know what I'm talking about though? I would like to think that I am the most in sync person and that I can analyze any situation  and just know how to solve every problem. I'm arrogant, but ignorant. I carry on pretending to understand the abstractions of life, like hope, love and imagination. It's all irrelivant, I suppose.

Content. That's what I am. I could try harder, but I don't mind my life as I know it.
It's all meant to inspire but instead we stand, hands in pocket, facing foreword, afraid to exist as something more than normal.



I almost deleted this several times, but I didn't for some reason. It's all white noise.

Here's a blog.

I think we thought we were anticipating our futures.
I never anticipated what I am now, but rather made an ideal situation out of the presumable future, successful me. Here I am though. I wanted to grow up so bad and I knew that moving away was the solution, but in reality I remain as childish and aggressive as I always have been. And more than anything I hate that I know exactly how I am and can pin point every flaw and know exactly where I've gone wrong but I have failed to change who I am.

I mean, let me be honest. I like who I am to a degree. I wouldn't want to be anything else in fear that any other path might have left me less enlightened to my current situation. I hate that I thought I was so special for so long, and furthermore, I hate that people made me feel that I was something special that was going to make a huge dent on humanity by changing the aspects of how we live socially. The realization that I'm just like everyone else kind of upsetting but in a soothing way that reminds me that I am, indeed, human.

Being human is nice. Not that I really know the difference.

The Dangers of Growing Up Too Quickly

I woke up Friday morning at 4:00 am with a horrible case of pink eye. This, of course, was more than alarming to me because I am in college; pink eye is simply an excuse to skip school when you are in high school. I rushed into the bathroom and flipped on the light, blinding my good eye for an uncomfortable half minute. When my eye finally adjusted I could see my matted, swollen left eye. The sight freaked me out, causing me to immediately go digging for a rag. I ran it under extremely hot water, rung it out, neatly folded it, and held it to my left eye entirely too hard, as if the pressure would change the image I was seeing in the mirror.

Normal Eye

Pink Eye

I put the lid down on the toilet and just sat there. In the quiet of the night my mind began to get off track, and pretty soon I was remembering the last images I saw of my parents together:

For the first time in a very long time, my family all went out for dinner together at a Chinese restaurant. I was in a hurry to get out of there because I was going to stand in line to get one of the first copies of Breaking Dawn, a book in the Twilight Saga. All my friends were going to be there and I didn't want to be late. I chowed down and rushed away giving my love to the entire family. Even though the book release was very eventful, it didn't end up mattering in the end. By the time I got my book and got home it was 2:00 am. I tiptoed through my parents room to  use the restroom before bed. I caught a glimpse of my mom wrapped around my dad with her face resting on his chest, and his arm was wrapped back around her. This sweet image has been burned into my memory ever since. I thought to myself, "They must really love each other. If I could find someone who loved me that much, I would be happy... I would be happy." 

I stayed up until 4:30 reading and then went to bed. 

In the morning, around 7:30 my dad came into my little house and woke my sister and I up claiming that he had something to show us and it was really important that we got up right away. I sluggishly crawled out of bed and changed into some normal clothes. My older sister had moved out nearly a year before and my youngest sister was school shopping with my mom, so it ended up just being my and my little brother and younger sister. We drove about 45 minutes into a neighboring town and pulled into an apartment complex. We all hopped out of the truck and followed my daddy into an apartment on the first floor of the building. The rooms were small and the carpet was an awful, faded christmas green. I could hear the people in the apartment above us pacing back and forth through their home and a baby crying in the distance as a dog barked.

"I've been thinking about what to say to you guys," my dad started out, "And I still don't have the right words, but I'm going to go ahead and tell you... this is where I'm going to be living from now on." With every syllable my dad was pronouncing, I could feel my heart rip a little more as all the blood from the pain seemed to resignate in my throat, making me want to vomit. I could feel my eyes filling with warm, salty tears that soon began to trickle down the contour of my face. My siblings seemed to have disappeared in my memory, despite the evident presence of their sobs.

I began to back up against a wall and slide down, until I was in as compact of a ball as my thick self would let me be in. My dad began to speak again, but this time with a less stable voice, "I'm going to need some help moving some furniture in because I don't have any friends. All your mom's and I's friends aren't talking to me."

He then realized none of us were going to look him in the eye and became silent. I felt so deceived by the image of my parents from the night before burned into my head. 

As I sat on the toilet, remembering the treachery, my good eye began to fill with tears and it suddenly became hard for me to breathe and my body started trembling. I wept for a good 5 minutes before gaining my composure. I was embarrassed by myself for loosing it over a matter that happened over 2 and 1/2 years ago. I realized that that was the moment I grew up, a moment when I was merely 16 that the weight of my world was no longer held up by my parents but by me, a child who had never been trained to be alone and unprotected from the world. 

I wiped my eyes down again, ran the rag under more hot water, and took it to my room where I laid in my bed with it held to my eye, just looking at the ceiling until my alarm went off at 8:00 am.