Grief and Hope

What would you give? To go back for a moment, to have a chance to make that difference, to say goodbye. "You'll get through" they say, "It won't hurt anymore" but it does hurt. You grow resilient to the pain, you forget. You go days, even weeks, without thinking about it. Then when you are at your lowest they hit. Like a dam that has broken it heppens, and you are immobolized by this feeling of grief and remorse and the only thing that keeps you going is hope. Hope what gets us through the hardest moments of our life. That hope that someday it will be better, that we are making a difference. "Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence." Hope can keep us strong, hope can build as new roads. But still the feeling stays the nagging feeling that it is futile, that you should give up. Let the grief sweep over you, and it will get better. But it doesn't. I miss you grandad, I'm sorry I didn't love you enough, while I still had the chance.
Peace out
Spread the love not the legs
ACT

Trust

Wow, a ddouble post, wrote this and the other last night

Trust is one of the most fragile things that a human can possess. Through life you start out giving trust easily, but life teaches you lessons, life teaches you that trust always gets betrayed. So you build walls to keep yourself in and keep others out. You say to yourself, “I know of these walls therefore they don’t define me”, but they do, because you are still in denial. Of course every now and then, someone comes along with the power to shatter walls, someone comes along and you open up and let them into your walls, but as life has taught us trust cannot be trusted, and eventually something will happen and you try to put the walls back, and because of what happened you build the walls bigger and it takes longer for the next person to be able to break them. But it happens someone comes along and you convince yourself that they can be trusted that the last time you had bad judgement but you can see clearly now. And again, you get hurt and the walls are rebuilt, bigger again, thicker too. This goes on and on and the walls grow and grow.
But what happens if when the right person (or one of the right people) comes along and your walls are too high for them?
Peace out
Spread the love not the legs
ACT

Music

When I think about my life in terms of music (which I do quite a lot) the lines from songs that come to mind straight at the moment are, “It’s getting kind of hard to believe things are going to get better” (Dracula’s Lament, Forgetting Sarah Marshall Soundtrack) and “paranoia, paranoia everybody’s coming to get me” (Flagpole Stitta, Harvey Danger). Now this is probably because I play them so much they are permanently in my head, but, I still feel these songs have some sort of significance, after all I am paranoid and I do think my life is in the shitter (just incase you hadn’t noticed). Now, I’m one of those people who almost lives off music, I’m so dependant that my mood revolves around what I am currently listening to. I often listen to the music from Once (amazing movie) or my soft, sad, song (I swear to god [not that that means much since I’m an atheist] that the sibilance is coincidence) playlist when blogging, for instance (which is probably the cause of the manic depressive angsty tone of this blog [well that and the fact that I am manic depressive and angsty]) and I feel that music somehow defines who I am, strange considering I am no musician. Which leads me into an excuse really, I’ve completely lost track of where I was going with this because my song just changed to an upbeat one.
Peace out
Spread the love not the legs
ACT

Outlets

We’ve all got our comfort objects don’t we? Something to keep us sane. To give us hope that somewhere there is something that can just take all our hate, dissolve it. Saturate it in objectional love. As a kid growing up, I always had one teddy who was my ”I’m feeling like shit teddy” Of course, back then my problems were few, and less painful. Now I’ve transferred my outlet. To this blog. I can come here and pour out all my feelings of anger, hate and love (though not necessarily in that order) and it gives me the emotional cleansing (for want of a less moronic sounding word) I need, it keeps me sane. I think I find it reassuring that what I really want to say (regardless of whether I know what it means) is out there, and that people can read it, and realise how I feel about them (again be it hate or love) but I feel safe typing it because I am fairly safe in the knowledge that no-one I know in real life knows where this blog is. Actually one person does, but I don’t think they will have told anyone. I believe this not through some misguided trust (no I learnt not to trust you when a certain someone found out about a certain something) but more because I am sure that by now you will have become bored with this blog and forgotten its existence (after all I don’t see how you can be interested in it when, at least, you show a loathing hatred towards me [quite why this is I am yet to figure out]).
Peace out
Spread the love not the legs
ACT

Loneliness

Writing consciously is so hard. When you are lying in the subconscious your imagination can flow easily. The greatest ideas pour out of your mind, and then when you are fully awake they don't quite work. This is one of those ideas.

I don't want a pretty face
Or a drop-dead gorgeous gal
I don't crave a fantasy
Or a pretty, hollow shell
You don't need to be a genius
Perfection I don't need
Personality that clicks with me
Will satisfy my greed
I want someone to talk with me
And to hold close at night
I don't expect idealism
Or never having to fight
I don't desire a falsity
Be yourself and it will do
Cause' the thing that I want most of all
Is someone who wants me too