“I can’t stop shaking, and I can’t change. I’m setting myself up with every chance at success, knowing full well I’m going to fuck it up.”

I’m not doing anything that should warrant such an extremely negative reaction from myself. I’m eating a sandwich while I finish up some work, but that last bite…it’s hard to explain, but that bite made me feel so hollow, that it was all I could do to keep myself from crying. I took that bite, and immediately dropped the sandwich and just started shaking. I couldn’t chew, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t do a damn thing. I felt so small, yet so bloated. I wanted to disappear, but wanted someone to notice me, to tell me I’d be okay. I wanted somebody to remind me that eating a sandwich is a normal thing, and it shouldn’t cause a mental breakdown. But everything causes a mental breakdown now…I haven’t gone a single day without breaking…and I’m tired…

My body is tired. My back is screaming at me to get up and do something, even if that something is jumping off a bridge. My hands and face and mouth are all dried up, unsightly, scaly things. I’m sure my reflection is haunting, or at least a consistent visitor to every sort of nightmare the human mind can concoct, but I wouldn’t know for sure, because I avoid mirrors and glass windows and still bodies of water, knowing that if I saw whatever it is I have become, I’d do anything I could to destroy that monster…I’m so tired of being the monster…for once, I wish I could just be the hero.

I’d valiantly strike any mirror with my fist and enjoy watching a kaleidoscope of my own blood run across the now serrated surface.

I’d bravely shatter any glass windows, gathering the broken pieces into a nice, sharp pile, and roll around in that bed of crystal needles in a stupid, childish attempt to cut my way through this terribly uncomfortable skin.

And I’d heroically smother any image presented by a calm waters surface, forcing it under in a wave of self-righteous rage, inflated fear, and layer upon layer of bravado to mask my doubts…I’d drowned anything shown in that waters reflection, even if it means spending the rest of my forever at the bottom of an empty Sea.

I’m not doing anything that should warrant how much I hate myself, but I’ve come to view my very existence as a crime, a blight on society. I am a monster, and the only acceptable kind of monster is a dead monster. I don’t want to be a monster, and I wish I could know what it’s like to be the hero, so really I’m just killing two birds with one stone, but in this case, those birds are just me and my reflection. I just have to take that stone, grind out a nice, sharp edge, slide that makeshift dagger across my throat, and watch as that monster in the mirror gets exactly what it deserves…and I can go out with a smile in my heart, knowing I finally did something good for the world; I finally became a hero…

Your back in Ohio, and I’m backed into another corner.

Will things really be okay, because it feels like we’re breaking

And just leaving things alone means physics will take hold;

An object in motion will stay in motion, so doing nothing is something;

It means accepting that falling apart is as normal for us as breathing.

 

But I’m not feeling comfortable in this Colorado air,

Open spaces just leave us with more places to scream without an audience

And all of this snow is wasted on unbalanced folk such as we;

I’m not a special snowflake and you can’t stand the shakes.

 

We could move back to Ohio, rediscover the cities we hate

Perhaps all of the street signs have been replaced

And everyone has up and moved, so nothing is the same

Well, if we came back, new names and neighbors wouldn’t mean a thing.

 

So where do we go from here, our starting line a broken heart?

I think conventional wisdom would be to break this off,

Empty our minds of the good times and focus solely on the terrible,

Rip that Band-Aid off and move right into the rebound.

 

Surely forgetting we were ever a thing would be sad,

But if we are sad now, does it matter if we cut a bit more?

It all ends, so end it as it began;

Burning ourselves dry, leaving nothing, leaving nothing.

 

And so you left me nothing, and I left myself nothing.

And so I am nothing, because you were my everything.

And so you are in Ohio, and I am nowhere at all.

And so you have forgotten, and I am forgetting how to breathe.

“It was her chaos that made her beautiful.” – atticus

Her chaos defined nothing, because that is what chaos means. Her beauty wasn’t bound to the idea that she ran through life as a wildfire or some gulf hurricane. What made her beautiful was the light she could give to herself that seemed bright enough to bring others out of darkness. Her storms were wonderous to observe, but it was the sunshine after that created the chance for love.

Why are people obsessed with the idea of loving something we cannot define? Is it because we lack the right words to capture what it is that captivates our hearts and minds so thoroughly? Chaos…that’s a terrible word to describe anything. It’s a word to describe a high-speed car crash, or the feeling a soldier experiences on an active battlefield. Chaos is laziness, because everything that doesn’t fit into a person’s set idea of “the plan” would be chaos, and since people are terrible at planning, everything always seems to fall apart, at least a tiny bit.

Her chaos is her unraveling, and that is so fundamentally different from her showing herself to you. It’s not beautiful to fall apart. There is nothing pretty about crying into the arms of your friends at 2AM after you tried to say goodbye. There is nothing captivating about being so angry your skin flares red like a firecracker, with a voice to match. It’s raw, and real, and it’s all of us on our worst days, and it’s on those days we all wish for love, for someone to just hug as and not let go first. It’s our chaos, and we shouldn’t hide it from the world, and we especially shouldn’t hide it from ourselves, but to say that is what makes us beautiful?

I want to be beautiful because I take my nephews to go see the new Star Wars like a good uncle, and we pig out on candy and soda and we laugh the entire car-ride to the theater and back.

I want to be beautiful for the project I helped my co-workers finish 1 week early, where my skills on Excel were put to the test and I came out on top, and I was praised and proud of myself for not only getting the work done, but because I know I was useful and I haven’t felt useful in so Goddamn long it almost made me cry.

I want to be beautiful for taking the time to let that car merge into my lane to get around that small fender bender during rush hour. I am always the car that lets people over, because I’m never in a rush to get anywhere, and people always wave and smile and it makes me think that I’m doing something right, even if it’s small and nobody will remember it.

I want to be beautiful for keeping calm on the phone when the bank messed up my credit card (which was a real problem, but I understood that it had nothing to do with the person on the phone and they were so relieved when I expressed this that they thanked me because they had already had a very terrible day and I’m happy I managed to give them a tiny bit of relief).

And she wants to be beautiful for all those moments, every single one, not just the messy ones. She needs someone to be there for the chaos, so be there, but don’t think that chaos is her beauty. That implies when she finds a way to quell that chaos she will have lost a vital part of herself, when in reality she will have just learned how to tame some wild beast, and that is to be applauded.

“It was her chaos that made her beautiful.”

No.

It was HER that makes her beautiful.