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Wade Song

The Homeowner/Human

(Beta Design)

i want to die. i can’t say any more than that. it runs through my mind in every moment and nothing else can properly come out. fallen. heavy. it's like a steel sheet pressing down on the sea, angry and rising beneath forced to fit its container and you need so desperately to get out. it’s all building up and you know you need to deal with all that work but it's too much you sit and just can’t do it. think. there is only a desperate desire to die. miserable and frozen and you always knew you were right to fear the cold. ladies and gentlemen, to enjoy something is not synonymous with happiness. take a break, fix yourself but time keeps going with you obliged to be carried along. i need you. that all elusive you who would offer me support unwaveringly. you remember that day you thought you would throw yourself off that cliff. you stopped for them. where are they? i need you. please come for me. show me the way to your side. fuck this is bullshit. you hoped one day you could have it all. it’s bullshit. no one can have it all. i can’t take this pain. it’s everywhere and i can’t ask for help.

return to clarity, that concrete home. unobstructed and alive. you want to die but you are already dying.

everything in me is borrowed, living on a derivative lie 

it is all wrong, in one way or another. chasing. maintain. bang bang. come to mother. go go out. so you go. sing to the stars you must be kidding me because it is cold and you are alone. game set match. i thought i could win if i just followed this one prescribed path. there is no way out. tears that don’t fall and a bed you have not left for days you woke up crying in the middle of the day and you knew then you were broken, just as broken as you always were and you can’t fix yourself i wanted to fix myself i thought it would be fine, it’s always fine in the summer but now you look into the twilight and remember what it is to lose hope. because that is what it comes down to, you have lost hope in yourself you hate you hate you hate you hate and i cannot fix this. no more. no longer. energy energy no it is not there none of this is there and you cannot tell the difference between your thoughts and those borrowed and it’s all fake everything everything everything cry and die this is not right who the hell are you you go by different names, always saying you’ll change it when you can but you recognise the name you were given at birth you recognise it inside and wonder who would you be if that name had been different who would you be who would you be danielle rebekah no. no no no no no no no no no no this is not you. i do not know who you are. who am i. who am i? the tears finally begin to come but you just keep going ignore it ignore it you can’t change it that’s what you’ve been told but you must change. surely you can change. ah there it is, hope. the mad flurry stops to allow for this moment. all is not lost. rationally you know this is probably bullshit but it feels like reality to you and you no longer trust the reality of others. everyone lies after all. 

Daily Writing Prompts 2: Favorite Show

So when i was a kid, I would enjoy coming home to just sit down and watch the television. There wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t watch. I’d watch like watching mainly things about science, and documentaries, mainly because I’d get to see a bunch of pretty pictures and animations that I guess you can say were inspiring, and though I watched cartoons, I always found myself going back to National…

there comes a point where you feel like a nothing more than a belonging in your own house, treated like something else to be controlled and fixed to meet someone elses ideals. free will feels like a privilege allowed on special occasions rather than a basic human right. you must conform, express the same moral, religious, and political views. the alternative is being thrown out for “impertinence”. you can’t even look the way you want anymore, forced into a certain face. emotions are taken as personal insults, blame thrown around like a grenade so you stop talking, you sing instead, words directed at no one. blameless.

you remember being hit as a child for questioning an opinion, made to stand out in the snow on christmas morning for dressing in the wrong clothes, told even the way you worshiped God was wrong. you remember the first time they called you worthless. you were six years old, sitting on cold stone steps and trying not to shiver while they shouted. you were told you would never be as good as anyone else, would always be failure. you were both expected to be perfect and to be useless. if you cried you were just told you deserved it. you grew up thinking that this was what life was like, that you did deserve to be hated. you believed them, trusted them because they were all you knew.

you tell anyone but them how you feel, you are told you are disloyal, disrespectful because they have done so much for you, given up so much for you, because they deserve your respect and love. you are told they should be the first people you go to but you don’t trust them anymore. you grew up, got away for short periods of time and you saw it shouldn't have ever been like that. 

you find it physically impossible to talk about your own emotions these days though, brain seizing up at the prospect. only the first light of morning will loosen your tongue to friends as you try not to scream into their arms as they hold you. you write them instead, try to prevent the build up you know will cripple you. you don’t share them, hiding the notebooks and posts because you don’t want emotions discussed. your own emotions have become something ugly and rotting. the swollen membrane stretched over a pus-filled wound. double standards abound. 

you feel others emotions like your own shadow though, they permeate your mind more than your own ever do and you don’t know how to react to them. they are not your own but they tighten your throat or float through your heart as though they were. you don’t know when that began, noticing minute changes of mood but you don’t care anymore. you’re just tired of confusing everyone elses joy with your own misery because you darken it, ruin it and ruin others with it. 

you wish you weren’t so fucked in the head. wish you understood. wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish wish. wish upon a star my dear, wish upon a star. you have become meretricious, a lie even to your soul. does God even know who you are anymore? do You God? do You?

Dark things are reaching up my throat again, pulling down, surrounding my heart and dragging my gut. They’re almost gentle at first, a slow dance through my system, practically unnoticed in the everyday rhythm until I’m left as a collection gasping breaths and grasping fingers, hollow screaming hiding behind hair. I’m struggling to stay within my depth. One. Two. One Two. In. Out. In Out.

I’m told “don’t panic, you’ll be fine” yes. yes thankyou but i know i’ll be fucking fine. i know I will be. i know that tomorrow, next week, next year, i will be better but how is that helping now? i need to be fine now while i can still breathe, while i’m not so far gone that i cannot move from my bed from fear of collapse. and i know you’re trying to help, and in a way i appreciate that, but you’re not succeeding. why can’t you understand that? why can’t you understand that panicking is not a choice. anxiety is not a choice. i do not choose to spend my time lying on my back, rooted and chained by my own brain. i do not choose to be this way.

“well if i don’t understand, explain it to me” how can i explain to you when i don’t understand myself? i don’t understand why i feel like this. i’m confused, terrified by my own incompetence and incapability. i want to forget the sound of speech, i want to fill my empty ribcage with water, because at least then i wouldn't be able to feel the aching beat in my ears of a heart that is trying so, so hard to stop. how can i explain that i’m too scared to look up in class in case someone asks me if i’m okay and i break down, the sad clown confronted with it’s sadistic audience? i can’t explain an emotion that seems to change from one form to another, a torrent of noise one moment, a faded murmur another, hidden beneath a film of smoke.

there was a time when i was certain that the room around me wasn’t real, i was floating in a dead world, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, unable to tell the real from the imagined. the colours were too vivid, the movements too slow. i’ve been lying to myself for so long i’ve forgotten who i was before this. who am i? WHO AM I? everything is muffled these days, compressed and trembling and it feels real. too real, too painful. help me. please help me.

my friends tell me that i just need to choose to be happy but my happiness feels empty, fake and garish. it’s like the man who would take our photos at primary - “look at minnie mouse, doesn’t she look happy? smile like her! that’s it! say cheese! keep smiling!” grinning, grinning, grinning, grinning, grinning, grinning like the fucking cheshire cat but it doesn’t mean a fucking thing. if i’m going to be miserable, at least let me be honest about it.

and the worst thing is, i’ve been here before. i understand this time what’s happening and i don’t want to go there but it’s like struggling in quicksand. it’s irrevocable and anyway, i don’t have the energy to struggle.

there was never a moment when i realised i’d fallen from grace. life is never really like all that clichéd crap - there are no big speeches, no realisation and no fairy tale endings. there is always just constant displeasure, fear, uncertainty. my childhood wasn’t a “journey” it wasn’t funny or cute. it was characterized by an external atmosphere of control and grief, an unavoidable need to escape within. being a teenager was just one fucking thing after another, longing for childhood because the memories have drifted together until i can delude myself and because i’m mad, because i’m fucking insane, it’s become almost romantic, a type of nostalgia that I can’t run away from. i’m overflowing, shaking in the moonlight, nursing all the old hurts through reliving the new ones. a dark deja vu. i’m still scared. scared of being controlled, of not having a way out, of not being able to make my own choices. i’m like a cornered animal only this time i’ve cornered myself. 

mum tells me that my talent is making something out of nothing. maybe that’s true but i can’t help but feel like that nothing is my worst nightmare, and i want to run, run run until my already failing lungs explode and the avalanche crashes into me, and i am swallowed. i cannot explain the creeping dread glimpsed from the corner of my eye, the tears knotting somewhere down in my stomach, and the aching in my temples that never fucking stops. 

It’s always been this way. For as long as I can remember, I’ll upset people. I hurt people just with a word, a lack of words, just by being near them. Sometimes I won’t be sure if I've even done something wrong, but surely, even if I hadn't, but someone is hurt, then, by default, I am in the wrong? I never mean to do things wrong but that’s irrelevant because the results are always the same. Someone is hurt and I don’t know how to fix it.

I’m stupid, in every way possible and I don’t know how to change. If I could, I wouldn't exist. I wouldn't touch people’s lives and everyone would be happier for it. My parents would just have their perfect son to be proud of, without me tacked onto the end, a black mark in the family who can’t do anything except make people angry. “Why are you such a bitch Dani? Your brother wasn't like this, your cousins weren't like this. Why is it always you?” I spent my childhood breaking my mother’s heart and now I am only a burden, ruining her life even more day by day. My friends wouldn't have to put up with me, could get on with their own lives instead of being under the obligation to spend time with me. I’m not worth their time, their effort. How could I be? How could I ever be cared about? No one ever cares about anything unless they can get something back and I’m so useless I can’t even do that. Even though I try to help others without expecting anything, I’m mad. I don’t count.

 I never mean to hurt anyone. I promise that. I try so bloody hard to make people happy, to look after them and show them that I care about them. In the end all I manage to do is look needy and pathetic. I suppose that’s what I am. I don’t understand so much about the world. I’m like an animal, scrambling on the floor, desperately waiting for scraps and making a nuisance of myself. I live by fucking imitation, a naive child acting like it’s so grown up, copying actions and emotions and pretending that I feel them. I feel duty. I feel compassion. I feel hatred. Do you understand how much I hate myself? Do you understand how it feels to to not feel alive, and simultaneously wish that you weren't alive? It’s like floating, a tidal wave of thoughts in my head but externally I carry on, like a machine. Maybe that’s all I am, defective and broken. I just want the thoughts to stop, want everything to stop because what is the point of living if you can’t do anything to improve the lives of those around you. I’m fucking worthless and for years I tried to delude myself otherwise. I tried to pretend that everyone else sees only the good in people too. I tried to pretend that I’m good, that I have good points and I pretended for so long that, for a while, I believed myself. But I’m not trustworthy and all lies are revealed eventually. 

I've never been very efficient at expressing my emotions. I don’t like talking about them as a general rule, often because I find it difficult to even process them, and even when I do understand them, I don’t feel the need to let others know. If I’m happy, then great, good for me. But why the hell would anyone care? If I’m expressing sadness, it’s like I’m fishing for pity but really that’s the last thing I want. 

If I’m expressing an emotion, it’s because I just need to prevent it from overwhelming me. Much as I hate it when I am, I prefer being neutral to being passionate. At least neutrality doesn't need to be questioned or validated. There’s nothing to validate. 

My counselor used to tell me to take possession of my emotions. Talk about it as something purely mine. I used to write about my feelings in 2nd person. I still do sometimes. I prefer to detach myself because if you take possession of something, it becomes inescapable, a part of who you are. Why chose to take possession of something so ugly and disgusting as the kind of emotions I feel? I’m very conscious that people feel uncomfortable when confronted with negative emotions and it’s easier to explain emotions as a hypothetical idea in second person rather than a reality in first - people can disregard an idea without guilt but the moment that hypothesis becomes an emotion... not so much.