Floating

A few weeks ago, I went with two friends to go skinny dipping. One of them, I admittedly had a crush on. The other one is, of course, her boyfriend and one of my best friends. Because stories always have to happen like that. As a bit hung up on that as I am, this post will not be about that. Instead, it will be about that night.

The girl had invited me along with her boyfriend/my friend to go out skinny dipping. It was around 1030pm and it had been a warm day. She invited me along to cool off at a secluded, secret spot she knew how to sneak to. Admittedly, I was a bit paranoid (as I am about many things) and so I packed just about everything I could need. Food, water, a swiss army knife, an extra pocket knife, two changes of clothes, extra cash outside of my wallet, hidden spare key, emergency phone all just in case this was some kind of plan to hurt me or otherwise.

Fortunately, my paranoia is never correct and when I got to the meeting spot, we quickly changed clothes and I was led to a spot to swim. We went down a street, under a bridge, through some reeds until we were at open water. Now the guy and I, we were both terrified of the conditions we found ourselves in. I'm terrified of swimming in lakes. It really bugs me for some reason. Never did as a kid, but it does now as an adult. The guy on the other hand was just scared of aquatic creatures. The girl wasn't really scared of either thing outside of normal, 'Oh no what was that unknown thing in the dark that's slimy and touched my leg!'. Regardless, we all were there and there was no backing out.

It's odd to think about such a seemingly mundane thing as something to triumph over. Having a fear that most people wouldn't even consider under normal circumstances as anything to even be concerned about is only made stranger by the fact that it's something I then have to confront in the strangest of moments. Yet, there I was, with a girl I was crushing on and one of  my best friends, as we splashed each other with the cool water on that warm night and swam around, immersed in the inky, dark lake.

Despite the oddity of being with friends, a one sided crush, and trying to relax in something that was utterly terrifying, I found a moment of peace. Laying back in the waters and staring up at the clear sky filled me with that feeling of serenity that eludes. Stars twinkling above, while my body floated weightless on the water, I was truly relaxed. The tension drained from my body and made room for the galaxy like it was about to collapse upon me.

It was such a beautiful tranquility.

...


Getting out of the water, I realized I stepped with a renewed vigor from not only the glimpse of peace that had fallen down on me, but I felt young again. Like a teenager. It had been a long while since I had to sneak and do something so juvenile. Most of my sneaking and hiding now has to do with hiding a facade, as I'm sure most people do. Putting on a mask to hide things to protect oneself from the knives of social stigma or to deceive those close to hide one's own knives being stabbed in their backs, it was nice to finally do something that was hidden just for the pure enjoyment of it.

It brought a feeling I didn't realize I had lost, but now that it's been recalled, I wish I could have it again.

Intimate Moments

Song of the night: Steelix - Lay it Down

I got into a talk with someone a few years my junior because they seemed to have a misguided idea about what romance is. For that matter, perhaps I even do, but I remember having very similar thoughts to them when I was their age. The flowers, the chocolates, the dates while all have their own classic notion of what romance is, I let them know that relationships aren't always like that. Sometimes the most romantic thing you can do is have some pizza and ice cream with a nice movie. The most romantic notions can be doing something for someone out of sheer affection.

Listening to this song and thinking about my past experiences make me crave intimacy. Beyond the intimacy of love making, it's the little bits of human contact that I have been seeking out and have been finding little success in finding. Perhaps I'm over romanticizing things, I tend to do that, but I still miss the feelings nonetheless.

I miss the feeling of someone I truly care about laying down next to me. Playing with their hair and smelling the shampoo they use and falling deep into the scent. The warmth, radiating off of them, contained in the atmosphere or a blanket. While I have shared a bed with a couple of different people lately, I still have yet to grasp onto that feeling of inner warmth. If anything, these last few have been nothing more than a means to an end that my body has grown accustomed to. My body reaches out to grab onto something familiar, but my arms full, I feel no shivers that find their way across my skin.

I have this intense longing to dance with someone close. For some reason, it's always been about dancing for me even though I cannot dance. The intensity of holding someone close with something as familiar as music and rhythm driving me. The feeling I've had while my fingertips trace the outlines of emotion along their arms and thighs. Dancing along like a puppet to the strings of a musician; blood pumping, ears throbbing, touch and balance heightened.

I just want something to inspire that again. Something that I don't feel like I have to hide,

I Like Words

I talk a lot. I like words. I like people who read. While I don't dislike people who don't know many words or don't read, I do pity them. I feel sorry for them from a place that I know they couldn't describe. I don't think people who aren't exactly literate are stupid by all means, but I do believe they feel very one dimensional.

They can only be angry. Perhaps even mad. Upset even. What they cannot be is flustered. They cannot be filled with a pure rage caused by injustice. They cannot be infuriated by the grating on their ears from someone eating with their mouth open. To not even be able to properly define how they feel is something that I find rather crippling. Again, this is only as someone who likes to talk.

Those people, who are blissfully ignorant of the vibrant world they live in speak in blueprints. They tell their lives with little depth. This happened here, at this time, with these things. The people who speak with paints and color the world with their voice. When the ground stops being the dead lifeless earth and becomes teeming with life. When the bland, tasteless people are twisted and molded into humans with desires.

What do they taste? Things are just good or bad. Sweet and sour. Spicy. How boring. The taste sensation that crawls its way across the tongue is a wondrous experience that, combined with smell, can invoke memories and emotion thought to be long gone. When things move beyond good and jump into the territory of hitting the palette with a saltiness that teases the appetite that is only satisfied by the accompanying savory following the bite.

What can music be like? Again, I sometimes feel surrounded by a world that categorizes it into good and bad. Fast, slow, hard, soft. Bland experiences that don't do justice to a mesmerizing transcendence. One can attain nirvana from letting your soul be caressed by gentle sounds without a word. There's an intimacy from a stranger as the lyrics dance off of their tongue and are carried by melody that tantalize the heart. Two people, three people, four, five, ten, hundreds, thousands, can all be swayed and for one moment achieve a comradery that can be attained in no other way as they all move to the beat of one drum.

I'm (You're) Not a Crazy Person

You've gained the ability to feel. You've gained the ability to feel compassion. You've always felt anger but now you can feel anger without having to be destructive. You're not crazy. It may be new to you, but you're not a crazy person. Far from it.

I am far from perfect but I'm far from insane. I have my problems, but I know that they are far from dangerous. I've been in dangerous situations and I know I do not pose one. I hate being labeled as such.

Suicidal Tendencies

I have suicidal thoughts. Maybe not the ability to act on them, but they're there. Inside, festering in my brain. They are always there to remind me of the futility of life and its hopelessness.

For what is the point? If I die tomorrow, how long would I be remembered? A day? Surely so. A week? Month? Year? Decade? How long will it take until all memories of me have been eradicated from the minds of those who care about me? How long would it be until the grief of my passing numbed until I was nothing more than a fond memory of days passed? And then how long after that for those to even disappear?

The thoughts terrify me. That I can be so quickly forgotten. That my actions might in the end be meaningless. It brings me to this edge of darkness and despair. But it's not an empty void for there is a light. Faced with this seemingly endless void, this abyss, there is a pinprick of light. This darkness is the darkness that shall free me and let me fall into the light.

Now that I have seen that darkness inside, I find reason to be free, reason to be. Fear is a certainty, but that is nothing more than my body and brain reactung. I can push past this now.

Why be afraid? Why not live? Why be reserved when I know that the bad, terrible decisions will be just as pointless as the good? So long as I move forward with good intentions, even the unwise decisions might not be so bad. Even if I don't matter to the universe, I matter to me.

With this, I am free.

Stark Raving Mad

This is a moment I never want to forget and so I'm writing it down here. It happened a couple weeks before this entry. I was able to dance with a girl who I am very fond of and care for very deeply. It was probably the sleeziest thing (or at least one of them) but I find myself unable to regret any of it.

At the most recent anime convention I was at, I was able to finally bring a girl who I have admired for many years now. I've flirted with her and she has flirted back, but at the end of the day, I have a girlfriend (albeit it is a polyamorous relationship) and she has her heart set on another man. Yet, I still yearn for her. Something about her makes me long for her and I was able to get my wish during the rave.

We went together with her needing to act as my 'wingman'. She thought of the idea, I went along with it, but I had a totally different idea straight from the start. I had an immeasurable yearning for her and I went with the sole intention of being with her that night even if only for a little bit.



The smell of her was intoxicating and holding her close to me was a high that nothing could even begin to compare to. As we danced together, I felt her soft, warm skin beneath my finger tips tremble as I raked my nails up her thigh. A coy smile across her lips, looking downward and refusing to meet my gaze.

I lead her body across the beats, across the rhythms. My hips moved with the tempo both of our hearts beating like the bass. I know she could feel my excitement as she moved deeper into me and with me; each swing of the hips becoming fuller. We swayed like a pendulum; our bodies both in sync pressing harder into each other. The closer and more into her I got, the more I craved her flesh until finally I leaned in and bit her neck.

A slight moan escaped her lips and I felt her body jolt for a moment, shocked from the sudden sensation. She then turned around to face me and brought me close to her until she bit into my shoulder and I felt what her body must have. The sensual way her hand rested on the back of my neck and went through my hair electrified my spine. Despite the mass of bodies surrounding, the eyes watching, and the DJ playing, I was zoned in on her and nothing more.

I leaned in closer. I brought her face up to mine. Our lips touched for a fleeting moment. We both broke away, both of us realizing what we had done, but I was never sure if she regretted what we did. Even so, we did not break our hold on each other and kept on moving through the night. We kept our hands on each other, looking into each others eyes, nothing but fire erupting between them.

[I kissed her, and while at first it felt like some kind of success, reflecting back on it, it felt empty. There was so much tension that I felt leading up to it that didn't go away during like most kisses. It was just a small peck on the lips, but there was nothing there. It was disappointing and I realized that maybe it was more of a curiosity or maybe the moment was off, but everything I thought I felt just flew out the window, and I was okay with that.]*

We danced for a short time after, but soon I had to sober her and her friend up so I took them to Subway to fill their stomachs and we didn't speak of it until long afterwards.



[I hid it from Bethany and when I finally did tell her it all came out wrong. I should have just told her straight up but instead I became just like my father and hurt her like he did my mother. I guess I can't escape every single thing he did. She also eventually told her boyfriend and he was less than pleased.

So now, because I was stupid and a bit tipsy and not thinking, I ruined our friendship, hurt my relationship and possibly messed up hers. I'm such a shitty human being.]*


*I included everything in the asterisk with the sole purpose of hiding my own cowardice. I was a coward, afraid if anyone should find this blog and read this what they'd think. Then I realized that this blog is for me and only me. To say what I said is the same as lying to myself. While I actually regret getting caught and admitting what I had done, I do not regret my actions.

Inspiration

I've been told many times in my life that I've been an 'inspiration' to someone. That I've been an enormous source of inspiration for one person or another. Someone a couple months ago told me that I am someone that the world wishes they could be but are too afraid to act like. Someone last night told me that they were too embarrassed to be my friend at a low point in their life because I was too good of a person. Another person told me they didn't want to date me because compared to me, they were too terrible of a person. People often tell me that I'm the only person they feel like they can trust and rely

It must seem fucked up to think of all these things as bad, but all these things are just so pressuring. I don't feel like I go above and beyond anything unreasonable. It's just all of these expectations weigh down on me sometimes. I'm sure this is the same kind of pressure that everyone deals with, but sometimes it just feels like a completely different level. People expect me to be 'better', to be 'honest', but most of the time I feel like I'm just good at spinning the truth.

Someone told me recently that they feel like I'm one of their closest friends because they can share anything with me and I won't judge them. This is true, with some extreme cases excluded of course. The thing is, I think people just have a different value of shame. I don't mind sharing most things with people because I feel like there are so many more things to feel ashamed about. Thus, the things that most people would be embarrassed to admit, I feel nothing about. The things that most people wouldn't do, I have no reservations.

That leaves me with the fears that most people have placed in different things. That's what makes me different. I have fears that are wrapped in various delusions and irrational paranoia. Sometimes I get scared thinking about whether or not people would like me if they knew how suicidal I was on the inside and how messed up my train of thinking is. How desperately I wish to be an alcoholic but I know that I can't afford it. How depressed and anxious I am on a daily but have a higher sense of duty that pushes on through despite all that.

Of course logic tells me every single one of them would be there in a heartbeat ready to help. Nobody would even hesitate to help me. But I don't want them to. I'd rather drown. And I don't know why. I'd rather drown under my own sorrows alone rather than let people help me. Would people misunderstand? Would people think that I don't care about them? Because it's only through the help and pressure of others that I stay alive and push on. I do it more for them most days than I do for myself.

If anything, I'm scared that some day that might not be enough. I love my friends and all the people in my life, but sometimes I'm just scared that I'll be alone one day and that whatever strength I had will be gone and I'll follow suit.