My time will come

I wish I could downgrade your importance to me. I wish I could function without accounting for your presence on this physical, mental and emotional plane.
But you're here.
As a example of how perfectly tangible life can get.
As a personification of something that shouldn't exist, while at the same time, staring at my emotions. Staring right at from where they emerge, with not so much as a feeling for my state of being at the time..

Yes, let not my state of mind, or lack of tranquility therein change you're disposition or the merry cheerful state you seem to be in. My troubles are all implied and metaphorical in nature, or so you think. You sincerely believe that I have the power to turn this around. That I can magically wave my hand to negate the past in a way that allows me to suddenly function without my mind being influenced by you're presence in my mind.
You're coldness extends to the extent wherein I'm convinced you don't care whether I so much as exist or not.

Is this really reality you project? A reality that I have to accept and account for? Or just another extension of a very elaborate mask you wear in order to throw me off your scent? In order to quench my bloodlust and move away from your mental space. Is this necessary to function for you? Is it for me? Will it make us better people for having recognized this as the truth?
So I wonder, when ARE we going to come clean? When are all the cards going to be thrown on the table? When is there going to be nothing left to hide? When can I walk away, fully satisfied that all my emotions are going to be effectively conveyed with you misunderstanding their very essence?

Soon, I remind myself..
Oh so very soon..

Trouble brewing on christmas eve

So i sit here, my physical hunger temporarily satiated with pork, until i next seek to fill my emotional void i remind myself.
I sit and wonder where it all began. It is christmas eve today. The day everyone, whatever God they may follow, be suddenly filled with an inexplicable sense of cheer and goodwill. The sort of day where you make peace with your enemies and hug loved ones closer.
Yet I sit here, reeking of pork, a somewhat dissatisfied expression plastered on my face.
It isn't that I'm not thankful. In the broader sense of the term thankful I assure you. I am thankful for all the smaller things (I think). The dissatisfaction arises with the realization that I don't enjoy this festival as much as I'm supposed to. Who exactly measures my level of satisfaction in these terms I'll never know, but yet, people just will not cease to point out, that I'm just not in the right spirit.
The right spirit! Me! can you believe that?
I will admit to not believing in the whole fairy tale of the wonder that is the bible. Also I will ignore the whole bit of how Christ was *actually* born somewhere in summer (go ahead google "christ born in summer"! i dare you!)
what infuriates me really is the false pretenses of this celebration.
Forced into customs that don't make sense. Forced to conform to norms that aren't all that intelligent. Ahh well..
Next year will be much different Desmond..
And if it isn't, I'm sorely disappointed *shakes head in sadness*
Maybe you're not the Desmond I thought you'd turn out to be after all!

Two sides of a coin..

So you know how most people have two dimensions to their personality? a sort of mental dichotomy that splits their one personality into a duality of sorts?
I have about 25 different personalities to account for..
I wouldn't call it a multiple personality disorder yet, namely because I'm bashful and refused to be studied as a test subject.

The purpose of this post..
I've been observing my 'writing' my writing habits and it turns out, I can churn out better quality, also more in quantity when in a negative mood. Its when the creative juices flow best. I find it impossible at best to get myself in the correct writing mood when in a good mood. Hence the posts on here are not really the 'pick me up' posts most people look for.
This is probably the reason the posts have such a bleak and depressing aura encompassing them and also is the reason most people think I am suicidal (more on that later)

I'm my own best author and while that is probably the most smug, arrogant, irrational, unpractical and egoistic statement ever uttered on this blog, (disclaimer: Im known to occasionally lie), it also holds true at a certain level.
When in a happy mood, I sit and read my own blog and never cease to get amazed by how i can totally not relate to the person writing the blog. (couple of hours later, I'm already at work churning out another piece of tripe)..

Years of therapy later, I might just realize that I did indeed have MPD. Ahh good times. Just think of the friends I'll then! Not people i can play sports with definitely, at the least coffee conversations will never be boring and always cheap..

With you

With you I shall go,
To a place I've never been before.
Uninhabited by actions, words or thought.
to place never found, but often sought

to be free of these shackles,
these unbreakable chains that bound,
making it tougher to live or breathe,
weighing me closer to the ground.

for I need to soar,
above the drudgery of life
fly high above living,
touch the bliss of afterlife.

Or an induced state of peace perhaps
of inner calm, devoid of any thought,
in an attempt to try and find myself
to save my being, my very soul from rot.

In my place..

That’s where I’ll always mentally be. In my place.
With people, with situations, with emotions.
My place is a safe one. It’s the safety blanket that protects me form the cold, it is the cool breeze that soothes me from damage already incurred..
The concept of a happy place always had importance with respect to where I stand and what I am. I need a happy place to function out of, or functioning itself will cease to be a certainty.
Try not to live out of my place too often. Too easily affected by actions, words, thoughts.
Too affected by people.

How do I effectively stay away and remain buried in my place then? How do I move past the cold and the undeserving? How do I cease to be traumatized, even affected, by everyone around me.

For having a cold heart, people seem to forget that it is made of ice.
Ice is as brittle as can be. Ice can be shattered by as much as a hammer and as little as a loud sound.
Once shattered, the shards of ice can never be redone. They’re already melting and find their own way as far from the core as possible. Melting into oblivion, into as state from wherein return is almost never possible.
Cold hearted. Takes on a whole different meaning now doesn’t it?

Some people aren’t cold hearted because they are uncaring, rather it stems from unconditional care.
Some people just cannot afford to be hyper-sensitive about every little insignificant detail of your life.
Some people care too much.

So I try to lie here. In a state of what can be described as pure and absolute nothingness.
Trying to feel nothing is infinitely tougher than actually feeling something. Yet so much of importance is attributed to ‘feeling’.

I attempt to be a stone, I do.
A stone inside out.
Never to feel, never to need, never to remember and be nostalgic.
Where will that take me? To a place of higher purpose? To a place of nirvana? To a place of inner happiness?
Heaven knows. All I know is, once the pain stops, only better things are to be had. Once the clouds of emotion roll over, only higher purposes are to be found. A higher purpose that will hopefully add some meaning to this strained existence.

Remember

Here's a few pointers that I want you, future Desmond to remember.

People Suck.

Never trust. To trust is to be let down.

Never let your mental guard down, mental weakness is death

Be cordial at all times, you never know how/when you may need people

Do not let people affect you, you’re too sensitive, at the same time, your hard exterior should never/can never crack. If it does, run! Run for your life.

People are only ‘there’ for you as long as it is feasible to their person. This is perfectly acceptable, no one owes you a thing. No one is obligated to give you so much as a hair pin.

People listen only to themselves. As wise as you may be, you’ll never totally change who another person is, even if implementing one change suggested by you changes their lives in the best way possible to them, learn to accept that and don’t be disheartened to see them living in misery after totally ignoring your advice.

Love is not a permanent state of being. All good things come to an end. Believing in love as a state of eternal return is disillusion. It leads only to heartbreak and a feeling of insecurity. People change, your perceptions of them change, love them while they’re there, let go of them when necessary.

You work hard. Too hard for your own good. Your work is beginning to consume you until all you are is a product of your work, that’s all you will be recognized as. Your substance will fade away to make you a stuffed shirt. The purpose of such involvement in work hasn’t yet been dissected, when it does, you’ll probably be made aware of some deeper depression that it hides.

You’ll always just want to be a musician. Your dreams were broken so early on, that all that remains is a sense of unaccomplishment. You’ve forgotten what original passion feels like, all that remains now is nostalgia and the feeling of emptiness.

From a person lacking in self confidence, to a person faking confidence to real confidence, you’ll now complete the cycle and revert to your initial setting. That’s where you fit in. You can never be anything other than what you were destined to be. A person that lurks in the shadows of life. I hope when reading this, you have lost your interest in the spotlight. Its only done you harm. Trying to pull on a mask so elaborate has its adverse effects on your core personality.

People all around you will eventually fade away into a haze of half remembered memories and barely memorable faces. You’ll always be the constant in your life. Treat yourself well! Getting yourself worked up for things are aren’t permanent in nature while ignoring the obvious permanent factors will lead only to further depression.

Can’t write

And while this is an irony of sorts, my medium of expressing my incapacity to write *can* only be put in words.
Times like these I wish I could paint! How more effectively could you describe exactly what transpires in your head than to paint vivid pictures of it! What a wonderful concept.
Photography would have to do I, I resign myself to it, only because I’ve tried and cannot even color inside the lines. Alas, my lethargy as a person often spills into even things I’m passionate about! Talk about contradictory! I’m even lazy about things that I’m passionate about! Guess mom WAS right after all.
To be a true photographer, I need to get out there and click pictures of things, scenes and people. I need to reach within and pull out images of what things look like in my head, trying to re-create it with my camera at hand. However the thought of going out there with one eye against the viewfinder is tough than I originally thought.
So then I thought I’ll contemplate considering songwriting. What better ways to paint an image than through lyrics and music I thought.. Stupid lethargy, you got there before me didn’t you?

So I guess I’ll just lie in the filth of my own static, a mental pool of underachieving and almost greatness, wishing things to be different, but not moving a muscle in the intended direction.

Hopelessness

I'm usually well prepared for most of the events life has to offer.
That is, when i've had time to consider the possibilities of the given event.
When I have not, I'm flying completely blind.

Insecurities never really completely go away do they? We just try to push them enough in the background to be able to function normally.

Woke up today with a nest of thoughts. A million emotions all at once. Emotions will soon be the death of me.

Maybe I should get working on that book I've been talking so much about.
I don't care about the story being told, as much as they people involved in my life finally getting a glimpse of the inner workings.
And yet, i know this book won't even be read by all the people i would want it read by.

Every day lived is a regretful one. Or so I'd like to believe.. Maybe it isn't regret, I'm almost confident it isn't. Insecurity? maybe or maybe not.

Desmond, you're a hopeless one. you need to stop peddling your wares when you are so messed up yourself. you can't handle life yet and with that knowledge, you really need to focus on cleaning up your life.

I'm beyond being comforted by a hug today. Kind words won't soothe me, nor will good deeds. All that can absolve me from my life is me.
Its about time I began living.