I have seen you through various stages of madness

Your love is an innocence
stripped of its right.
Battered and bruised
left living in fright.

Your love is an innocence
taken.
Red blood in snow
contrasting and forsaken.

Your love is an innocence
lost
thawing snow
left naked in the morning frost.

What have you done? Where can I go to make you see? Words seep out through my eyes- looks like teardrops on your cheeks, that rain. Sorry is a sorry word that can mean nothing. It leaves you empty. It never does its job. No words can amount to describe the regret I feel. I don't think you will ever understand my love.

I rise to meet you and I cry. I rise to meet you. I rise up O'Lord make me rise up to meet you, self. I touch you and I cry. I shy away and I am burned. Help me rise up O'Lord to meet you, self.
Youth I have lost you. Floating on a string of time, past. Accidentally reappearing in images created in my head. What I thought you were. What I would like to think you could have been. But Youth is gone, floating, tangibly out in space, gone.
And I cry O'Lord because you won't help me rise up to meet you, self. Because you gave me a chance in the form of another, a redemption, and I am constantly haunted by the image of him gone. You showed me goodness in the chance for me to be reborn, but I am not. I am the same with or without him, but he makes me want to be better. NOW do you see the difference? I could never grasp it before but now that I have wrote it I know it to be true.
And I cry O'Lord because I can't rise up to meet you, self. I look right at you and through you. Deep within you crawl. I crawl to you within to escape to mold out me within you who came up to the surface but for three years now submerged I within I you are. And I'm sorry. For no matter how many times I cry I can never rise up to meet you, self.
Because if I lose him I have cried a beautiful love, gone. And through the thorn the Celtic bird cries out its song of life. I will never love another like I have loved you. And I'm sorry because I always feel so small around you, so unworthy. Because I have been to the place to see just how worthless I really am. Because I know. And those that live when they wanted to die are faced with how worthless they are. And I am left to live with it, I punish myself every day just by being who I am. I can see your goodness and if I could take all your trouble away so you could never have to know it I would, because if time ever weighs down on you like it has on me I could never learn to forgive. Because I want you to never have to work or experience anymore of what you already have. There is not much life left for me to give because I starved it away, so I want to take all of your pain so you, an untouched goodness, can have that right to the pursuit of happiness.
Help me rise up O'Lord.
I give up if you are gone.

Consumption

This is not something that I like to talk about and I hate those that use outings such as these to do so but tonight was what I would like to call a bit of an "excess." Insecurities can lead to side affects of all kinds. But when the insecurity is a side affect of something else- something bigger- then what is it that I am to do? I hate talking about food, my struggle with "food" and my past bodily issues. I have yet to accept them for what they are because I know not what they are. What is it that I'm supposed to be accepting? There was what it was before and then there was what I was told it was, and what my young mind accepted. All of this is pointless rhetoric and the point that I am trying to get at is tonight. I do not live at home anymore and I do not know if it is because I am not in my safe zone that I feel these night time cravings but I get them. And I know that they are more for something to do. Because for so long the only way to please people for me was to eat and so eat I did. So I now recognize feeling better with eating. But I need acceptance- still. I need someone to eat with; to tell me its okay to eat and eat a lot. Tonight I got my wish when my friend "pigged" out with me. For her its normal, and it probably would have been for me too if my state of mind(s) were healthier. But for me it was a binge, and I get disgusted with myself because I know, I know I am above that. Binging and it's term was something made known to me after the fact that I was sick, after it was a disease and not just something innocent, after I was medicated, therapi(zed), and "cured." Even the term "anorexia" disgusts me because that is not what I am. I am not that term but forever more I will automatically associate and be associated with it. An unwanted shadow. It is frustrating to try to untangle myself out of a mess of thorns I myself did not create. I once told my mom that I have never been the same since and she agreed. And that's sad. I get moments of motivation- motivation prompted by sickness- to be better. To exercise and clean and look, feel, and be better. All in the ending goal of a better outward image that will in effect make my interior feel good. But I know that it will not, that in truth it is the other way around. But four years later I am still struggling with this. I shall never get it because sickness was implanted in my mind and I can not shake it. I would not take it back but I would do it over to wish that I could be in more control.

Echo

Haha how old this picture is. I honestly am unsettled (?) by my appearance. My hair is much shorter now and is only in the process of going even shorter.

I have noticed that there is a distinct notification when people "come into their own" (at least that is what I call it.) When they are no longer searching in their teen years for that right look, no longer swaying between what they know they are and what they want to be. They just woke up one day and all of a sudden are. Not doubted, not unsure, it is something so natural that you seem to think that it always should have been.

I wonder when my time will come. I wonder if I have already passed this transitional stage and have came into who I am and am left unsatisfied. I wonder if that is the same for everyone. I wonder some days if I am even the same face in a mirror, in a picture.

What words of what worlds?

You can always completely tell when a writer is fascinated with something because they write about it over and over, seemingly repeating the same thing, as if they are trying write whatever it is they are thinking out of them. It is such a frustrating process to be utterly hooked on an idea, a passing fascination that wont go away. For me I have an attraction to making thoughts tangible in my mind. Every idea or ideal has to become a tangible substance in my mind in order for it to be processed, to be picked apart and written in imagery. I need the image to create the imagery. I am fixated on time for example. I can not make time tangible. And because I can not make it tangible in my mind I cease to understand it and it allures me and alludes me at every fragment of its being. At one point during this process I was fixated on words. And the word, word. What are words? What levels of what meanings of words make them what they become? In my mind I would put a color to a word to try to make them more relatable but then I became fascinated with the colors and what they meant until the whole process became frustrating and head ache producing. It's all a frustrating circle. Is this a process of writing? What am I meant to get from such thoughts and fascinations? Will I finally work my way out of this and will the end product be one of beautiful use? Or am I just going insane? Silly, being fixated by the processes in her own mind, selfish and praising of what can be her downfall.

Balance act

What is it with moving? Is it the newness or the unknown element that makes me both excite and shy away at the thought? I move in a couple of days. Moving away to college. So final it all seems. Here lately I find myself always asking the question: what happens to those who wait? Who neither want to move forward into the "real world" and find themselves a reflection of an older person they do not like. But it is impossible in the schemes of time to stay where I am; neither a child nor an adult but struggling to keep the perfect balance. I feel cheated out of a childhood that I want back. I don't want to "grow up" become "educated" and be thrust out into a catapult of expectations that I don't know if I can meet. I can barely wrap my mind around the idea of what do I want to be? For you see its not just about want but meant, what am I meant to be. What do I feel is right. When asking oneself this question I can see all the things I could have been but now can never be and the things I could only hope for but am halted, struggled by the normalises of my own self. I have no idea what to do, except pack, for that is the only action I can take. I'd love to run away, far far away, where I am not known and start a new life. But I feel regrets would follow me in that decision no matter how much a part of my soul wants it.

Disappearance

Where have I been? Honestly I forgot I had this blog and not until a passing wave of curiosity did I decide to stumble back upon it. I laughed a little outloud when reading my past entries. How can I explain what has happened to me since January? In an innocent way I'd like to go back to that time just to re-experience what I was going through. But I have met somebody since then and my life has changed. He is beautiful in every sense of the word. His goodness is indescribable and I love him truly. There is something about a person like me where love is not a natural expression. He makes me want to be a better person; he makes me want to get better, to stay healthy. He makes me want forever.

As far as inward change all I can ask is: is that ever possible? I think a slight metamorphosis can happen but its a linked change that blends all past to all future selves. I am starting college in less in a week. Such imposing circumstances that are supposed to hold so much promise. Will I capture the moment and hold it for all that is mine? I know not and I doubt I ever will. I need a direction in my writing because I am so insecure as to where it stands.