lost

I can’t really tell whether I am dreaming or not anymore.
I lost sight of what was real long ago as I began to lust for more.
more days filled with carefree afternoons,
late mornings, and nights that are always over way too soon.

more moments that I know aren’t meant to last
and more serenity to cope with the moments that are gone way too fast.
I want to believe that this is all simply a bad dream.
that my eyes will open and I will realize nothing is ever as it seems

but it always is. at least, when things seem the worst
they typically are always the worst, but that’s okay because I think I can make this work.
I will simply close my eyes and pray for better days
it isn’t the best solution, but it just might make me feel okay

tommy-lisbin-357767-unsplash

Photo by Tommy Lisbin on Unsplash

Words Unfiltered: The past is the past, isn’t it?

So I put on the Sir Sly station on Pandora. I was about to start writing a short story, but whatever song it was that came on first had me thinking about the past. You know, you never really think things are going to ever truly be over until they are over. All the good and the bad. I mean, thinking back on it, I’m not sure how much of things there was that I really enjoyed. It pales in comparison to the few good moments. Not that there was never any good, it’s just that the time where good was the overwhelming majority, it didn’t seem to last long.

Life used to be so simple when I was young. I’d go to school, come home, and play games. I didn’t know much of the world aside from the bit I learned in school, which wasn’t much, and the walls that surrounded me each and every day. To me, the world was simply the name of the place I lived. My address was important, but the world was where my address was located.

I had a fish once. Her name was Goldie. As you can probably guess, she was a goldfish. I also had a dog once. I’m not sure if she was a golden retriever or if she was a mixed breed. She probably was a mixed breed. Her name was Cocoa. My great aunt died one time while I was in the house where I had my dog before I moved and before I really understood what death was. I woke up to my cousin Shine crying and crying. Her and my father were in my great aunt’s room. She had just came back home from the hospital the night before. I remember my dad going out to help her up the stairs.* She died that next morning. I remember at the funeral my father couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t understand much, but I knew that he was sad. I went up to him and rubbed his back as he cried and told him that everything would be okay.

My goldfish Goldie was a birthday gift that I chose over a party that my mother had planned for me. I don’t know how long I had the fish, nor do I remember how old I was when I got it, but It was all my responsibility. You see, my father has schizophrenia. It doesn’t affect him because he takes his medication, but this was during a period of time where he stopped taking it for a little while. In his augmented reality, for whatever reason, he needed to flush my goldfish down the toilet. I was terribly sad. I was…devastated. I started crying and I just could not stop. I kept crying and crying and crying. This was sometime after my birthday.

I wasn’t sure where I was going with this, as I never do with my writing, but I understood the true sadness my dad felt for the first time. I’m not sure if I really understood death at this point, but I understood that what I had was gone. People had been gone before, and we had to get rid of our dog before we moved, but this is the first time I had witnessed something being taken from me right in front of me.

The world is, for lack of a better world, weird. It’s always been either really small, or seemingly massive, and it never ceases to be either or at random times. The internet opened up the world to me, but there are just times where I feel lonely. With something as powerful as the internet at my disposable, you’d think that I always feel connected to some place or that I’d never really feel alone, but…I don’t know. It’s just, looking back, I realize that certain things are over and that they are over for good. All that’s left are memories of them, and sometimes, we can never really understand why those things happened or if it even mattered at all in the end.

I guess, that was all I really wanted to say.

Until tomorrow, or next time, whichever comes first.

*A note for myself that you all get to view, but I’m going to talk about how the world can feel like a cage and how it can feel huge at the same time.

Breaking the losing streak: it’s stupidly simple

You’ve developed a bad habit: procrastination, but to a new degree. You stop– or don’t start– doing something because you feel like you aren’t enough. It’s not simply procrastination anymore. There is much more malice behind it now. Too much for you to handle. You won’t go outside because you feel like you’re inside too much. You won’t draw because you feel you can’t get better. You won’t call your friend and apologize because you’re afraid of them hating you. You won’t write because you’re worried about your writing not being good enough. Or your blog not being good enough. Too worried about it being perfect. Yeah, that one is personal.

This happens to us sometimes, and it’s stupid, we know it. Before it happens, we know it’s stupid. In hindsight, we know for sure that that kind of thinking was, not only stupid, but detrimental to ourselves. But why, for the love of all things good, don’t we realize that there is a very simple solution to when we find ourselves in that kind of rut? It really isn’t rocket science. If you never leave the house, then you’ll never get outside. If you never draw, you’ll never get better. If you never apologize, your friend will never like you. If you never write, your writing will never be good enough. Do you see where this is going?

We sometimes get caught up in a viscous cycle of negativity that feeds itself. You feel bad about not doing something, so you don’t do it. You feel bad that you still didn’t do it, and so you still don’t do it. It happens over and over and over again until, inch by inch, you’ve dug yourself 6 feet under. You get to a point where you feel It’s too late to go out and make a change. It’s too late for you to do better. It’s too late for your friend to forgive you. And while people like to say that’s it’s never too late to do what you need,* things will certainly be harder on you to do what needs to be done the longer you wait.

It starts with a day. You go a day not doing what you should. You’ll apologize/draw/whatever tomorrow. And then the next day comes. You figure, it’s only two days. The next day comes again. You figure it’s only three days, then four, then five. Soon it’s only been a week, then a month. By the time you’ve hit two months, you’ve developed a habit. It takes 66 days for a habit to form. By 66 days, you will gotten yourself into the habit of telling yourself you need to do something, not doing it, and then feeling like crap about not doing it. It’s almost like an addiction, except there’s no reward. There’s no high or fuzziness. There isn’t even a physical release to distract you from your problem. Instead, you’re addicted to the issue, and that in itself is a bigger problem.

The sad thing is that it is ridiculously easy to fix this problem. I don’t care how deep into it you are. A centimeter, or the whole nine yards. Your body isn’t physically depending on a chemical in order to keep from withdrawal, nor is the pain you’re causing upon yourself distracting you from more pain. It is a cycle that you can stop simply by doing what it is you keep telling yourself you need to do. It is really as simple as that. Just do it. It isn’t too hard to pick up a phone and call someone. It isn’t too hard to go walk around the block, even if only for a little while. It isn’t too hard to pick up a pencil and paper and let what needs to come out flow.

Even if it worries you, even if it terrifies you, you sometimes just have to do what needs to be done. Even if I’m worried about not keeping up with daily post or writing about anything good or anything like that. It’s a feeling I can escape simply by doing what I know I need, no, what I want to do. I don’t necessarily need to write in order to survive, nor does one have to draw or apologize to people or even interact with the world in order to survive. But when you can’t do the things that you really want to do because you’re afraid of doing them, then life becomes a worthless bit of existence that you hold onto tightly because you are too scared of any and everything worth living for.

Until tomorrow, or next time, whichever comes first.

*I do agree with this. It’s never too late, so that let that ever be an excuse.

Why I like writing

I’m not sure when I started writing, but I do have an early memory of some of my first bits of writing. I believe I was in second grade or third grade. My Cousin, Kentrae, loved to draw.* This is obvious, but I loved to write (and I still do). We all had our boyhood cartoon and game obsessions, but there were two in particular that my cousin and I really liked: Pokemon and Sonic. We decided that it’d be pretty cool if those two things were combined in order to make an awesome new story. What better people to create that story than ourselves?

Armed with printer paper, pencils, and out imagination, we made a little short story that made our thoughts reality. I don’t remember the name of our little story, and, sadly, I don’t have a copy of it, but I can tell you that I enjoyed that little experience. Writing for me, at first, was a way only a way to spill creativity onto the page as an intricate story to share with other people. I’m not sure when, but somewhere along the line writing began to change for me. I don’t remember reading poetry much, but I do remember that I started to write it either in sixth or seventh grade. At that point, writing was more than merely a story meant to entertain others. Writing was an elegant way of capturing emotions, thoughts, and images and trying to explain them in the most beautiful way to others.

For the next few years, that was what writing was for me: story-telling for entertainment, and poetry for emotions. Somewhere along the line the two began to blend together, and I discovered that I can express myself in ways different than poetry, and that story-telling doesn’t have to be for entertainment only. My Junior year of high school was when my writing began to take flight in another direction. I began to write non-fiction.

You see, up until that point, all of my writing really could only be classified as fiction. My poetry wasn’t exactly just emotions on the page, but rather, an embodiment of them, and so it counts as fiction as well. It wasn’t until I started being forced to write about things that I normally wouldn’t have in my AP Language and Composition class (Which I scored a 5 on for the AP test, the highest score) that I began to use writing as a way to express my thoughts, experiences, and my life in general. It’s around that time that I also began to get interested in the idea of blogging.

Writing became a way for me to simply analyze my thoughts and my life and the things that go on around me. In fact, I had always been writing like this my entire life. I just never put it to paper. All life really is is an ongoing narrative inside of my head. That’s all it ever has been, and that’s all it ever will be.

Alas, I never really addressed why I like writing. Plain and Simple, writing is a part of me that I can’t let go of. It began as a way to pass some time before becoming a hobby. Now? Writing is kind of a way of life. If I don’t write things out on paper, then I am writing in on mental papyrus that will forever stay with me until the day I day.

Until tomorrow, or next time, whichever comes first.

*In fact, his mother is a tattoo artist. I think it’s only natural.

Dreams

Before I begin, I want you to get into a very comfortable position. Comfy? Good. Now, close your eyes and think about the last dream you had. What do you see? What do you hear? Are there any smells? Do you remember what the dream was about? Was it a good dream, or a bad one? Once you’ve finished reflecting, go ahead and open your eyes and, with your dreamscape in mind, continue reading.

So I don’t quite remember my dream from last night, but I do remember what I was dreaming about from the other night, sort of. I was in a building of some sort, some type of headquarters I’ll assume. My memory of the dream begins when I rode to the top of the building to do a security check with my boss. I’m afraid of heights,* and I decided to make this known to my superior. He joked about it, and in my dream I was suddenly attacked with the memory of a nightmare I once had: being on top of a skyscraper with no way down. In there, I was forced to scale down the building if I wanted any chance of surviving. Surviving what? I don’t remember at all, but the terror was real.

Back to the current dream now, it started to get a little hazy. I remember more walking and talking, a hotel sweep, and me attempting to obtain my own firearm, which didn’t really sit too comfortably with me. The last thing I remember before waking up, struggling for my breath at 6:45am, was watching someone being crushed by a pair of enormous titans.** I didn’t think too much about my dream that day at all until I remembered the nightmare I had again. The memory of that bad dream was basically eradicated from my mind altogether. I had forgotten all about it until it invaded the dream I had the other night, but it also reminded me of something: all of my dreams are interconnected.

That’s right. There’s an entire world deep inside of my head, and it’s a place I can actually visit from time to time. Every last one of my dreams takes place in the same dreamscape.  Whenever I wake up, I can usually recall one or two details from my dream that I found in all of my other ones. This has been going on ever since the first nightmare I remembered when I was seven years old.*** Since then, I’ve always been interested in my subconscious world. I’d try every single night to make myself dream. Most nights I did, and when I discovered that I could even control my dreams (lucid dreaming), I was hooked. Each and every night presented the chance for me to go on an adventure.

Dreams are an amazing escape from the world inside of yourself. I’ve made it my mission to explore deep inside of my mind whenever I find myself with the opportunity to dream lucidly. Before I was plagued with insomnia, I discovered several methods on how to make myself dream every night, and also how to have lucid dreams. I haven’t had the state of mind to actively dream each and every night with a goal in mind, but that doesn’t mean that it’s impossible. Perhaps I will make a post at some point with tips on how to dream more in general. But, I believe I am done writing for the day.

If you have a really cool dream you’ve had recently, or simply would like to talk about a time you had a lucid dream, I encourage you to comment below!

* Really it’s edges that bother me, but for simplicity’s sake, let’s go with heights.
** From the anime “Attack on Titan”
*** I still remember it vividly

I just might title everything

Warning: This post will just be a bunch of thoughts, though that’s really what all my post are and will be. Let me rephrase that, all the thoughts in this post may not revolve around a central theme.

Now that that* has been said, on with my thoughts. So I’m feeling a bit down at this current moment. I was going to try to do something, but then I realized I couldn’t exactly do it just right now. I also didn’t research things like I normally would, because I was too excited. So alas, it will have to wait. Waiting is probably best anyway. My energies should be focused elsewhere.**

So I’m looking for a job, and hopefully I’m able to get one soon. There is this restaurant called Roti that I may be working at. It’s a small little fast casual place, and it has a good atmosphere. I should be having an interview there sometime this week, and then I’ll see how things progress from then. I need money (I mean, we all need money) so I can start saving up. I want to move out of home as soon as I can, and I kind of need a job to do that. I mean, it’d be nice if I got paid for every bit of writing I did, but that’s not happening. I have to work hard to earn a living doing what I love. Sadly, things like that don’t happen overnight.

What did happen overnight was the opportunity to make a few bucks. There was this girl at school who asked me if I could take a look at her laptop because it was all types of screwed up. Even though it was bad, I told her I’d be able to fix it and get it working again. During the process, she told me about how some company wanted an outrageous price to fix the computer (basically enough to purchase it again,) and she offered to pay me. I mean, why turn down the chance to make some money? It also made me realize that my love of technology is something profitable that will always be useful in the future.

The future isn’t so far off either. Man….Life is wild. I’m growing up. We’re all getting older. It’s already April of 2015. This year is moving by really fast (last week went by fast, but this week is going by pretty slowly actually). It won’t be long until I look up and realize that it’s April of 2019 or something. I just find it all so crazy.

I suppose, I’ve ranted enough for today. I was going to write about dreams, but you’ll get that at a later date (maybe tomorrow if you’re lucky).
*I told you I like using it.** Not going to tell you all what I was planning on doing because you’ll find out soon enough