Hate

Hate seems like a strong concept. Too strong of one to be taken lightly. A profound concept that is not given to us unless it is really and truly deserved. Not a word to just be thrown around. It requires appropriate understanding and energy to keep and develope it. I don’t think there is a single person on this planet that I dislike enough to say I “hate” them. Even the people who have fucked me up and gave me mental disorders and ruined my life. These people, I want to kill them and cut their faces off in anger and then hang them on the wall like a trophy collection in a dark room that only I know about, but I don’t “hate” them. At least, I don’t think I do. They say when you’re in love, you just know. If I truly hated them, wouldn’t I just know it?

They say love and hate come from the same place in the heart, and are sometimes confused for each other. Am I waiting for that one special person to hate with all my being? Will it be hate at first sight? Will I still want to cut their face off? What does it take to hate someone at all? I’m pretty sure I’m not confusing love with hate when it comes to E. Evidently being given some PTSD isn’t enough for me to hate, but perhaps, if it were a LOT of PTSD I would feel differently. How will I know when its hate? True hate?

When will I meet my Soul Hate?

Fighting the Current

Fighting the current is hard, but I don’t want to just let it take me away…I am stuck, just swimming for my life, swimming in place. I am making no progress and slowly just inching further backwards. 

I see others, they let the current take them, but when they decide to fight, its easy for them! They fly! Why am I stuck? I need to find to summon the willpower, but I don’t have the ability to do even that! Where do I find the means when all my focus it put into the fight?

Is the fight worth it? Everyone says yes, but I see no evidence of this. They all let the waters take them, how can they know? They think letting the current take you IS the fight; they do not know what fighting really is. They think I am fighting against something unnecessary, something that only exists for me, and if I just let go everything will become easy. Some of them fight for whatever lies upriver, but they don’t come back and tell those struggling how to do it. Is continuing the fight worth it? Is it better to let go? Or should I just get the fuck out of this river?

I know I am not making much sense.

To everyone else, I am fighting an invisible wall. I give myself these mental problems and this anxiety by choosing to overthink things and think things the wrong way. They give me advice on how to change that, but I don’t want to change that. This is what makes me me. No one understands the real me, no one accepts it, the real me is a freak who needs to be fixed. Their advice makes me angry. Of course an animal would resist being caged! How can they not see this?! If I said it, they would act like I am being ridiculous. Like I am being crazy to not accept this “wonderful” life I could have if I just give in to the current.

How many times has my father said I am acting crazy? How many times has mom said I’ll feel better once I start doing things properly? And CD? Always trying to control me, even in the tiny subtle ways that normal people don’t notice until it is too late. They think selling myself for tickets into this god-awful system will make everything bad and wrong disappear, because money cures everything, right?!  If I had money, the first thing I would do is fly the fuck away from here.

They mean well, but they’re blind. They want me to join in on their system, because they think it will help me. If I tell them they are wrong, I am crazy. If they loved me, they wouldn’t control me, they would understand and enable me!

Talking to E is helping me realize this. He is different. He understands. He is like a hand reaching out from the shore to help me out of the fucked up river, instead of these others telling me to just let it take me. He won’t try to fix me, he will enable me. If he is able to give me the strength to fight the current, then he will have saved my life.

Lifey Bits #5

Previous bits this a way

The woman sitting directly behind me on the train is speaking fast on the phone in another language. Very loudly, right into my ear, making it easy for me to eavesdrop and analyze her syllables and see if I can understand what she’s talking about. I think it might be French, but I am unsure. The language sounds like bubbles blipping out from her mouth, popping into the air. She laughs occasionally, obviously a laugh, but a laugh in her language.

Eventually she pauses and says “Allo?…Allo?” And she stops. A few minutes later the tinkle of a cellphone chimes and she says “Allo?” again. She laughs and continues her fast bubbly language. I hear her say the name ‘David’ but she says it like ‘Da-veed’.

I wish I could speak every language.

Sitting on the lower part of the train, where the seats sit in a line with their backs against the windows, I get to watch as a team of three police officers suddenly board the MAX. With my headphones in, the swiveled glancing of my train-mates leads my eyes to them. The one apparently leading the group has the word SHERIFF stitched largely on his back in gold letters. Why is the sheriff checking out the train and not Trimet security?

He pauses as he first enters the train and looks around slowly at everyone, looking at each person’s face closely. He has a super douchy grin on his face. The type of smug, proud-and-pleased-with-himself smile of the always-looking-down-on. He is enjoying all of the eyes looking back at him, or making an obvious attempt to not look at him. The world stirs at his presence, and he is aware of it. He basks in it like a solar panel; he feeds on the curious and vehement vibes radiating from the people before him. I think he is trying to look kind with his smile, that’s why he shows it so brightly, but he just looks like a proud jock in high school who beat up the nerd and got away with it.

He walks his way through the center of the train, still looking at peoples faces as he goes. Looking back and forth from wall to wall. Reminds me of scenes in old Westerns where the sheriff walks into a saloon and eyeballs everyone. He’s chewing gum obnoxiously. That seems a little unprofessional to me. I have a thought; maybe this is just a trio of thugs who stole those uniforms? When he gets to me and looks at my face, he sees my stare and crinkles a larger smile at me, then moves on. The other two following him have stern looks on their faces but are otherwise just doing their job, just looking. When they pass through the entire train, they leave, and take with them the heavy tension they created.

I try not to be a cop hater, but this guy seemed like a real douchebag.

Went to the fancy oil and vinegar store in the mall with Onyx. Can’t remember its name, sells cooking oil, and seasoning, and fancy-pants stuff to dip bread in. Holy shit, Onyx though.
Onyx: Also Aspergers. Way worse than I am, but manages to live life relatively normally. Has a job and everything! He gives shitty advice about it, but it’s funny. Doesn’t have any sense of himself and people around him except the people he cares about. Literally gives no shits. Laughs loudly. Curses loudly, and around children and old people. Talks about Disney Princesses unabashedly. Shared how he “banged” Sera, his Dragon Age romance, to an audience of quiet readers in Barnes & Noble. Asked advice about a My Little Pony PNP, as if I would know anything about that. It’s hilarious. I love it!
Embarrassing, being with Onyx, but it’s liberating. All I can do is giggle and follow meekly, smile apologetically at people who look at us weird. Tempted to shush him, but I don’t want to interrupt his great time. Shushing is a dick move. Don’t shush who people are meant to be! Don’t want to end this amazing gift of his. It helps me feel better about myself. I care too much about what people think. If he can be a total weirdo and not bat an eye, I should be able to too.
We pass vinegar store, he just walks straight in, without even telling me he’s going in there. Tells me to try the chocolate vinegar. The store is tiny, we are two of five “costumers”. The employees ask “you guys need any help?” Onyx just says, “Nah!” and goes on getting samples. I feel so self-conscious!! Who can resist dipping soft croutons in flavored oil?! Free samples, but how much can you get before taking advantage?! Obligated to buy something now, but I’m broke! The employee chick continues to inquiry us on what we are looking for…Onyx just says “Just showing her the chocolate because its AWESOME.”
Geeeeez, why couldn’t I have been born with his type of brain!

I went to GameStop strictly for the Lycanroc code. I asked the dude behind the counter, “can I have the Pokemon?” I like to say it like a silly little girl for some reason, using my feminine charm, or something. I do know which Pokemon I am getting, but being cute over Pokemon is cute.
He says, “Psh, no.” And looks me dead in the eye, but with a smirk.
Know its a joke, but layer of flirting? I panic! Brain ceases to function! I just stutter like an idiot, “Wha—whaa—why?”
He laughs and says just kidding, but gives a sidelong look as hes getting the little code card.
Social moment ruined. It keeps replaying in my head.
It’s only a block away…maybe if I show up more…
they say ditziness is cute anyway…

Next bit

Strange Muse

Feeling inspired to update here and to write some whimsical unedited free form crap about my feelings. I really need to remember to keep this going. May be crap, but helpful for mental soothing. Was also encouraged to post more online, even anonymously, even on dumb unread blog, ahah. Maybe its the lack of sleep. Inspiration truly is a fanatical mistress; knocking on the door when I am ill equipped to deal with her!

Maybe its because I stuck my head out from the cave, saw a glimpse of the sunshine, and remembered how pleasing it is. Cave still too cozy and safe to want to leave though.

I’ve been feeling like a rock for months. A boulder wedged into a cliff, stuck and about ready to fall and crack to pieces. Can’t leave the house, can’t talk to anyone, barely create. Just a crusty old unproductive rock. But I feel different today. I think a waterfall is coming to unwedge and push away in a blast of water. It’s terrifying. I’m not sure I’m ready for the dam to be broken! May also be false alarm.

How is it possible to fall in love with the black and white shapes of words? Just text? Not even a name or a face to it. This muse comes unexpectedly from an unexpected place, though a muse wouldn’t be as musical if it could be expected. In strange form too, not even physical. No name, no face, no body; just words. Like a ghost whispering through my head at night.

I think I am just under illusions created by my own stupid forlorn heart. Enchanted by a mind that isn’t like the others. I might as well be a puppy, latching onto and following after the first kind gesture after being kicked. Sad, desperate, little puppy. But any spark of life is good, right? So long as I don’t go running blindly after it?

The ghost whispers, desperately seeking help, but it doesn’t care to hear. Any sound pleases it, urges it on. This is bad. Definitely not a good sign. Helping the ghost feels good, too good, but after? It will only be bad when the ghost has moved on. Must remember to not become attached. But right now, basking in the music is nice.

It’s also very confusing. I don’t understand why I like it. Ghosts are cold, unfeeling to anything outside their own form. Yet…what is it, exactly? I am an overemotional, hopeless romantic, enchanted by what? What do cold, logical, unpassionate ghosts see in that? I don’t understand why the ghosts like me, or why I like them. Opposites attract? It has happened before. Drawn to whispers, only to be left behind with my own whispers disappearing in the dark. Can’t let it happen again.

I am happy to say that this rambling has been helpful. The egotisticalness of wanting to say my own words almost makes me cringe, but I suppose that’s the curse of a writer.

Lifey Tidbits #3

Previous bunch of tidbits here.

I changed the name of these posts because “Life Observations” is BORING and also, not all my observations were observations…more like…shenanigans…

2/3/15
Got kicked off the train at Gateway due to accident at 82nd “involving train and person”, according to Trimet.org. I contemplated on that, but had 30mins until class and needed to be downtown STAT! No time to contemplate the profoundness of life and death! Checked out the buses at Gateway, peering meekly at their destinations, but couldn’t tell which ones went through downtown. Then I saw a bus with “via City Center” on its face. Bus 19, have never taken it before. Dubious on what the “via” meant, but I assumed the obvious. Asked bus driver, just in case, “This goes through downtown, right?” He said “Yup yup,” while motioning me and others to hurry up and get on bus, not even checking our fare. I thought he might have just been saying “yup” to whatever I said to get me to move along, so I was still suspicious of the bus destination. I took a seat and kept vigilant for any bad turns by bus, hoping it didn’t squiggle its way downtown. Finally I saw the familiar tall buildings of downtown in the distance. Whew! Faith in humanity in good standing!…kinda. Was 5 minutes late for class. Couldn’t go pee beforehand so did potty dance in seat for 20 minutes while Prof. talked.

2/5/15
Pouring rain. Met with drawing classmates and Prof. in Art Building for “field trip” to art galleries. Is a field trip in college a field trip? Why is it called a “field” trip anyway? Are we going “out on the field” doing research? After standing awkwardly with classmates whom seemed overly attached to each other and not, for some reason, at all with me, the Prof. showed up.
Prof., “Why didn’t you guys bring your umbrellas?!”
Dude, “We’re Portlanders!”
Laughter.
Portland humor.
Older lady, fellow classmate, laughs and brandishes her umbrella like a sword, almost hitting me in the face.
Other Girl looks down at her umbrella sheepishly, ashamed at herself for being a bad Portlander.
I look down at the half-slippers I put on, too lazy to tie shoes this morning. They slip on like a slipper, but have the soles of a regular shoe…for taking out the garbage and checking your mail. I must be a true Portlander now, wearing slippers in the rain, and for that matter, even out of the house. I don’t even own an umbrella.
When we leave the building together, Other Girl with umbrella does the thrust-up-in-the-air method of opening an umbrella, and almost hits me in face.
Geez people.
Tempted to wear sign on my forehead saying “I EXIST.”

2/8/15
Upon passing by the common area of 9th floor Broadway, I see that a girl has made the area into her own personal painting studio. She has a tarp laid out on floor and newspaper on the table. Underneath the newspaper are her bottles of paint, splayed out paintbrushes, and Tupperware of water. The chairs are against the wall except for the cushioned ones that are bolted down. She has a tall easel set up on the tarp and stands before it, brushing blue paint on an already green and brown canvas that is as tall as a child. She is also singing to herself, in that soft high pitched voice way, like the girls in high school choir outside of class, that weird uniform way that is…not pleasing to the ears. As I walk by she hesitates in her singing and glances at me, but immediately starts up again and goes on painting. Perhaps she’d been hoping I was a cute boy who would be impressed by her free spirited artistness doing it all out-in-public-like.

2/8/15
Went into bathroom to prepare for a shower. Noticed a kitten sleeping on top of the towels in the cupboard. Too cute to disturb, found other towel. A moment after getting in the shower, a tiny kitten head pokes out from behind curtains, eyes wide and wondering. Her eyes are almost as big as her head. She jumps on the far edge of tub, watching where water hits the bottom of tub. So cute. I think, “what harm is there?” She soon slunk herself between the curtains toward the head of the shower, and watched the water more closely from the transparent inner curtain. I peeked at her from around the curtain, she looked up at me with her huge kitten eyes and said “meow”, sounding concerned. She is curious but also frightened. Eventually I made a grab for the soap, which she was huddled next to. This made her flip out and, literally, flip out of the shower. I said “aw, don’t go!” and heard a tiny “mew” in response. After awhile, I looked out of shower to check on her, worried she might be hiding or cowering near door. Instead, she was sitting and lethargically smacking a hairband on the bathroom rug. But she almost instantly noticed me watching and said “meow!” again, loudly, and bounced over, as if asking me a question. “In a minute!” I said, and finished my shower.

Kitten now has new experience in little kitten belt.

2/9/15
Rain rain rain.
Wind wind wind.
Wind blows rain
like powdered snow.
It’s only cold
because of the wind
on my wet hands and face.
Have to clutch my hood
so it won’t fly off.
At least,
I get to wear my ducky boots,
and matching yellow raincoat.
Music
distracts from piercing wind
and rain splashed glasses.
Dance at train stop
Mind over matter
That’s all that matters.
Cold is only cold if you think “its cold.”

Lady’s umbrella flies up backwards.
She attempts a fix, but
it only folds limply down its stem.
Umbrella’s are a useless invention
when wind is involved.

Accidentally wrote a poem.

—-

There’s a blue splatter of paint on the train wall directly in front of me. It’s shiny. Wet? How did this happen? Only in Portland does someone manage to splosh their blue paint on the inner wall of a city train. At least, I think it’s paint…it could be some other crazy chemical substance, or alien blood. Or alien loogie. Eeeeeh, it’s like, a foot way from my face, don’t think that shit.

Next bunch of tidbits

Lifey Tidbits #2

First bunch of tidbits here.

1/21/15

In the classroom where Poetry class is held, I arrive early. There are only four people in the room, including myself. I head to my normal seat, affixed by my Asperger’s need to sit in the exact same seat every day, but I see that the guy I sit next to is using my chair as an ottoman. I say “may I sit?” and notion at the chair. He removes his feet, but flings in hand in the air and rolls his eyes in the way that says “What you said is perfectly ridiculous.” Without my control, I snap at him, “Fine. I won’t then.” and sit in the next chair over. He said “It’s not my chair…!” in exasperation. I don’t say anything further, and go about arranging my things on the desk like normal, perfectly aware of the two other people in the room probably wondering what the heck just happened. Not sure why I snapped so suddenly. It’s not like me. Too much pet peeve. Makes me want to sock the person. Especially if they are female. It might also be because of the grieving process. I don’t know, I feel stupid but it felt good to stick up for myself even if it was over something so incredibly dumb.

1/26/15

There is a girl in Poetry class who shaves off and redraws on her eyebrows. I have never understood this fad, but this girl draws her eyebrows on in an angry angle every day that I see her. She looks like she is constantly disgruntled and perplexed about everything around her. Her eyebrows have her in a constant state of “Da fuck she just say?” She has perpetual bitch face. Why would she do this? Does she even realize she has constant bitch face? Would she appreciate being informed on it? Perhaps she thinks she is making herself beautiful and wonders why people don’t ever want to approach her…….

1/28/15

Dude I snapped at in poetry class still sits next to me. Like nothing ever happened. But now there is a weird tension in the air. Not aggressive or awkward…more like…competitiveness. It’s hard to articulate. It is like we are both waiting on each other’s next move, to counter strike or retaliate, or something like that. Today I doodled Mass Effect themed drawings into my notebook. Later I noticed he drew a picture of a thumb and finger making a cave holding a flag with a woman in rags and holding a spear standing within. He drew it with Micron pen. I doodled with my regular writing pen. It was obvious his drawing was a reaction to my doodling. All I can think is “what the heck?”

2/1/15

On walk home from train station, I saw a woman standing at the bus stop. She wore a pink baggy t-shirt and capri-sweats and no shoes. It’s February. Winter. Cold. She looked like she just got out of bed, literally, from sleeping to being at the bus stop in one move. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest in the same way Mom does it when she is cold, in a slightly hunched kind of way. This is my neighborhood.

2/2/15

Today, Poetry Rival was very antsy and cursing very outwardly about whatever was happening on his laptop. He tapped his keyboard violently. Tempted to be sassy and remind him that keyboard buttons are breakable. I ignored him though, but felt almost scared for my life. After his episode, and about 5 minutes later, I notice he is watching a YouTube video about Mass Effect…I was also wearing my Mass Effect hoodie. Is this intentional? It is like he is trying to show me things about his personality without actually talking to me. Am I just being paranoid? Maybe he has a crush on me now. First girl ever to counter his impoliteness and now he is in love. Oldest tale in the manga. I’m probably just being silly though.

More tidbits this way –>

Lifey Tidbits #1

Everywhere I go, I bring this green book with blank pages along with me and lately I have been writing in it entirely random encounters and observations I experience when going about my day. Some of them are kind of interesting, and since my writing lately has really taken off in a practice kind of way, I think it would be interesting to share them, to encourage me to do it more.

10/29/14

A bearded old man wearing huge blue sunglasses plays an acoustic guitar in the auditorium park blocks. It’s raining. He wears a short-sleeved shirt. He dances in circles as he plays fast simple chords in a chaotic melody. Perhaps that’s why he is managing to stay warm in the rain. Or perhaps he simply enjoys the feel of the rain hitting him as he spins around. He is just an old man doin’ what he loves, and being happy about it: playing the guitar while spinning in circles. Three children in different colored jackets and different ethnicities dance near him, using their different colored (closed) umbrellas like a Broadway show. The scene makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

11/3/14

A young man gets on the number 10 bus on my way to school, at the Reed stop. He has very stylish, wavy black hair and a torn denim jacket and black torn skinny jeans with a chain  connected from the wallet in his pocket to a belt loop. I can’t hear it, but he talks very sincerely to the bus driver and then turns around sullenly and gets off the bus. As he walks up the street, he flips his middle finger up backwards without looking back. Seeing the poor ragamuffin makes me want to throw $3 out the window for him. The bus driver is the same one who drives me to school every time I leave at 10:30. Everyday he barely looks at me as I get on the bus, barely acknowledging that his passengers are people, zonking out as he shoves his bus along. Although, if the ragamuffin wanted fair treatment, he might not want to dress in a street-punk-probably-steals-lunch-money-from-first-graders kind of way. Ah, moral dilemmas…

12/1/14

As I walk to Japanese class, I notice a girl with frizzy auburn hair stop and bend down in the middle of the street. When she comes back up, I see she is holding a kneaded eraser. She kneads it in her hand for a few seconds, still standing in the middle of the road, then smiles and stuffs the thing in her pocket as she continues on her way….Portland…

1/12/15

Zoned out and watching life from my seat on the train, I notice a boy with an art portfolio that looks like mine hurry his way up to the parking lot of the Division platform. He reaches the long set of stairs from the platform to the parking lot. The stairs are divided in two by a railing. As the boy takes a few steps up the stairs, he suddenly stops and stares at the woman ahead of him. She is fat and staring down at her mobile device, taking each step as slowly as possible. The boy analyzes the situation, then turns back, bolts quickly down, and runs up the other side of the stairs, taking two at a time. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. I am a bad person sometimes…

1/20/15

In poetry class. I notice, across the classroom, a fresh-out-of-high-school African-American girl sitting among a group of three old, white hair and wrinkles, Caucasian men. I assume they are discussing the poetry readings. The old men nodding and responding in agreement with what the girl says, and her vice versa. The scene is particularly nice. It shouldn’t be, but it is. Perhaps I have subconscious beliefs that all white old men are racist and all young people hate listening/talking to old people?

Next bunch of tidbits here.