controlling chaos? not a chance.....

you can sit and contemplate life and its many events. you can think over actions and regret conversations. we have control over what we do and how we do it, but there is little else we can hold onto. we can gather our thoughts and sort them out, organize the chaos that wraps itself in our mind when we least expect it. we come up empty-handed, though, and that much more insane than before we ever tried to examine ourselves. it seems as though life wants you to do as little as possible, in terms of control, to truly let yourself be free. you become released from the constraints and contrivance of life and finally can see what has always been there. life hands you lemons, life hands you love, and life hands you ludicrous situations. i think we are all too eager to grab those things, keep them close, so as to feel complete, regardless of how sour or heartbreaking or unreal the events pan out. sometimes life just has an odd way of working, but sometimes, life has a wonderful way of working out, and we find it does when we possess little control of our surroundings. let go, breathe, and make your fucking lemonade, because life is going to hand you things, and you can control what you do and how you do it, but just know it isn't your fault if the lemonade doesn't end up pulp-free.

the abyss of being alone

in an attempt to cavort my thoughts, i try to put recent situations and emotions into a place where they can hide outside of my head. in this attempt, often times, i have a hard time letting go, and it becomes a battle between mind and emotion. in recent days, i've found myself not only searching for time to bring my thoughts to light, but i rarely have found enough lull time to even let my thoughts transpire in my mind, let alone forming them so they become languid enough for another orifice. anymore, i find solitude in being alone. whether it be on a walk, in the shower, or in my bed, i feel as though, when i finally sit down to let my emotions and thoughts come out of hiding from the reality of my world, i become stronger than i had previously given myself credit for. through this, too, i find that my sordid notions look miniature compared to the current hope that comes into play. this is not to say that being surrounded by anyone but myself is daunting or creates a negative aura for myself and feelings included, but when my world is spinning and i have a hard time just finding the right balance, it's nice to fight it out alone. the strength you feel from cleaning out the contents of your mind doesn't only become plausible, but it becomes physical. with such new found sturdiness, it's easier to let people in, and when you do that with the right people, the idea of being alone wants to hide with the rest of the darkened, dancing thoughts that negativity is so quick to hand over.

don't plan your losses...don't count them, either.

when you picture it or imagine it, it's never how it really is. oddly enough, in times like these, the rawness of your thoughts become, well, much more intense and planned out than the reality itself. it's not just sadness and tears. it's this emotion that builds in you, a fire that has been restarted by some poor boy scout who thought he knew what to do the first time when he prepped himself for the badge, but when the real time came, things just didn't go as….planned. there was a fault somewhere, an event or action that hiccuped, and before you know it your anger is taking over, your resentment is lit, and tears turn in to fears of losing everything simply at the news of losing…something.

eating your words for breakfast

it's quite rare when one finds a story or a novel that feels like a movie. not to say that the story or novel one holds so dear was created into a film to diminish what self-made images you had of the story, but rather, a story or novel that feels like a movie in that it becomes feel-good. there are movies in everyone's life that keeps them together at the seams when the rest of the world is playing seam-ripper. a novel has never done this for me. i have never sat down in a puddle of tears thinking that a book would improve the matter. i'm a reader, too, as much as a girl can be a reader. no, a book was never significant enough to bring me out of the, well, mean reds….until breakfast at tiffany's came along. mind you, there is a movie for this book but it hardly does it justice; if anything, it's drastically disappointing, leaving all of the spunk and spirit out that is full-blown in the written work. it's the kind of book that leaves you reveling in its dialogue. males master themselves after the narrator, perhaps, and all girls, well, you're putting on the red rouge before you can truly consider yourself a pseudo figure of ms. golightly. it becomes this small sub-life of your mind, this little resort away from the ordinary and even the scary. i feel as though it was not only a feel-good story that never needed a movie, but a new figment of my mind that i can use to feel renewed. in life, we all need a reminder that there is much more to our surroundings than we ever realize. we can never imagine that anyone belongs to us until they are no longer there, and we are always considered travelers because life is, abet cliched, a journey that doesn't stop until you do. just hope you don't stop before you've finished making your face and packed away the tiffany's. and never, no matter what, forget that there is always something in life to purposefully forget in order to stay a forever traveler.

fighting off the fakeness

i think there is something to be said for authenticity in life. so few have it and even fewer of us realize this fact. with a world spinning in every direction, with society trying to build the army of perfection, it's hard to see through the plasticity of everything into the authenticity of the lucky ones. at the end of the day, no one is the prettiest, no one is perfect, and no one is at the top. we're all swimming around, somewhere below the zenith of society, just hoping to make it out alive, considering the sharks are still swimming among us, albeit quite discretely. i am convinced i have been cursed through my high school habits of rah-rah and the constant surrounding of pretty faces. it doesn't take long, though, to realize that some faces are simply surface, and if you dug deeper, you'd be left with messy hands and nothing true to show for it. it's refreshing to know that there is more to be said for individuality in the long run. there is more to be said for ingenuity when all is said and done. perhaps it is not so easy to see this on a daily basis because our world is so warped with wicked webs; webs filled with photoshopped physiques and plastic pretties. it's easier to see the world on a level-playing field, where different people have different qualities to offer. it's just a small-known secret that those with originality rather than just looks tend to have a bit more pack in their punch, and i'd like to think i throw a mean left hook, if only in the figurative sense of surviving society.

finally came up for air

i've never been good at writing. i've been good at putting words together, trying to puzzle together my thoughts, but the result is often dark, daunting, and drenched in a rather pessimistic tone. until quite recently, i couldn't remember what it was like to not feel stressed. i was too busy holding every burden, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, that i was neglecting the things in my life that made me truly happy. i only turned to writing to nurse my negative wounds, but once the writing was complete, i was left feeling empty, far from fulfilled. until quite recently, i let almost anything and everything get in the way of me overcoming the elephant in the room, this idea that life was moving forward, and not only did i have to be okay with it, but i had to accept the inevitable that coincides with change. now, in the present state, i've finally found solace in what is entirely new to me. it doesn't scare me or stress me out, but rather, it gives me hope to create something worthwhile, something that will leave me fulfilled and not entirely empty, when all is said and done (and written). it's absurd to think i was such a mess over the stress that was caused by things completely out of my control. i was fighting to defeat the unforeseen, the impossible, and the uncontrollable. i was losing sleep over the smallest of events, and even situations that had nothing--absolutely nothing!--to do with my life. why? i still have no idea and i can only blame myself, and i'll live with that burden. it's not the same kind of burden that used to weigh me down, but rather, a friendly reminder that i can live life no longer feeling empty, but instead, quite fulfilled.

not the blank slate i had in mind

sometimes, you just feel....nothing. after all of the stress mounts and eventually falls away, after the anxiety of completing an arduous task (or two or three or four), sometimes you just feel nothing. if anything, you feel isolated, as if you could close your eyes and be surrounded by not a white, peaceful atmosphere that is used to relax the mind, but a black abyss, just waiting for you to fall into it, because you took the wrong step in finding your direction, because, again, you feel nothing, so why not go searching for, well, something? it's not negative, but it's not really uplifting, either. it's just neutral. it's a shrug in a bed of delirious thoughts, it's an awkward cough in the middle of a stalled conversation...it's just there, just...nothing. tears can suppress it, actions can help you avoid it, but nothing can hide you from feeling the worst sensation of all. we all want something, anything, especially now with the wind getting colder and the holidays just begging us to find someone to keep us warm. when you feel nothing, you can do nothing. you sit, you wait, and you hold your breath until something sparks your emotions back to life, and you just pray that it happens before your face turns blue from that breath you've been holding in, holding out for anything but nothing.