Searching for answers through these pages of binary,
While my troubles become blurred with help of the winery.
But now my glass is empty and so are my hopes,
In moments like these I don’t know how anyone copes.
My loneliness is amplified with each stroke of the board.
The silence is deafening and can’t be ignored.
It all feels dramatic and I hate that about this.
I hide all the photos so I don’t reminisce.
Though my lips are sealed, my fingers are frantic;
Overthinking my actions and all the semantics.
So maybe it’s time I let these pixels rest,
Put a cork in it and hope for the best.
That’s not dust on the needle, this record is broken,
A repetitive loop of words already spoken.
St- st- stuck on the same old tune,
Echoing off the walls of this weathered tomb.
Carved in the rock are old lessons from friends,
Advice from the wiser in the hopes that I’ll mend.
Whitewashed with stubbornness, faded with age,
Clouded by the haze of my own silent rage.
Their logic seems sound when scrawled on the stone,
Yet the vinyl still clicks with that same whining tone.
The cave feels crowded with this incessant sound,
My mind gasping for air, begging not to be drowned.
I see a speck of sunlight guiding away from the echo,
Suffocating spaces pushing me to escape and just let go.
But my concrete feet fight frayed habits to stay,
Stuck in this cycle of my own groundhog day.
I can hear the birds chirping, counteracting my song,
A beat that’s been listed at number 1 for far too long.
I stumbled across this video this morning and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Over the past few…….forevers…. I’ve been serial self-depricator and over the past few months it’s been increasing the daily appointments it has in my life. I’ve been trying to work out why I do it and what started it but I always come up short. Despite the constant affirmations of people around me, those little insulting voices still like to host afternoon lunch parties, social breakfasts and midnight feasts in my brain.
So I’m trying to task myself with a new challenge as my previous attempts at shoving a sock in it have come up short. Instead of focusing on the whys because so far there has been nothing glowingly obvious in my past for me to punch in the face, I am going to work on how to tackle the problem at hand, put faces to my own demons and then staple their mouths shut, duct tape, superglue, whatever strong adhesive is to hand at the time and do it that way. I think, hope, that a new habit will eventually form and that mental “quit hitting yourself!” quiets down, I’ll develop a new way of approaching things.
I started last night by trying to write a list of what I thought my positive qualities were, and I have to say it was bloody difficult. I don’t want it to be difficult, so I’m going to keep doing it until I do like doing it! Not dissimilar to my approach of eating fish. I used to hate but slowly but surely, bite by bite, I became a lover of all that is finny and scaled.
And on that note, I also found this delightful but ridiculously cheesy challenge to sink my fork into…
How can I relax when my own mind lies to me?
Concocting a fiction that fuels this anxiety.
I know I shouldn’t panic, I should just stay calm,
But my brain still dances in the realms of self-harm.
A hummingbird heartbeat partnered with stilted breath,
Led by clustered emotions performing their own quick step.
My logic perches on a pedestal, just out of reach,
Staring down at me as I bumble through stuttered speech.
Trying to call out for some peace, call out for some help,
Wishing my lips could form the words my thoughts felt.
For now I’ll just sit, learning the rhythm, adding some rhyme,
Until this beat slows down and I can call my mind mine.
It was about six years ago when I became obsessed with volunteering, helping out with charities and doing things for good causes. It was at a time when I was getting angry that I couldn’t do anything to help my dad when he was going through cancer treatment, but instead of dwelling on it I decided to channel it into something positive. Not only did it make me feel better about using my energy for good but it kept my brain occupied when things got bad.
I used to occasionally do it when I could alongside my office job, which was both a good and bad thing because yes, I was helping people but it was also making me hate my job. I could see that all this stress and anguish I was feeling was for no other reason than to give the bigheads their statistics and projected earnings. I wouldn’t have minded getting stressed over something that was ultimately going to make a positive impact on someone but for that kind of nonsense? No.
Luckily, my Squishy Lamb could see how miserable I was becoming and told me to quit my job, go to University and study something that matters to me. It took a little while to me to get over the idea of being a ‘kept woman’ because I hate not being able to pay my own way, but at the same time I appreciated the sacrifice he was making for my dream.
So I did it, I quit my job and never looked back. Got accepted into University to do Childhood, Youth & Community Studies (a mouthful, I know) and I finally found what I was meant to be doing.
It was on this course that a guy came into to talk about the local YMCA centre for young people and that they were in desperate need of volunteers.
I signed up.
As soon as I got there I fell in love with it. I loved the people, the atmosphere and the work they were doing with these kids. Hearing their stories could be heart breaking but at the same time, but seeing their smiles and enthusiasm would be incredible.
Now my first year of university has ended and I have 5 months to kill until I go back, so I’ve had to decide what to do.
Option One: Get a job in a shop and learn nothing new but get paid.
Option Two: Volunteer full-time, helping people and absorbing all the free information and life experience I could get my eyes on.
No question really, I went with option two and it was in that decision I realised that if I’m willing to do this volunteer work, full-time, for free, I know I have found my perfect job in life.