We do for others because we don't know how to do for ourselves. We do for others because we feel it is the only way to make up for the damage we feel our craziness is doing to society. We do for others because it makes us feel good when nothing else in the whole world does, not even pills. We stay quiet and sit in the corner because others seem so much more needy. We require so little, you and I. A fact which does not sit well with others who would label us as too much to handle. When in truth, all those such as us really need is a bit of understanding, a bit of reciprocation, maybe a touch on the cheek once in a while and a sly wink. The rest of the world is needy. I'd rather be crazy. ~~Aimee

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Another Day Ended

Deep breaths. Slow to inhale. Allowing my lungs to expand until they almost burst. Then slowly releasing the air from its confinement. I listen to the  sound my breath makes as it enters and exits my body. Repetitive. Consistent. In. Out. If only people were that simple. If only I could understand what it is they want and give it to them. If only I knew what I was suppose to be/do/become. 

I hate asking for help. That's not really true. I hate NEEDING help. I hate the feeling that I cannot do something without HAVING  to ask someone to help me. At the moment, I need a lot of help. I hate asking. I hate needing. I hate that feeling of dependency. Of being dependent on another. Because people are undependable. People are not to be relied upon. They let you down. It's easier to do by myself for myself. Except now I'm too far in. I can't get out. I have to depend on others. I have to wait for them to let me down. 

I worry when I need to ask others for help. People have limits. They only help you when they get  something in return, but when you have nothing to give in return, then no one wants to help you. The minute you no longer benefit them you're forgotten. Tossed aside. Unwanted. Discarded. Replaceable. 

This is why I don't ask others for help. This is why I don't want to NEED help from others. Others disappoint you. I learned this from my mother. A woman I could not depend on to protect me when I needed protection. To support me when I needed encouragement. To hold my hand when I needed a friend. She  taught me people are unreliable. They break their word. They remember you when they want something and forget you when they don't. She taught me people cannot be trusted.  

What's funny though is that I've come so far in my life even though I have so little because of the lessons taught to me by my mother. When you have nothing, you do one of two things. Surrender or fight. I've been fighting for 34 years. I'm ready for the bell to ring. I'm ready to take a break from fighting. There has to be more. Something invisible. Hiding in the crevices. Just beyond my reach. There just has to be. I guess that is why I'm crazy because I believe in things I've never seen, never touched, never known. I believe they exist and I search for them. I throw away that which is in front of for that which may or may not actually be. 

I hate myself for the person I am becoming. A whiny, complaining, needy female. I hate those females. With a fervor that I cannot put into words. I don't want to be the person I see myself becoming. I fight hard against it but the harder I fight the more I become that which I fight against. I don't want to be needy. I don't want to be whiny. I don't want to be the person I am. But I don't know how to change the reflection in the mirror. Some days I wonder what lies beneath my skin. If I peeled it off, would I find that which I seek? Is that where the magical world between fight and surrender is? Beneath the layers of my skin. 

My fingers ache.  My bones ache. My eyes sore from the continuous overflow. My soul aches. A pain so deep that it rocks my core. An ache that I want to cut from my chest. To rip it out and stomp on it. To make it cease to exist. To scream at it. To unleash the wrath that is bottled inside of me upon it. To take vengeance for all the wrongs. To feel I deserving of vengeance. To understand the purpose of being here. 

What was the purpose of my creation? To be a toy for a father whose hands roamed in places no father's hands should have. To be forgotten by a mother whose only concern was getting fucked. To be broken by a husband who took pleasure in pain. To be tossed aside. Discarded when the new wore off. Understanding. Maybe that is what is hiding in the crevices. Deep within. Just beyond my reach. 

Understanding and purpose. Time to inhale.


Sapphire Dragonflies said...

You don't have to need me. I'm here anyway...

Haven said...

As long as you keep searching, you'll find what you're looking for and things you never expected but may turn out to surprise you in the best ways possible.

Aimee said...

The one huge, bright, shining thing you are overlooking is that you do have something to offer those people who want to help. You are not a charity case, as you think you are. Those who've let you down have not done so because YOU aren't good enough or deserving enough, they've let you down because THEY aren't good enough! We think we can do it on our own, this "life" thing. We can't. It's a farce. We think we're strong and independent, a lone warrior on this hardened stone. It's a farce. You need. I need. They need. That's the constant. The variable is what we give in return. And you give so much more than you realize. You ARE so much more than you realize. A soul that shines brighter across leagues of land and sea than any star ever will.


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