Wednesday, November 23, 2011

. . . today I . . . snapped . . .

There they go again. Little words, like swords, like bees, swarming. Bees creep from their mouths, dripping over their lips, crawling at a frantic pace down their necks. They pulsate, venom filled, angry little monsters. A cloud around their heads, eyes slicing through the haze with malice. They spill the bees, the crawling things, with every twitch of their tongues. They crawl on my skin, little legs pricking, slicing, and digging. They bite my flesh, pumping their poison into my veins. I can’t brush them off. They’re lodged there, filling me with venom, pushing their poisoned tongues in and out of their lips, dripping with condescension.

I scream and push, but they just laugh. Little one, so small, so stupid. What does he know? Every time he opens his mouth nothing comes out. We don’t hear him. They laugh, covering their faces with black slime, dropping bees and beetles with every snicker. The venom makes my head spin, I can’t stand. The ground seems so far away, I can’t hide. I’m naked, sliced open and bleeding.

“Shut up!”

I yell, angry now. Fire sears though my body, burning up the poison, giving me strength.  But the bees just swarm into my mouth, stinging my tongue, crawling down my throat. My words turn against me, choking me with my own voice.

See, they say, he doesn’t know anything. If he did he wouldn’t get angry. It’s all his fault. We are normal. He is not. We speak the truth, we are smart. They drip their hatred onto my skin, it burns like acid. I can’t even scream my mouth is full of squirming bodies, writhing amongst the blood oozing from the sores.

I push away, running, vomiting insects. They don’t care. They continue on. After all they are right. They are the normal ones. I’m the one fleeing. I’m the one with the problem.

I run home, burning. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t even sit still, screaming inside. The insects are gone, fallen away in the haste of my escape. Why? Never again. I swear, never again.  So much anger, bottled, corked inside, trying to escape. Fuck. I swear when I’m mad, right, left, everywhere. The ugly works echo again and again in turmoil in my head. My thoughts are like the sea, crashing over one another. So much anger. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. So much anger, solidifying into crude on my brain. My head is full of shit. I can’t shake it loose.

Distractions. I need them but I can’t focus. The scene won’t go away. It’s in my head. It’s all in my head. The venom still burns, their laughter thuds with every heartbeat. Distractions. Fluttering words, spinning images. Fuck. It won’t go away.

Fine. Fuck them. Never again. I won’t let anyone talk that way again. Fuck all of them. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them, I hate myself. I hate myself. They are right. Shit, I must be stupid. Everyone says it.
Stop that. It’s the poison, sinking in, merging with my flesh. Every word is twisted. What is right? What is wrong? Who was right? Does it even matter?

It’s later now. The anger faded, replaced by coldness. I’m hollow. The venom burned out my heart. Every part of me bleeds; I can’t make sense of my head. I’m muddled, confused. Their words drip off my tongue, their laughter solidified in my brain. They may be gone, the words are now silence, but the venom is ingrained in my bones. My heart is cold, empty. I know they were wrong, but I don’t know it.

Why? Why? Why, why, why, why? I can’t shake this. Just add it to the mountain of lies filling my body. Stupid. Little. Homeschooled. Weird. Messed up. Socially awkward. Ugly. Girly. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  Lies, all lies. But in my head they are truth. They are law. They are the iron bands around my brain. They are what defines me.

This is why I bleed. This is why when the darkness comes I can’t shake it. This is why I slip under the waves. I can’t shake this. Why can’t I shake this?

Curled on the floor in a dark room, wishing I was different, wishing I was normal. I know, when the sun comes up, I’ll come around. I’ll see them again and we won’t speak of it, or I’ll apologize. I’ll apologize because I don’t know how to do anything else. And they will graciously not forgive me. We will ignore it till the next time and then the cycle will start again. I know all this, but I can’t seem to get past it. Why am I so weak?

Because every time we talk I’m the one left with bruises and scars. I’m the one with venom pumping through a battered heart. And I step outside the line to be kicked back into their cage. 

I know all this. I know it so well.

Darkness, take me away. I don’t want to deal with this. I can’t deal with this. Because it’s all my fault. I make them provoke me. I make them do this. It’s all my fault. Because they treat me like shit must mean that I am shit. I am shit. I am shit, shit, shit. Garbage. Shit.

I want to scream, “Don’t fucking touch me!” but I turn the other cheek. I let them hit me because it’s all I’ve ever known. I want to stand up, but when I do. I’ve got the problem .

I am the problem. And I hate myself.

Are you happy? 

Sunday, July 3, 2011

The colour of love

This may seem like a cheesy, romantic post but it's not really. I thought that I would get that out there.

Being an artist I always see things as colours. When I think of friends I see their colour, (I know, I know. Sounds like "The Village"), when I think of abstract items I see the colour I attach to them. Sometimes it's quite literal, such as coffee which is a creamy brown (I love coffee) but sometimes it can be quite different, such as snow which I see as soft greyish purple (It has to be spelled with an "e" otherwise it's a different colour.) Don't ask me why I see these colours, I just do.

What got me thinking about this was church today. It wasn't anything to do with the sermon or the worship, although I was worshiping when I had this vision. I saw the Love of God pouring out through the crowd like electric blue waves, soft and harsh light collide in an explosion of both power and tenderness. I saw the waves wrapping like vines around people, pulsating through their hearts, overpowering them.

Whenever I think of love I see the usual colours. Pale, pale pink for friendship, soft pink for budding love. Redish pink for true love and deep purple for love that has lasted years. But God's love I see blue, powerful, electric, commanding, and yet soft and quiet, peaceful, throbbing with intensity, but mellow and calm. It's everything all at once.

Today when I raised my hands in worship I felt my knees shake from the sheer awesomeness of the One I worship, I was overcome with emotion. I praise the One worthy of all praises, who has touched me with His love.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Life rushes on

Earlier this week I wanted life to stop, to slow down so I could catch my breath and wipe away my tears. But the motion continued cruelly forth, driving me over the edge. I would like to say I emerged from the wreakage unscathed but unfortunately I suffered at the hands of fate.
Today I sliced deep into the vein of my emotions, poured out the staining ink, splattered the evidence across the white plaster of my canvas. I took the water and a brush and created beauty of my pain. If only all pain could be handled in this way.
Tonight my body aches from long hours of work, my soul aches for the warm touch of love, my mind aches from mulling over horrid memories, my eyes hurt from staring at distractions that fall short of comforting me. Sometimes I can't see a path through the tangle that is my thoughts. But step by step I'll make it through. I will push through. There is no other option. To give up now is to admit that everyone was right. To admit that I was never worth it. I won't admit that. Because to admit that is to admit that the love everyone has poured into me, the hopes and dreams of all those I love, are but nothing. Were for nothing. And I know that is not true.
So for now I will curl up with my pillows and blankets, my poor excuse to comfort the loneliness I feel inside, and drown my sorrows in the dreams of the ill-rested.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

A lot to think of

My mind is full of broken thoughts, twisted sentences, dark ideas. I don't even know where to start. All I want is a little quiet in my head to start thinking. One night of peace with no ghosts coming out of the corridors of my mind. If the memories would just fade for a while, if they would just disappear till I'm ready to deal with them.
Why is it that the dark, bad things take over our minds and no matter how hard we try to focus on the good things they just blur until I can't recall them or they feel like a million miles away? Why can't we ignore the bad just like we can ignore the good?

All I can see is shadows but I'm searching for some light. I just want one moment of silence. That is all.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Snow white queen

Stoplight, lock the door.
Don't look back.
Undress in the dark,
And hide from you,
All of you.

You'll never know the way your words have haunted me.
I can't believe you'd ask these things of me.
You don't know me.

You belong to me,
My snow white queen.
There's nowhere to run, so let's just get it over.
Soon I know you'll see,
You're just like me.
Don't scream anymore my love, 'cause all I want is you.

Wake up in a dream.
Frozen fear.
All your hands on me.
I can't scream

I can't escape the twisted way you think of me.
I feel you in my dreams and I don't sleep.

You belong to me,
My snow white queen.
There's nowhere to run, so let's just get it over.
Soon I know you'll see,
You're just like me.Don't scream anymore my love, 'cause all I want is you

I can't save your life,
Though nothing I bleed for is more tormenting.
I'm losing my mind and you just stand there and stare as my world divides.

You belong to me,
My snow white queen.
There's nowhere to run, so let's just get it over.
Soon I know you'll see,
You're just like me.
Don't scream anymore my love, 'cause all I want is you. 

I was going through my music today and came across this song. Last year Evanescence was a favorite of mine and I went through her albums, every week having a new favorite song. This song, Snow White Queen, never became a favorite because I had no connection with the lyrics. Now however I found the words resonating in my soul. 

We all know oppressive people, people who take more than they should. Some times they leave more than memories or scars in their wake. Sometimes they leave a trail of broken china, shattered glass, a trail that hurts more healing then it did being forged. And it seems like our hearts will never be the same. 

The chorus especially speaks to me. I've felt the oppressive hands, the penetrating eyes, the lips twisted up into a sneer that enthralls, ensnares and repulses you. 

Memories haunt me, stalk my nightmares, flit through my thoughts, darkening even the brightest sunshine from my eyes. And I can't stop screaming inside. 

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Rolling in the deep

We could have had it all. Rolling in the deep;
You had my heart inside your hand;
and you played it to the beat.

These words really ring with me. I feel like I'm rolling in the deep, turning over and over surrounded by unbearable pressure, suffocating in dark clouds of thick grey silk. I feel like I've fallen off the edge, slipped on the  dark rocks and now am plunging through the angry, white capped waves.
Some days are just harder than others. Today was one such day. Inside I just wanted to curl up my bed and hide from the world. Alas it was not to be. I had to preform, like a puppet with a painted smile, fake happiness and bounce around all day. And now, when the world has laid it's head to rest, I pace the confines of my mind, searching for the door though which I would cast away the dark thoughts and horrid memories that haunt me. However the door has disappeared, lost in the cavorting maze inside my head. And I'm rolling in the deep.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

One chapter falls away

I've turned the page in my life. One chapter falls away, pages scented with lilac, bleached by the sun, wrinkled by tears. Crisp new pages, with even lines, flawless pages lie ahead of me, waiting for the messy pen of my life to blot the clean whiteness with dark, black ink. Ink that stains and won't wash away, it spills over the clean, straight lines, tainting the tips of my fingers black. Ink is permanent, is forever.

No amount of tears will wash the stained pages clean, no amount of sun will make the deep black fade. But with the stains comes abstract beauty. Beauty of a life well lived, not one held in fear, but one marked with the courage to write on the pages, with the courage to push on despite knowing the ink will stain forever.

I'm on my own now, alone. Independent. A summer of the next stage of my life. The stage is mopped, the lights are primed and ready to single me out. Will I dance on this stage? Or will I succumb to the open eyes, the staring  gazes of an audience waiting for you to trip and fall, bringing your production to a screeching halt?

 Maybe I will fall, a great fall of gasps, cries, bruised knees, and torn clothes. The dance will fail, the lights will shine cruelly down, brining my humiliation and tears into stark, harsh reality. It's all quite possible. I'm may flounder through my steps, I may trip and fall, I may turn right when the music calls for a turn left. There are so many ways I could fail at this complex dance of life. But I forget that the dance is not mine alone, there are other dancers who trip and fall, who pick me up when I've fallen, who wipe my tears and carry me when my feet are too swollen for my shoes.

But I can say I've danced. Maybe it's not a dance but more of a stumbling crawl across the extravagant stage.  Maybe my fears will rule me, trapping me in the dark recess of stage right, hidden by thick curtains, watching the dancers move like graceful swans across their stage. I want to dance.

And I will dance. I will dance to my own music, with my own steps, be it wild and crazy, subdued and timid, or uncoordinated and awkward. I will not dance to the music of others, or the the steps they think I should follow. I will dance a dance that I create. It's my dance and I will dance.

Just like these pages. They are my pages and no one can stain them except me. No one can write in them except me. Every stain is by my own hand, every blot has a story in my life. And only I can understand the uniqueness of the stains. Only I can see the beauty in the ugliness that I have wrought. Because He makes everything beautiful. There is beauty in every stain, every scar, every torn page or crinkled tear mark.

A new chapter awaits, and the blank pages are daunting, but with the Light at my side I will press on, touch my pen to the paper and let the ink flow, a glistening, shimmering stream in the light. Ugliness made beautiful by the Light.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

The stand

I'll stand with arms high and heart abandoned
In awe of the one who gave it all
I'll stand my soul Lord to you surrendered
All I am is Yours

Today I found myself on my knees in a little corner broken and helpless. Love poured all around me, undulating in it's intensity and glory, reverberating through my soul. Still I felt empty, hard, like a shell tossed on the waves, always sinking only to be stirred up again by the violent tempest that surrounds me.
How I long to me able to feel again. How I long for freedom, no longer a prisoner inside my own flesh. Feel to express the torment inside of me. Free to cry when I need to. Instead my insides burn and tremble with withheld emotion but I can't express it in any way except physical pain.
The vortex pulls at me but today I can withstand it. Today I can rise above the waves on hands of Light.

Friday, April 29, 2011

It's a little bleak here

It seems like my canvas has gone grey. Loneliness has set in, like a cold, clammy fog off the bay, and while I know it won't be for long, I still want to cry.
Sometimes I feel so alone, truly alone. But then I remember that I'm never alone.
It's just hard to push through the thick cloud of black thoughts to see the light. I need to see the light. Without the light I fall. I feel as though I stand on a precipice, perched like a bird who has never learned to fly. Without the light I will fall, a fall from which I will never recover. But this void that I stand at the edge of, it's filled with living darkness, it pulls at me, clawing, grasping, dragging. I struggle to stay on the solid ground, but I can't rely on my strength. It's not enough and one day I will plummet into the darkness. But still I stand. For now.
Only the light keeps me up. Without it I have no reason to live.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Art - The dark side of my mind

Today I recieved a message from a friend who has on multiple accounts been rather "abrasive to me". This is what he said:

Hey man,
I saw your latest profile pic. It seems a little dark spiritually. 

I think you and I are drawn to darker art and have somewhat of a fascination for it more than most people. It's been hard for me to find some way to justify it. But I think it could be true that dark art is perhaps an outpouring or releasing of pain.

Don't get me wrong. Please, don't. This is not a judgment call on you. I just want to know where you're coming from, since some of your art is kinda scary!

Take care man.

At first I was livid. I can't stand when people think it is their place to criticize me for my art which is an extension of myself. But it got me thinking. So this is what I replied:

  I understand that you think that some of art is scary. It is. Dark art speaks to me and I find myself unable to truly commit to something that is just happy and empty. The reason my profile pic is scary right now is because I couldn't stand to come online and see a happy picture beside my name. So I made it more appropriate. 

Is it an outpouring of pain? Yes. And anger. And a little depression too. Life is not happy and my art is the one place I can't lie. I'm not saying that I've turned from God, I haven't, however There is more going on than I can handle right now. 

Please don't send me a good intentioned speech about giving your problems to God and how He's always there for us when we need Him. I know all this. And I'm relying heavily on God right now. If it wasn't for God I wouldn't be alive right now. 

So I apologize if my art scares you. It scares me too sometimes. But I can't help it, and I won't compromise the one thing that is gives me comfort these days.

So why do people create dark art? Why are we drawn to it? Is it the sin in us speaking? Is it a cry for help from the pain and anger in our lives?