THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
"If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
So we spent all that hour and a half talking about monasticism. How- unwanted, but- appropriate. My mind speaks to itself in ways I wish I couldn't hear.
Signs from God?
I've never doubted them. Not ever.
And you can sit around and talk about Jesus pointing the way for you- getting help when you can't help yourself. I've always felt the same, but I swear it had a different name. I always believed in fate and I always believed in faith, and I know more than I believe that the things that stick with you are meant to stick.
Naive or lucky.
Maybe both. Probably more.
The humanity was always more interesting anyway.
I can't help wanting it more than just about fucking anything, though. Silence. Ten seconds inside my own head without it trying to override anything. I feel myself getting better with it, but I need to erase the outside influences. I guess talking about purpose still feels relevent to me. I want to leave all of this behind me. Do most girls cry about whether or not they believe in God at eleven years old? Education gave me one thing, family said and then meant two different.
Drama doesn't even exist in my atmosphere, because I learned better than that. I wish I could say the same for all of you.
I want to go somewhere else and wait for everyone else to catch up. I don't care if they're thinking the same thing. I don't care about statistics anymore and I don't care about what anyone- Anyone would suggest upon the matter. I know what I know, and that's finally enough.
And as for the lectures- Today- You sit us all down in the gym and play videos and show us pictures and say warnings- I couldn't help but wonder if I'd know any of the horror stories personally. They could keep making jokes, but I felt paralyzed. To joke about that? Maybe I'm damaged. I certainly have been feeling like it lately. Everything I do, it seems, gets reflected back upon what that all was to me, and I find it a little frightening. I know it because I saw it, and because the repercussions still bounce back in everything I do, even if I've just begun to see it. 'That kind of escapism is for weak people'. I just don't know if it is. And if it is, I don't know quite where exactly I fit into that mix, you know? I've never been able to say that I was any better. What they ingested, I internalized.
My best and worst influences, I suppose.
Good people, bad circumstances. I lost all my ability to judge because I truly believed in them. I can't listen to you talk about how weak they are or how stupid they are. I was one of them, or I felt like I was. I might not have made those decisions, but what difference does that make?
I can't keep catering to children.
I don't want people who like me or people who have taken care of me or think I'm funny or smart or want what's best for me. I don't want people who are brilliant or who like what I do or know exactly what I know. I want people who understand me. That will always be enough, and I still reach out for it. Speaking without the constant judgements- innocent as they may be, I know what your intentions are and I don't hold them against any of you- I just want to say something and never get it held against me. I slip into different voices for different people.
I'd like to try honesty, and I don't even know if I could do it with you. But I trust you, and I can't say that I've ever had that with anyone else. Not like this.
I never know.
But back to purpose. It's got me twisted in knots. Maybe it should.
I feel like I developed backwards, or spliced my mind and my heart somewhere along the way and can't get the two to function simultaneously anymore. And I'm not sorry and I don't think I'm in the wrong, either. It's like I crawled up inside myself and have only ever figured out my guts, and I'm only now remembering that I fit into some sort of outside picture. Can you understand yourself and your place at the same time? I don't even see how it's possible, but I'd live in solitude forever if you let me, I think.
I need it. I do. I need it and I want it. And it won't come. It won't because I know what life is, and maybe I always knew that my stupidity would catch up with me. I feel fucked over, and I don't like it.
I'm still not sorry.
I just figured out what excuses sound like apologies a long time ago.