post 40 : i'm a mess

I am profoundly discontented. Oh, we could spend time analysing the reasons, and I do. But in the end, what do they matter? The reason is people, and they won’t quit. I struggle to find happiness, though I seek relentlessly. I am a mess of hate and anger.

Perhaps I need to start again. Go to a place where I know no one; where I can watch beautiful people and pretend that it is beauty that matters. A place where I focus on their surface, so as not to be disappointed when the layers only go so deep. A place where I can be blissfully naïve, and cultivate solitude in a crowd.

post 39 : she didn't care for sugar coating

It’s not that she wasn’t a nice girl; it’s more she didn’t make it a priority.  She revealed about herself what others were afraid to admit they felt; it was a rare occasion where her behaviour did not mirror her thoughts. She did not shelter others from the horrors in her mind and for this she was intensely admired, and equally thought of as quite despicable.

She was always searching for more; looking with a fierce want but realistic resignation. She was self-aware and at times profoundly content. A non-conformist, though not as an act of rebellion; she was eternally ruthless. She balanced her time evenly between analysing herself and analysing others.

She cultivated solitude and was overdosed on confidence.  She was constantly told she’d change her mind, but never changing it. Constantly told how to be, but not being it. She thought of self-sacrifice not as an honourable thing, but weak.  She was not one to settle and chose a life of little comfort, and sacrifice for the sake of satisfaction. She didn’t much care for sugar coating. She was genuine and true, at times revelling in the calmness that came from brutal honesty.

She wanted nothing more than to be challenged and excited; stirring up controversy and drawing out differences, pursuing others who said what they meant without fear of repercussion. Longing, and frequently frustrated with a lingering feeling of dissatisfaction.

She had a fierce craving but for what, she was not sure. There was not a moment that passed where she was not particularly confused about what she wanted, yet perfectly certain about what she did not. She was free; passionately pressing forward in a world that attempted to contain and confine her, to repress and to silence her. She pushed people away, one opinion at a time. 

post 38 : rum and regret

“Jesus, what do you want from me?” He almost yelled. “I can’t make you understand if you won’t try.” 

“Nothing” I told him, sincere. “I want nothing from you. I don’t want your pathetic excuses or your justifications. I don’t want your company or your affection. I don’t want you to tell me I smell good or be jealous that I have moved on in the years that you have been absent. I don’t want you. I don’t want anything to do with you” He was staring at me, blank and not quite shocked.

I walked away, fast. I was on the street, waiting for the lights to turn green when I felt a hand grab my arm. I spun around involuntarily.

“What?!” It was my turn to yell. “I'm done here.”

He grabbed hold of my face and kissed me. He tasted like rum and regret. I kissed him back, interested to see if it’d changed in all of those years. It had. What used to be sweet innocence and nervousness had turned into a fierce wanting filled with words he couldn’t speak out loud. It wasn’t the same, and I didn’t like it. 

I’d liked him when he was young. I’d liked him when he shook because he was scared to be close to me. I’d liked him when he listened to what I was saying as if it were important. I’d liked him. I didn’t like him anymore. I pushed him away. 

post 37 : ambiguous

It was not intentional; I didn't set out to cause harm. It was rather an inadvertent, careless, lack of attention paying misstep. An error of judgement. It should not be confused with malice, though maybe I should have paid more attention. 

post 36 : truth is

It’s lucky I have a strong mind to semi-make-up for this pathetically weak, clumsy excuse for a body.

I’m tired. I’ve been tired for 10 years and I’m growing resentful of the people that tell me they are exhausted, as if they have any comprehension of what that is.

Their shoulders hurt. Oh no. Let me push down hard on your purple bruise, hold my finger there and make the pain cover your entire body. Let it throb for weeks at a time; unrelenting. Let me drive a hammer into your knee and watch you not curl up in agony. My fingers hurt typing this. I have heat packs covering my body and my medication has grown ineffective, as if I should have appreciated those 6 months of blissful numbness that I was given. As if I should not have expected more. I struggle not to cry all of the time.

I am scared. I’m terrified at the prospect of growing old. And it’s not for the narcissistic reasons like those conceited others, either. Give me a wrinkly body still full of life. Give me thinning grey hair and a slight inability to stand straight and proud. Give me a body that looks as old as it feels.

More than the prospect of my body growing old, my greatest fear is that my mind will at a greater pace. As if I don’t already have something that could be described as chronic forgetfulness, at times oblivion. The words “I forgot” are becoming all too familiar and the response “You’re hopeless” makes me want to throw punches, if I had the energy to throw punches. Do you not think I already know? Do you not think I would help it if I could? Do you not think it frustrates me beyond comprehension that this 26 year old mind cannot remember that she was going downstairs for a reason, that she must have been in the supermarket for some sort of food stuff, but what it was has escaped her?

The look on my face as I struggle to remember the conversation we had last week is not one of feigning for attention, but rather an “Honestly Tali, search your mind a little harder, it’s got to be there” and an internal eye roll at oneself. It is frustration.

Determination. That’s all I have left in me, and it surprises me constantly that I even have that. 

post 35 : happy ending

So surely by now we’ve come to realise that life is no fairy tale. We’re not guaranteed the Hollywood happy ending. And it’s not for a lack of available Prince Charming guys, either. It’s not them who are at fault. It’s not that they won’t fly across the world to sweep a girl off her feet, or chase her through an airport; beg her not to go. Because they will. I’ve seen them do it.

What I’ve come to realise, is that once these grand gestures have been made, once he’s arrived at her door, catching her off guard, once she’s felt that grab of her hand as she gets spun around to face a bent over, out of breath guy who’s managed to just catch her before she boarded the plane, is that we won’t yield. We have grown stubborn and expectant, as though this is what he should have done, and only now, after doing so, is he afforded the opportunity to prove his worth. We have grown self-righteous. Do we honestly think we deserve more than this?

It is not that guys don’t want to be chivalrous, gallant and brave. It’s not that they don’t know how. They’d slay the dragon to get to you; kiss you to stir you from eternal slumber if they thought it possible you wouldn’t wake to look for something more. It’s not that they’re not willing to. The problem is that we won’t let them.

post 34 : i wait

When I allow myself time to daydream, I can’t decide who, between the two of you to let consume my thoughts. And so I stop the ridiculous concept of make believe perfect life scenarios and return to the reality that leaves me without either of you. And I wonder why we search for perfection in other people instead of improving ourselves to the point of contentment without the need for more. And then I stop that thought, too, because as much as I may fight it I know that no one wants to be alone. And I'm not one to settle for the sake of a little comfort. And so I wait. Without hope or agenda, I wait. 

post 33 : click

Sarah was opposite us at the table, clicking away with her camera. When she faced it towards us, effortlessly we moved our heads to lean against each other's and smiled at her; a photo I was sure to stare at for hours, in the months to come.