Maybe “finding yourself” is part of the process as well.

April 11, 2009

04/10/09

You’re so brilliant, don’t soon forget. You’re so brilliant, grace marked your heart. — Anberlin “The Unwinding Cable Car”

These words stain me in the best possible way. Though if anyone were to ever say them to me, they would sound fake. Untrue and dishonest. Cheesy, even. These words are not meant to be repeated, for the purpose would dull. I’m just a dreamer. It seems vivid fantasies dance through my head. Words etch themselves across my skull. I create plots and scenes for movies or books I will never write. I am impatient and I have no idea what to do with these ideas. I dream I’ll become a guitarist. Sometimes I even write out interviews I’d have with people in my head. Things I would say onstage. Music racks through my brain and occasionally they will escape my lips in the form of a hum. I live in my head and in the best moments of the past. After each concert I try hard to remember each feeling and moment I witnessed or felt. And I don’t think I’ll ever officially realize the past is over. I close my eyes and become lost in thought.

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Just a dream, right?

February 12, 2009

02/12/09

Last night I had a dream. You see, I don’t really like dreams. Mine usually seem to be connected to inner fear or just something stupid that scares me while I’m asleep, though when I think about it later it seems idiotic. It wasn’t terribly frightening, though it was strange. It had something to do with a couple topics I’ve had on my mind a lot recently. Cutting and To Write Love On Her Arms. (In fact I’m wearing my one of my TWLOHA tees right now.)

In this dream I was in some hospital/psychiatric ward. The setup was similar to parts of my house, yet like a hospital at the same time. It was vacant. I wandered the halls with a few of my family members (I only remember my mother and Eleanor), yet I kept ending up in the same place.  As if I was going in circles. So while wandering these empty halls alone, they seemed dirty or abandoned. Finally I came across a bed, in which was my former house guest, Abby. I was scared I didn’t know what to say or do, I didn’t want to go pleading sorry. I ran back in circles, trying to think things over. Finally, I entered a bathroom. In that bathroom I found a razor blade. No, not a three bladed razor you would use to shave your legs. I razor blade. I began to cut little slits in my hand, the one I remember most was on my thumb. I hesitated a moment and went on. They were not very deep, but enough to sting. Blood didn’t ooze, but I saw blood. — My hands are shaking while I type this post.– I was tempted to go for my wrist, but I didn’t slice through the skin, only because I had a fear of “bleeding it out”. All through school the thought of cutting racked through my brain, and I was scared.