Anonymous asked: you. blog. sucks. and is really stupid. go do do something useful with your time. You have no fucking answers for me and there is no way that ive got any fucking questions i want to ask you because you are a fucking joke. Go die. now, please. thank you!
Do you feel better now? Im really glad you got that off your chest, because I’m just dying to make you happy
I’m listening to this song now, and it reminds me of how I used to cry every time I heard it. It still does. I am sitting here alone weeping into my bathrobe. I never used to understand why though; why this song would always bring me tears. My mother used to cry everytime she heard it, and she would grab me in her arms and slowly and gently we would rock together in silence, tears rolling down her cheeks into my hair, and I wouldn’t be able to help myself either. It was one of the few times I have ever seen my mother vulnerable. It is one of the few moments I had ever shared with my mother that I can look back on without feeling hurt, angry, broken, abandoned. One of the few moments without feeling. I guess to my mother this song represented everything she ever left behind by having my brother and I. I know she wasn’t crying for me. That I had always known.
I don’t know what she left behind, what she was missing, and I don’t know why I cried with her, but I think maybe in those few lost moments I learnt something. Maybe not about her, maybe not about myself, but I did learn that everyone has their own scars. Sometimes you can tell what a person is going through, how they are coping, what they need, but in other cases, like my mother, for example, you will never know. However the pain is always there.
I am older now, and I have my own pain. I have never been able to hide my emotions though. I can never stop myself from crying, in any situation. I used to think this was my weakness. That I was weak, and that it meant I cannot handle heartache; that I was going to suffer from my suffering. Now I know; I have just been dealing with my pain the only way I knew that wasn’t my mothers. I have been living my life with the motivation of not becoming her. I can’t say I have had control of everything. I still am fearful everytime I look in the mirror and see her staring back at me. I shake in shock if I ever find myself screaming. In these ways I will never be able to shake my mother from my life, she will always be there.
There will always be one time though, when I won’t be so afraid. I will hear those words and I will remember. I will remember that you are just a person, that you too were hurting, and you too were afraid. You cannot hurt me anymore, and maybe this time when I do remember, the thought of you won’t be so painful to me. For the first time in my life maybe I will be able to think about you, not with anger and resentment, but with a small dose of compassion.
You know your perception of men has changed when you stop dreaming about sex and start dreaming about vibrators.
So I replied with this…
Came home to this….
I give you everything, and you stab me anyway
I was always good to you. When I treat you wrong, when I turn my back on you, you can run out that door, but while I am good to you, you’ve got to stay.
(Source: twelveoddmonths, via scaly-panties)
I hang onto your words is if they are all that will save me, but your words are what bring me down, choking me for my last breath. I believe the mouth of The Joker, I am bedazzled by his jest, intoxicated by his charm. His dance hypnotizes me, and I am struck, paralyzed, following every twirl, every gesture only with my eyes, trusting his story, until the act is over and I know. I have just been played for a fool.
My mind is my punishment, for all my reckless frolicking. For all the dancing, the rubbing, the laughter, the drugs, the screaming fucking pleasure, my intellect is my curse. Words spinning, spiralling down, drilling a hole into my core. Each one touches me, softly at first, and then with a whip they pierce me, weaken me. The words are trying to force me. Rethink, re-evaluate, recomplicate. You don’t know, I say to them. You don’t know! And everywhere I look I see the rat. Watch out for the rat. But he is nowhere, and I am diverging from the path. The words, they are clawing inside of me, I need to take them out. I dream of grabbing hold of my skin and tearing it open, buttons popping off like it is just a shirt. Fly my pretties, fly! There must be a more sane way. There must be sanity. I write. The words are nothing on paper. They are not the whips, the stabs, the claws, and my mind still rocks, tumbling around the room, never still. Never still. The desirous devilry I revel in tortures me, curses me, and I shake. I am finding pain in my pleasure and I wish I could stop the words. They are not needed here, not now. They cannot cure me of my obsessions. You don’t know, I say to them. You don’t fucking know!
