I Think It's Time

When’s the day you start again
And when the hell does 'you’ll get over it' begin
I’m looking hard in the mirror but I don’t fit my skin
It’s too much to take, it’s too hard to break me
From the cell I’m in
Oh from this moment on
I’m changing the way I feel yeah
From this moment on, it’s time to get a real

Cause I still don’t know how to act
Don’t know what to say
Still wear the scars like it was yesterday
But you’re long gone and moved on
Cause you’re long gone
But I still don’t know where to start, still finding my way
Still talk about you like it was yesterday
But you’re long gone.
~The Script

Me, I'm Used to Being Tired and Bloody

And what? Do you think that if I yell it will actually make anything better?  Do you think that if I stand there, just inches from the other face and I scream obscenities at them while letting my hands fly animatedly that it will actually make anything better?  The silence is killing me, the conversations I can't keep up bore me, yelling and fighting just makes me angry.  There is no way for me to communicate with the world.  There is no way to get thoughts out because I have closed myself off to the world. 
I'm used to death.  I'm used to being tired and bloody.  

Making every kind of silence, it takes a lot to realize
It's worse to finish than to start all over and never let it lie
And as long as I can feel someone holding on

I'm not alive if I'm lonely, so please don't leave.
Hedley-Perfect

This isn't what I want, but I'll take the high road. Maybe it's because I look at everything as a lesson, or I don't want to walk around angry. Or maybe it's because I finally understand. There are things we don't want to happen, but have to accept; things we don't want to know, but have to learn, and people we can't live without, but have to let go.
-AJ Cook

I need a break.  I started exams on Friday, I finished today. 
Next week, Australia.  Me and Paul.  That break will do. 

Paul's an exception to what I said above, he and I can talk.

dead

He was swimming in the pool.  His brother was snowboarding down some mountain and he wanted to be there more than anything else.  But the pool would help his knee and if he snowboarded too much his knee would let out and hurt like mad.  His mom walked into the pool room.  She was shaking and crying and he didn't know what was wrong.  He stood up where the water was shallow and asked her what was wrong.  She was a strong lady, she had been through a lot in her life, she did not cry easily.  She spoke through the tears and suddenly he felt like he was drowning.  Not from the water in the pool but the news that flooded his head.  He felt like he was drawing water with every breath, air would be able to clear his head, he would be able to understand the news if he could breath.  He felt a tear burn a track down his face.  He saw it drop into the water and disappear, the little warm salty drop lost in the chlorinated pool of tears.  He had nothing to say, no where to go and no one to take comfort in. His mom was there but she was mourning too. She could not bring him comfort.  His grandfather was dead.  
It was cold at his cottage.  The mountain air was crisp and the ground was covered in a layer of powdered snow.  He walked out of the pool room, out of the house and out of the warmth.  No shoes, no shirt, soaked.  He didn't care.  He didn't feel the snow on his toes and he could barely feel the wind on his chest.  He didn't care that the water in his hair and on his shorts were freezing.  He didn't care that he was shivering or that his feet were getting cut up.  His Opa was dead.   
On the side of the road a mile down was an untouched perfect piece of snow covered grass.  He lay down on his back with his arms out as if getting ready to make a snow angel.  He didn't think about much.  He couldn't cry then, the only tear he shed was the one lost in the pool.  They would have frozen on his face if he cried there anyways.  Flakes fell softly and slowly in a pattern that he didn't understand.  He lay there until the sun was dim on the horizon.  The snow had stopped and he couldn't figure out the pattern.  He considered making an angel but the thought was dismissed.  He got up and felt the wind.  He was cold now.  He headed back the way he came, back to the house with the pool where the only tear was lost.  
He walked into the house, the warmth spread over him, his muscles relaxed.  The door shut behind him and his brother and father returned from snowboarding and skiing.  They were with his mother.  She was crying.  His father had an arm around her and his brother had hands covering his face.  His mother got up, walked over to him, the shivering mess.  She said something about going to look for him soon.  She tried to hug him.  He pushed her away.  Without a word, his brother threw a sweater at him.  Without a word, he put it on.  His father was angry at him, for wandering off in the cold leaving his mother alone.  
They all packed their bags, he drove home with his brother.  His mother and father in the car ahead.  Neither he nor his brother attempted conversation.  He turned on the radio.  His brother turned it off.  They drove the trip in the silence of mourning.  His brother could cry.  He couldn't. 
He stood in line and drank a lot of coffee, he got a lot of hugs from a lot of people he didn't know.  He stood beside the coffin and wanted to cry every time he saw the still man lying there.  But he couldn't. 
He sat in a church pew, surrounded by his family.  His Oma cried, his mother cried, his sister-in-law cried.  They were outside, surrounding a deep hole in the earth, everyone was standing close together to keep the wind out.  People cried.  He didn't.   
He returned to school midway through the week so that he wouldn't fall behind before exams.  He wished the world could stop when people died.  He wished he could still cry.
May He Rest In Peace. 

Stones

Now I see,
If I wear a mask,
I can fool the world,
but I cannot fool my heart.
Who is that [man] I see?
Staring straight,
Back at me.
When will my reflection show
Who I am inside?
There's a heart that must be free
to fly
That burns with a need to know
the reason why
Why must we all conceal
What we think
How we feel?
When will my reflection show
Who I am inside.

Mulan is quite the inspirational movie.  

I torment myself with one simple question. Why? I am like a two year old that way.  I try not to ask it to myself but I always want to know.  The past two days I have been asking myself, Why.  Why did I punch that mirror?  And, from what I can remember, it is the first time that I have actually been able to come up with a plausible answer.  Why did I punch the mirror?
In order to answer the question properly, I need to address a different problem first.  What was I doing staring into the mirror? What was I looking for?  Yesterday, when I was looking in my bathroom mirror, I was looking for emotion.  I wanted to see something in my eyes, my mouth, the way I presented myself.  All that I saw was a reflection, barely passing as me.  My face looked like it was carved out of stone, and no, not because of my chiseled features, but because the expression on my face wasn't really an expression at all, it was blank, it was lifeless and it was hard, like a stone.  

No emotion could penetrate the hard stone surface that has developed over my real face. No true emotion.  The one thing that I could do was smile.  It sort of made me sick when I found myself being able to fake different kinds of smiles, with just a quick flash of my teeth I could easily look any thing from innocent to even intimidating.  That face in the mirror, that was polar opposite to what I was feeling inside is what made me feel even more, angry and disgusted and useless.  None of those feelings broke through the mask I was wearing, my face returned to it blank state and I hated myself perfecting the art of removing visible emotion.  I hated what I saw so I punched the mirror.  I succumbed to my anger.  I hated myself.  

 

I Don't Advise Punching Mirrors

If you are ever have the feeling of sadness and anger and you can't help but position your fingers like you are strangling someones neck because you are so frustrated.  Punching things may seem like a good idea at the time.  It isn't really.  but if you must punch something. Don't punch the wall, the holes won't get fixed and your hand gets bruised.  Don't punch a mirror. They punch back. I punched a mirror this morning.  I was just looking into the mirror in my bathroom, staring blankly at my reflection.  I was looking for something, but I didn't know what.  It was something specific.  Suddenly I felt disgusted and powerless and all the other emotions listed at the beginning.  Before I knew it my arm was extending and my hand was balled in a fist.  I struck the mirror with a force harder than I thought was possible for myself.  My hand will be as scarred as my knee pretty soon.  The mirror shattered and the wooden backing splintered.  Punching things doesn't make me less angry,  it doesn't help relieve any of the overwhelming emotions,  It just gives you glass shards in your hand and another morning in the hospital. Will I think before I punch something the next time? We can hope, but I wouldn't count on it.

#72

The weird part is, I really am alone now.  But I don't want to fix that because it would seem like I am betraying them. 

It's weird when all of a sudden the three people you tell everything to are gone.  When I had known you, Joshua, for 12 years, since kindergarten we had been friends.  And you were pretty much like family because you were there with me through everything. I went to your house when I was younger and mom was sick.  Your family was like my other family.  And I see them every now and again.  They are doing well. They miss you still.  You know something cool? No one is allowed to be number 72 on the soccer team anymore.We retired your number.

It was hard for me to understand that all of a sudden, one day you weren't there.  There were times not even so long ago when I saw something funny and I thought of texting you.  And as soon as I thought of texting you, I couldn't even get the thought through my head properly, and I remembered and I felt like an idiot because, you've gone away to a paradise I can only dream of.  Even after a year its hard to understand and to comprehend that you are actually are gone. It's like they say in the movies, I still feel like every time the door opens that it's you coming over to ask if I want to go play basketball.  Its not really fair how you spend 12 years getting deeper and deeper into my life, knowing pretty much everything and then all of a sudden you are ripped out of it.  It hurt, have you ever had a sliver? Imagine a sliver that is 12 years old and 2,000 times as big.  It hurts to pull it out.  But unlike the sliver where the pain eases after the yank, this one stings for years.  That was a bad comparison.

It's not normal to wake up one morning and not have you come over to swim in the pool or to get a text from you telling me to get on Halo.  You and Evan stopped showing up to go to the basement and work out to get jacked and impress our women.  We built up this friendship and the part that bothers me is that it took time to build and it took seconds for it to tear down.  

And just look what I was left with, three piles of broken down bricks and nothing to rebuild.

I felt like I was in a ghost town without you guys.

I'm just assuming that you are taking care of her. 
so, thanks.