In another world, things would be brighter. They would be smarter, bigger, lighter. In another world, nothing would hurt. Nothing would stagnate and nobody could get hurt. And in this short little poem, in another world, I would be doing something much better than writing this little thing on my blog (like writing a much better post.)
Only small sounds permeate the already too-thick air during that long summer night. Fond sounds of a sleeping dog, and the static of a television buzzing without a connection. Soon, they are all about to wake.
I sit on a beam, my feet dropping down beneath me as I peer between my toes at the serene place beneath me. If only I could keep it that way. But no, this is what I must do. This is who I am.
My black dress and hair blend in with the night, and soon it’s time. I tilt my head back, giving way to shadow and allowing my physical form to morph into what is now simply a shape. Moving down the walls and across the floors, I seep into the cables of the television, winding up its copper wires and into its mainframe. Moving about, I know the game is about to begin, so I maneuver everything within to spell out what I want onto the screen of the TV.
The clock strikes twelve. The game has begun. And as the small boy old enough to read sits up from his place on the couch and rubs his sleepy eyes, I slide out between the wooden beams of the home, pleased with my work.
Soon, the boy will stand as straight as a rod. The remote will drop from his hand. He will run up to his parents, terrified as only four words in unmistakable blood glares on the screen of the television:
“Welcome To The Freakshow”
It seems like the ebb and flow of my ever-reaching desire is reaching me this morning. It is 12:25am and I cannot sleep. It seems like I won’t sleep tonight; at least not very much.
I’m filled with ideas and doubts and stories and theories. All about different things and different passions, interests and things that I want to try. I always worried what others thought of me, but that’s useless, as I can’t change what they think about me. All my life people have seen me as an attention-seeker. I don’t know why. Maybe because I actually talk about my problems instead of remaining closed off like the rest of the world (which is absolutely not healthy).
I want to challenge myself. I want to be able to make something out of nothing, and be proud of it. There’s nothing like creating something yourself and being able to see it work and function like the little baby of yours it is. I have always been interested in innovation and things that are crazy at first but very good ideas with twists and turns. I love a challenge, and I love to be able to do something difficult. There’s something so satisfying about doing something difficult…and succeeding.
Like this website, it’s all the baby of something much bigger. A single seed. The first planted in what will become a grove of trees, and then a forest. That’s what I intend, anyway.
But I digress. I love to create, and creating is the only way that I can seem to keep the edge off of my depression and anxiety disorders, as well as my physical health problems. I have always wanted to be an inspiration, but I never thought about how much I needed to be an inspiration to myself first.
I’ve had people tell me all my life that I’m an inspiring person, and that I’m able to inspire them to be better people. They tell me it’s because of the way I’ve fought for my life. The way I was diagnosed to die, but fought to live and succeeded. I always wanted to be able to do that for others, and I’ve wanted to be an entertainer since I was thirteen. I wanted to be able to capitalize on my inspiring backstory to be able to help others, but in the end, I realized that it was me that needed help the most. One of my biggest flaws (and good traits) is that I take care of everyone around me before I take care of myself. This can be a good thing and a bad thing.
I love simplicity, but I also love complicated ideas. There’s something so appealing to me as ideas that are complicated and have so many different layers and parts. And I worry about whether or not anyone would even care. My insecurities have felt as if they’ve eaten my alive lately. But my mental health is getting better. My depression is becoming less debilitating and my anxiety is fading a little bit. Maybe it’s better coping. But I prefer to believe something different: when I create the things that I feel I was destined to create, I am able to walk away from my challenges, even if for a little bit.
There’s nothing like being able to walk away from pain and create for a bit, whether it’s writing or songwriting or music composition, or simple sketching random shapes that become a pattern. I’m a person that likes a little bit of everything, and I very much do not like being confined to just one answer or one choice. I don’t believe that any one thing is better than any other thing. That’s why I don’t have a favorite color.
I have searched for eleven years for ways to somehow boost my ‘career’ as a musician, entertainer, and author, but I missed something crucial: I was looking at it as a career and not as it truly was and is: a calling. Yes, I realize now that music, writing, art, and creation in any way is my absolute calling in life. I have worried constantly about finances, and I’ve struggled financially for many years. Growing up, I had little to eat and little ways of doing other things for many different reasons, none of which I will specify here.
In my search for my ‘career’ and what should have been realized as and known to be as my calling, I seem to have found myself. I always wondered just who I was, and wondered if I even had an identity at all. I had fought for my life since I was born - but that’s not an identity to me. Though, to be honest, I don’t believe that a person’s identity can be specified within a few words, or even just one term. We are complex beings, and there’s no way we can just summarize who we are with one word, or a sentence.
In the process of finding myself, I have found a way to take care of myself. And even as this blog post is all over the place, a stream of consciousness so to speak, I still love and need to write like this. And maybe…just maybe…someday I will be able to create and showcase my calling.
My mind and heart are filled with tears. My demons, as they arise and their heads they rear. If love was gone from this world, I don’t know that I could go on. It seems there is no one that I can rely on. No one but God, the One who is in charge of everything, my Father who resides in heaven, and reminds me of my seven.
If I could manage to escape, where would I escape to? It seems that there is no use. No, I feel trapped, and there’s nothing I can do about it. All I can do is watch the hour and count it.
This life I was given to live is something I consider a privilege, the one that I fought so hard to maintain. So, why is it that it seems that everything I do to try to add meaning to myself is an attempt in vain? All I can feel is the pouring rain, and the iced blood in my veins. But I am alive, and there’s reason to fight. Perhaps if I were to allow Him to take it into His hands, I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
I want nothing more than peace, nothing more than my demons to cease. But if there’s some gateway to sanity, it seems caught up in a vanity. The mirror that reflects my soul, if only I could bear it my own. I tread this earth with no one to call a friend, and wonder if things will be the same near the end.
But I don’t intend to have an ‘end’ soon, as I’ve fought for my life for as long as I can remember and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to stay of this earth a member. As the blood in my veins flow, I like to think of the red as flame. I want to believe that strength is my name. That I am a phoenix destined to be reborn, into a life that is less torn.
Of course rebirth is something that is figurative rather than literal. At the grave of my love I’ll stand someday, and name my first son after. But still another will I stand with at the alter. With a name that rings beautiful butterflies in my stomach, reminding me of a lost life that I once lived, and the face I somehow knew from the beginning.
I believe that everything happens for a reason, and to some that is treason. But there is nothing worse than floating through this life without meaning, and there’s nothing better to me than grounding myself with healing. Because as I hold his hand and allow him to guide me towards the future, I will never forget the past. As I am a different person than I was before. It seems that the person I was at twenty-three and am about to be now at twenty-four has developed and transformed from the very core. I don’t feel like the person I was born as, only the person I was destined to be. I was given these challenges, but they can’t trample me.
There’s nothing that can truly bring me down, and I would much rather be spinning barefoot in a summer dress than in a funeral gown. White adorned with crystals and a royal crown.
If there was somewhere I could call home, it would be the fictional world I created for myself. The world I created in the desperation of every broken piece of my soul that shattered as a teen. I never put it back together properly, it seemed. But that’s okay, because in the mosaic I have created I now am everything that I’ve wanted to be.
And that’s good enough for me.