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Saturday, December 15, 2012

Living Contradiction

The pressure of my headphones on my head is strangely soothing.
I know I should loosen them, that they are too tight
But that same pressure is a constant
Unlike everything else.
You say you feel the way about him
And I say I don’t want to hear about it.
I don’t, I really don’t.
I tell you I love you, and you tell me about someone else.
You don’t text me back
And you leave me wondering
Is this really so broken?
Are we really so far apart, when we used to be inseparable?
We’re just a couple of teenagers
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I am good at pretending
I am a better actor than you
Because I act like I can forget my issues
With love and life and depression and school and family
Because I have shit that I still haven’t worked through
And I don’t know if I will.
Less than a year, there have been 1.6 mass murders per week
If you average them, of course.
And that makes me think, I am done with the world
If I have to live in a place where people are killing other people
Innocent children and their own parents
Then maybe, though it pains you to hear it,
Maybe I don’t want to live here anymore.
I want to be skinny and beautiful
But I want to be loved for my smarts and my humor.
I sometimes want to commit suicide
But I think that people who do are selfish.
I don’t want to be depressed or anxious
But I won’t take my meds.
I want my love to love me too
But I want to be as far away from him as possible.
I am a living contradiction.
Is that why things are so hard?
(Also posted on sometimesrosewrites)

1 comment:

  1. My response to this is kind of a poem and kind of not:

    No pretenses here:
    I cannot help
    I cannot reach through this screen and fill your head with the things that make healing happen
    because I don't know what they are...
    I know that they exist but I don't know what they are so I cannot help but God I wish I could, so badly I wish I could help.
    I read your posts and I hear the same voice I hear when I read through my journal of last year and remember all those nights staring at the dark walls of my room and crying with the deepest type of agony because I was so messed up
    and I didn't want to be messed up; mental issues were such an impossibly sterile, foreign thing and obviously I wasn't supposed to have them because I was Gifted and Talented and yet here I was hating this downward spiral and God I was Doing Life Wrong.
    I remember the day I finally stopped counting calories
    waking up in the crackly Arizona spring morning
    trembling in my nightgown,
    so afraid
    so fucking terrified
    because No Calorie Counting meant No Control and how was I supposed to be happy if I didn't have control?
    but that's when I entered the tunnel,
    the final worsening of everything,
    and saw the light at the end--
    and I want to tell you that's how you should do it, stop counting calories, and then I remind myself 'but she doesn't DO that anyway, McKenzie, she's smarter than you, she didn't fucking forget how to eat' and that means
    I cannot help
    and then I think 'damn you McKenzie, if anything positive came out of your experience, shouldn't it be to help others from going through the same thing?' and I CAN'T and this is awful and it's torn open all my old wounds. I scream because I cannot do anything soothing.
    Meds are awful things that shouldn't need to exist but they do because they have to balance those dang chemicals, it's all chemicals, just remember that, sadness and happiness and life and thoughts they're just all chemicals, and I remember that and sometimes it is my salvation and sometimes I hope against hope that all the scientists are wrong about that because it still doesn't explain why I WANT to be happy or why I SHOULD...
    and this has not helped at all.
    But maybe it helps you realize that no matter how soul-crushingly alone you feel, you're not.