Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Three Little Pigs

My mother used to read me the story of the Three Little Pigs when I was a kid. It was one of my favourite stories. I remembered every sentence and would do the whole huff and puff bit every single time it came. I am told I was extremely amusing when I did it.

I was thinking about the story today. About the last pig's brick house and how the wolf huffed and puffed with all his might but he couldn't blow the house down.

I feel like this year, I have been that wolf. Not in the "I want the pig because pigs equal bacon" way. But in the way that I feel like I have had a brick house inside me. Full of negativity and hurt and anger and jealousy and just a lot of darkness. And I have been huffing and puffing against this physical heaviness and have constantly been failing. The load seems a little lighter sometimes, and it feels like maybe I'm just a little closer to destroying it, and I do a little happy Chandler dance, but then the weight returns, just like before.

It's gotten more and more difficult to keep huffing and puffing. And it's not like anyone can help me with it either. The wolf never did have help. The house gets bigger every day and heavier and just that much more painful. I feel like letting it crush me, because it would be so much easier. I wouldn't have to huff and puff anymore. At least I wouldn't be constantly breathless and tired and sad.

I don't even know why I keep going, to be honest. Huff and puff and huff some more.

Remember how the story of Three Little Pigs ended? The wolf dies a horrible painful death.

I sure hope that's not how my story ends.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Rein it in

Rein it in.

Dial it back.

Tone it down.

The world needs none of your effervescence, ebullience, enthusiasm.

It's the age of 140-character expressions, single-sentence status updates, check-ins, emoticons, grammatically incorrect text messages.

Practise your serious face in front of the mirror every day. Indifference is a good look to aim for.

Try an ironic smile. It's all the rage now. Oh and make sure, no teeth. Smiles which light up your eyes will make you look deranged, so must be avoided at all costs.

Keep your emotions in check. No one appreciates your excitement. It isn't fashionable.

Do not rage and rant. It makes you look ugly. And it makes you look like you care enough for something for it to let it affect you. Caring is unnecessary. And tantrums are unflattering.

Do not cry or show sadness to anyone. Use your pillow, the shower. Any sign of vulnerability is an immediate turn off. It shows a lack of depth of character and an inability to show constraint. No one has time for your drama. No one gives a tiny rat's arse.

Effusive declarations of love will serve for immediate and harsh judgement. Expressing desire, passion, love or even fondness is stupid and childish and will be treated as such. It immediately scares people away.

Hide your emotions. Anything that appears human will be treated as weak. Lock it in. Fold all of it in on itself over and over and over again till it becomes a tiny little rolled up ball of emotion which you can swallow and digest. Locking them up into chests in the dark corners of your brain should also help. Apathy is the aim. Self-preservation is the name of the game.

Tone it down.

Dial it back.

Rein it in.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Flashes

Some things just sneak up on you. Taking you completely unaware. You could be merrily traipsing through life with not a care in the world. Till kablamo!

A memory you thought you had forgotten trips you up. Or you learn something ugly about someone you thought you knew. Or there is some new horror that your mind has decided to unleash on you.

Flashes.

Momentary. Yet enough to leave you breathless and powerless.

Like a giant sucker-punch that life deals you. Right between the eyes. Leaving you with a broken and bloody nose, tears streaming down your face, completely disoriented. And all you can do is curl up into a ball, waiting for the blood and tears to dry and for the image to dissipate, so that you can go back to living.

Just one flash.

That's all it takes for everything to go to hell.

One memory, one word, one look, one moment.

Life is pretty unfair that way. Especially the sheer simplicity of it.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Be who you are

Be who you are. And do not apologise for it.
Accept who you are. And do not apologise for it.
They say it like it's the easiest thing.
Repeat it like a mantra.
Be who you are. Who you are.

What if I know who I am is all wrong.
Not because they say it is.
Because I think it is, believe it is.
Because I know better.

I know the darkness, the light.
The ugly. I see the warts, the scars.
I feel the broken bones badly mended. That creak when I move. The wounds that are still bleeding and raw.
The filth and the disease inside.
Ugly.

What if I am the reason my relationships fit so badly.
I do too much, expect too little.
What if I am the reason we fight, the reason we unravel.
And I keep picking at the loose threads, making it worse.

We condemn the murderers, the thieves, the rapists.
We say they should not exist.
That they should atone, apologise, change, even die.
When maybe that is who they are.

We pass judgement
From pedestals built on hypocrisy and preconception
From our thrones of shit polished to look like gold
And in the same breath we say
Be who you are. And don't apologise for it.
Be who you are.

What if I am the thief, stealing moments that aren't mine
The liar, living under multiple masks, making appropriate conversation, saying everything right, face on, face off.
The murderer, killing a future that could be
The rapist, looting and plundering the soul of another in search of my own missing pieces.

When the mirror shows me wrong
When the principles I supposedly should stand by are ruining what I hold most dear
When this intelligence I pride myself on is eating me up from the inside
When my anxiety repeats to me how I deserve nothing, no one
When I lie down in the mud so everyone can walk over me
When I give and give while the world continues to take.

That is who I am.

Stuffing pouring out of my insides
A typhoon wreaking havoc in my brain
Words leaking out of my fingers
Bleeding ink and broken dreams
The spectres of my could-have-beens, should-have-beens, will-never-be my permanent companions.

That is who am.

How do I not apologise for it.