“It’s not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.”
-William Shakespeare
all the vampires walking through the valley
move west down ventura boulevard
and all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
all the good girls are home with broken hearts
and i`m free --- free falling
yeah i`m free --- free falling
- Tom Petty
“Life, as beautiful as a rose, can be as painful as a thorn, but through it comes faith, hope, love, and the most vital and memorable lessons learned only through the experiences of it all.”
I wrote that when I was 17. We had to pick a quote for underneath our senior picture for the yearbook. So, I wrote my own rather than use someone else’s. How “foreshadowing” of me in so many ways. The funniest part though, I was 17...what the hell did I know about life? Yet somehow I knew something, and knew someday I’d know more, and this quote would gain truth and meaning with each passing year.
I used to want the Chinese symbols for “FAITH. LIFE. HOPE. LOVE.” tattooed on my back. Why Chinese? I have no idea. Maybe I thought it looked more decorative, or was a cover so no one would really understand the permanent statement across my skin. Maybe it just seemed hipster. The words however, were the most important things to me at the time. My FAITH in God. My FAITH in myself, in my family, in my LIFE. The precious gift of LIFE. HOPE that everything will be ok. And LOVE. FAITH in LOVE and LOVE in LIFE. Everybody just wants someone to LOVE and be LOVEd in return.
Now, I erase all of that and just want the Chinese symbol for PEACE. Chinese again? Makes it seem more universal…like “world peace”. and PEACE? If you have FAITH, LIFE, HOPE, and LOVE, you have PEACE. Everything we desire summed up in 5 little letters to create such a powerful word. Tom had the Chinese symbol for PEACE tattooed on his shoulder. Looking back now, I see he had a desperate desire to achieve it. Now, years later, and following his recent suicide, I wonder if he ever found it…
LIFE. DEATH. I’ve been so terrified and unsure of both lately. I KNOW that one is inevitable, and that’s LIFE. In my quick yet infinite 23 years of life, there are a few things I have learned:
1. Some people are meant to be in your life. Sadly, they may not always arrive at the right moment, but no matter when they do, hold on for dear life in anyway you can. It’s a gift to find your match.
2. Don’t dismiss something that may seem ugly or deformed for it just may turn out to be a life-changing saving grace. And then, it’ll be gone before you quit taking it for granted. Love everything from the start.
3. Fuck society and trying to make people happy or proud of you. If they love you, they love you no matter what. Don’t lie to me about love. Don’t lie to others about your love.
4. It’s not always LINEN and LACE staring at you in the doorway in a provocative pose begging you to take her to bed, but never forget that sight, and never ignore it.
5. Don’t say no to sitting in the Emergency row on an airplane. Don’t you want the opportunity to be a hero? Even if you don’t, it’s highly unlikely you’ll crash and burn, and if by chance you are crashing and burning, you’ll most likely not make it no matter which row you chose to move into.
6. You know the saying “If it’s too good to be true it’s probably a lie”? Take that into consideration when something comes upon you really sudden, and goes really fast and seems like the ultimate perfection. It isn’t. It will be the hardest fall and biggest heartbreak.
7. It’s the oddest thing returning home after a long absence. Everything is so familiar. The scent, the settled dust, yet something as simple as the inside of the fridge you’ve had for over 13 years can seem so foreign. This contradiction is both lonely and depressing as well as comforting and euphoric.
8. A sunset lasts longer and is much more beautiful when you are 34,000 feet in the air and above the clouds.
9. My body has a set number of tears it can make in a lifetime, and I’m pretty sure I’ve used most of them up already.
10. Quite the contrary my darling Watson, smart things do NOT always happen when one is high.
11. We spend so many breaths asking people if they are ok, but rarely think to ask ourselves.
12. “We think too much and feel too little“ as Charlie Chaplin said. Sometimes, I would call that “Survival of the Fittest”, and other times, I’d call that a cold, sad, lonely life.
Yes, I have learned so much more. Most of that “more” is also probably more important, but these are the things that have been truly shaping me lately.
I’m a writer. I write. I know that. Even other people know that. When I’m dealing with the conflicts in life and I go to a friend for advice, especially recently, I’m given the same advice no matter who I talk to. “Megan, write it down. You’re a writer. that’s what you do. You’ll find your answer in the words.” How true, how true.
It’s odd to have someone know you so well, sometimes to the point that makes you wonder if they know you better than you know yourself. A slight movement of my hand and he knows I am deciding something. A quick raise of my eyebrow or bite of my lip and she knows the exact emotion I am feeling. It feels nearly like an invasion of privacy, except that my “privacy” is weaved throughout my entire physical appearance. An invasion that makes me want to scream, “Get out of my head! And stop interpreting my face!”.
Do I truly know myself? I don’t know. I can learn about who I am by who I used to be. Sometimes I fear I am incapable of loving someone truly, and deeply, and forever. I knew my mother for such a little amount of time and yet I feel her presence in my blood as I make each social and emotional decision I come to. The fear, the resistance, the foot facing the door, ready to run. I want LOVE in my LIFE yet I fear it. This contradicts what I see, know, and want. Here is the perfect example for a high school experiment. Nature vs. Nurture. Is it in my DNA to run from everything (Nature - Mother)? Or is it simply the only impact/lesson I have learned from my mother (Nurture)? It’s interesting, I’ve spent years denying her effect on me, yet now I blame her either way.
I’m not a fan of cop-outs, yet that sounds like one. A cop-out is just a nicer version of a lie. I don’t like lying. I “tried it once”…not fun. Raw, honest brutality is the way to go. Maybe I should get the Chinese symbols of those words tattooed across my back (RAW. HONEST. BRUTALITY. ("deep man, and so WWE at the same time. whoa.")).
I took 5 years of Spanish. I’ve managed to retain quite a bit, yet, at one time, years after my education, there was a phrase I just couldn't remember. At the time, I was living in Florida, where many people speak Espanol. One random day at work I asked Mike (a native of Puerto Rico), “Como se dice ‘don’t lie to me’ en Espanol?” To which he replied, “No Me Mientas.”
And i kissed you in a style that clark gable would have admired
(i thought it classic)
I want so badly to believe that "there is truth, that love is real"
And i want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd
I know you're wise beyond your years, but do you ever get the fear
That your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by?
-The Postal Service
We're goin down and you can see it too.
We're goin down and you know that we're doomed.
my dear we're slow dancing in a burnin room.
I was the one you always dreamed of.
you were the one i tried to draw.
how dare you say it's nothin to me.
baby, you're the only light I ever saw
-John Mayer
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
First Steps
Misguided by the 405 'cause it lead me to an alcoholic summer.
I missed the exit to your parents' house hours ago.
Red wine and the cigarettes:
hide your bad habits underneath the patio
~”405” -- Death Cab For Cutie
My biggest problem with myself is that I became the person I looked down upon in my past. I became the exact person my father feared I would and my mother predicted I would (“You‘re going to end up pregnant…or worse“). And then, I spent the next few years hiding from myself and everyone around me. When I finally began to emerge from my shell as a scared, abused, addicted, 90 lb 20-year-old, the self loathing began to take over. Self loathing only leads to more bad decisions.
I remember sitting in Jule’s Coffee Shop on Pearl St. in LaCrosse, WI every day during the end of winter through the summer of 2006. I was pregnant. I would walk there from my crappy little efficiency 9 blocks away, every day and spend anywhere from 4 to 8 hours there. Free WI-FI, fair-trade coffee, acoustic guitar slipping through the hidden speakers, and vegan hippies coming and going between Jule’s and the used book store connected through an open doorway. I’d spend the entire time listening to music and writing my way to carpel tunnel syndrome, spilling out my pathetic feelings and transcendental thoughts:
Friday, February 17th, 2006. 1:41 PM
Once again I’m sitting at Jule’s and I keep stopping. Staring. I made a play list of music…it’s over 14 hours long…although I suppose I plan on being here that long. Coffee shops always make me feel better; always have…sitting, sipping, reading, writing, listening, watching. I can breathe here, and that’s a feeling I haven’t had the luxury of having in a long time.
I love Jules. The table tops in the booths are black with green wisps of smoke painted in. Something to stare into when I fall into thoughts of love and life. The booth seats aren’t the most comfortable, but it turned out to be ok since I had to move to a table next to an outlet on the wall, just so the music can continue playing on my laptop. From my new point of view I am able to see the blowing sparkles of the 8 inches of snow we received yesterday. Every school in the area was closed. If I had continued with my semester at the local college I would have enjoyed this as a snow day. I wonder if I look sad to those around me. Or maybe they think I’m crazy because I keep staring. Luckily I’m just staring outside or at empty chairs instead of people. I used to want to meet a “coffee shop boy”…now I don’t want to meet anyone.
So she was right, my mother. I moved out of my parents house at 19 because I didn’t agree with having a curfew (especially when I was covering for my father and his affair…yes, it was pure blackmail). I quit going to college because I was too busy drinking and smoking pot and experimenting with a few other random options. Because my parents and I weren’t getting along (up until now, my father was my best friend) I also would go several weeks without talking to my little brother (my other best friend…only 5 years old, Autistic, and unable to understand my selfishness).
It all killed me inside. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat much. Mostly that was due to being poor. I rarely paid rent. And sure enough, only 3 months after running out, I was pregnant. I found out just a week or so before New Years. My father found out the same day I did. He had burst into my apartment because he didn’t know if I was alive. It had been weeks since I returned his calls. My brother spent each night in tears. Little did anyone know, but so did I. After putting me in my place, as usual, his eyes drifted to the empty E.P.T. box lying on my floor. “You’re pregnant now too? Great. Great job. What are you going to do? You really got yourself in a mess now.” I remember each word. And then he left. And I threw up. .
Of course by now I had also lost contact with all of my close, true friends from high school, and only because I would ignore all of their efforts to keep in touch, mainly out of sheer embarrassment, and the wasted hope that they wouldn’t find out. I was being naïve. I lived in a small town. They probably knew the second that god damn pink plus sign appeared on that urine-soaked stick. Mistake after mistake, and I couldn’t stop the avalanche of “fuck ups”. And I was student body president in High School. 4 year veteran of Spanish, and Show Choir and Summer Musicals. I was even the president of History Club. What happened to this nerdy, wholesome little girl? Honestly, I was never either of those. There was always a bit of darkness inside. A hidden Gothicism, revealed only under the most uncontrollable bouts of depression.
It took a long time before I made that first phone call to an old friend, agreeing to meet for lunch. I’d consider her one of my few saviors. We still meet at that same restaurant whenever I’m back in town.
I’ve realized, as it has been 3 years now and I am finally able to have the desire to love and forgive myself, that hiding this, hiding her, would only continue to hold me back. My significant other of almost 3 years knows, but I’ve made it clear I don’t want his family to find out, for fear they may then hate me, look down on me, or think I am no longer good enough. Well I already feel that way about myself and I hate it. I now know what an amazing experience it was and no longer regret it. Each time I see her face reminds me of this. I choose to no longer be ashamed. This is my first step to happiness.
Her father and I chose to place her for adoption. We didn’t decide this until I was 6 months along and just beginning to show. We picked out the family from their hand-made portfolio, among several others we looked at. They were the perfect choice and it was an “easy” decision the moment we met them. I do believe we actually said yes on that first meeting. AJK turned 3 just a few days ago. She’s the most beautiful angel. She came out perfectly. Yes, I still cry at night when I think about that first night she slept in my arms in the hospital; my only company through those dark hours. I still cry when I think about the court date where I signed away my rights. I still cry when I receive new pictures, or when I make the annual trip to visit her. But I cry different tears when I think of how happy she is, how happy her family is, and how much more blessed my life is now that she will always be in it. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Anyplace is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe well make something
But me myself I got nothing to prove
You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so you can fly away
You gotta make a decision
You leave tonight or live and die this way
~”Fast Car” -- Tracy Chapman
I missed the exit to your parents' house hours ago.
Red wine and the cigarettes:
hide your bad habits underneath the patio
~”405” -- Death Cab For Cutie
My biggest problem with myself is that I became the person I looked down upon in my past. I became the exact person my father feared I would and my mother predicted I would (“You‘re going to end up pregnant…or worse“). And then, I spent the next few years hiding from myself and everyone around me. When I finally began to emerge from my shell as a scared, abused, addicted, 90 lb 20-year-old, the self loathing began to take over. Self loathing only leads to more bad decisions.
I remember sitting in Jule’s Coffee Shop on Pearl St. in LaCrosse, WI every day during the end of winter through the summer of 2006. I was pregnant. I would walk there from my crappy little efficiency 9 blocks away, every day and spend anywhere from 4 to 8 hours there. Free WI-FI, fair-trade coffee, acoustic guitar slipping through the hidden speakers, and vegan hippies coming and going between Jule’s and the used book store connected through an open doorway. I’d spend the entire time listening to music and writing my way to carpel tunnel syndrome, spilling out my pathetic feelings and transcendental thoughts:
Friday, February 17th, 2006. 1:41 PM
Once again I’m sitting at Jule’s and I keep stopping. Staring. I made a play list of music…it’s over 14 hours long…although I suppose I plan on being here that long. Coffee shops always make me feel better; always have…sitting, sipping, reading, writing, listening, watching. I can breathe here, and that’s a feeling I haven’t had the luxury of having in a long time.
I love Jules. The table tops in the booths are black with green wisps of smoke painted in. Something to stare into when I fall into thoughts of love and life. The booth seats aren’t the most comfortable, but it turned out to be ok since I had to move to a table next to an outlet on the wall, just so the music can continue playing on my laptop. From my new point of view I am able to see the blowing sparkles of the 8 inches of snow we received yesterday. Every school in the area was closed. If I had continued with my semester at the local college I would have enjoyed this as a snow day. I wonder if I look sad to those around me. Or maybe they think I’m crazy because I keep staring. Luckily I’m just staring outside or at empty chairs instead of people. I used to want to meet a “coffee shop boy”…now I don’t want to meet anyone.
So she was right, my mother. I moved out of my parents house at 19 because I didn’t agree with having a curfew (especially when I was covering for my father and his affair…yes, it was pure blackmail). I quit going to college because I was too busy drinking and smoking pot and experimenting with a few other random options. Because my parents and I weren’t getting along (up until now, my father was my best friend) I also would go several weeks without talking to my little brother (my other best friend…only 5 years old, Autistic, and unable to understand my selfishness).
It all killed me inside. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat much. Mostly that was due to being poor. I rarely paid rent. And sure enough, only 3 months after running out, I was pregnant. I found out just a week or so before New Years. My father found out the same day I did. He had burst into my apartment because he didn’t know if I was alive. It had been weeks since I returned his calls. My brother spent each night in tears. Little did anyone know, but so did I. After putting me in my place, as usual, his eyes drifted to the empty E.P.T. box lying on my floor. “You’re pregnant now too? Great. Great job. What are you going to do? You really got yourself in a mess now.” I remember each word. And then he left. And I threw up. .
Of course by now I had also lost contact with all of my close, true friends from high school, and only because I would ignore all of their efforts to keep in touch, mainly out of sheer embarrassment, and the wasted hope that they wouldn’t find out. I was being naïve. I lived in a small town. They probably knew the second that god damn pink plus sign appeared on that urine-soaked stick. Mistake after mistake, and I couldn’t stop the avalanche of “fuck ups”. And I was student body president in High School. 4 year veteran of Spanish, and Show Choir and Summer Musicals. I was even the president of History Club. What happened to this nerdy, wholesome little girl? Honestly, I was never either of those. There was always a bit of darkness inside. A hidden Gothicism, revealed only under the most uncontrollable bouts of depression.
It took a long time before I made that first phone call to an old friend, agreeing to meet for lunch. I’d consider her one of my few saviors. We still meet at that same restaurant whenever I’m back in town.
I’ve realized, as it has been 3 years now and I am finally able to have the desire to love and forgive myself, that hiding this, hiding her, would only continue to hold me back. My significant other of almost 3 years knows, but I’ve made it clear I don’t want his family to find out, for fear they may then hate me, look down on me, or think I am no longer good enough. Well I already feel that way about myself and I hate it. I now know what an amazing experience it was and no longer regret it. Each time I see her face reminds me of this. I choose to no longer be ashamed. This is my first step to happiness.
Her father and I chose to place her for adoption. We didn’t decide this until I was 6 months along and just beginning to show. We picked out the family from their hand-made portfolio, among several others we looked at. They were the perfect choice and it was an “easy” decision the moment we met them. I do believe we actually said yes on that first meeting. AJK turned 3 just a few days ago. She’s the most beautiful angel. She came out perfectly. Yes, I still cry at night when I think about that first night she slept in my arms in the hospital; my only company through those dark hours. I still cry when I think about the court date where I signed away my rights. I still cry when I receive new pictures, or when I make the annual trip to visit her. But I cry different tears when I think of how happy she is, how happy her family is, and how much more blessed my life is now that she will always be in it. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Anyplace is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe well make something
But me myself I got nothing to prove
You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so you can fly away
You gotta make a decision
You leave tonight or live and die this way
~”Fast Car” -- Tracy Chapman
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A Good Stand In The Rain
A corpse-looking man told me today, through his black gums and rotting teeth, “the worst line ever written was ‘you complete me’. The best came from Thoreau who said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation’. It is through that desperation that individuals learn they must complete themselves.” A funny little monologue for my ears to hear as I have found myself lost and broken…in need of being “completed”.
It seems to be one of those days where only standing in the rain will make me feel better.
Beyond the usual uppers and downers I have counted on in the past to keep me trudging through my days, it’s several words between quotation marks that help keep my wings flapping.
“We loved with a love that was more than love” - Edgar Allen Poe
“There’s too much beauty to quit” - from the movie “Stay”
“The waiting is the hardest part” - Tom Petty
During trying times people always seem to veer toward the same cliché’s to help others out. One of the most common, which I have heard 3 times already today is, “It’ll all work out over time”. The problem is, to avoid disappointing you, they never finish the rest of the phrase, “It’ll all work out over time, the way it’s supposed to work out”….and we all know we WANT it to say, “It’ll all work out over time, just the way you hoped.” But I guess that’s too much romanticism to be true.
It’s sad, I cannot even look into a mirror for more that 10 seconds without being utterly disgusted with myself, both inside and out. These regrets I have been holding on to have turned into parasites that are destroying my body. The sole cure is forgiveness and acceptance of myself and to listen to everyone else who tells me that I am indeed a beautiful person. Right now though, I’m pretty sure all of those people are on drugs. Or they are retarded blind. Or maybe, I’m really not that bad. Maybe we all really do make mistakes. Maybe we all are a bit crazy. And maybe, there is someone out there who will love us for who we were and are, and we should just let them.
Sometimes it’s good not to forget, other times, it’s torture. Without the rain there is no rainbow. Without the pain, there is no true joy.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what feels completely right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be completely right, and maybe that’s not even possible.
But alas, as always, it is the way it is and there’s nothing I can do about it. Whatever will be will be. Que sera, sera. Cliché’s mask nothing. I hate them. I need to stop asking so many questions. I need to be able to give up some control. My metaphorical knuckles are always white, clenched tight with anxiety. I need to let go, only then will I see. When I’m not looking, I’m sure I will find it. At times I have felt close, and now, my heart and mind are thinking more deeply, considering all possibilities and viewpoints and things are happening. Maybe I am closer to my epiphany than I thought. Stop worrying. Stop making up all possible outcomes. I’ve thought about and prepared myself for all of them already anyway. More “preparation” is NOT going to help. But relaxation will. And sadly I have to remind myself that relaxation does not equal day dreaming…especially not daydreams that something amazing will happen and all my troubles will fade. Even more sadly, relaxation does not equal sleeping the day away and hiding under the covers waking up only to wipe away tears.
Life really can’t be that bad can it? No. “There’s too much beauty to quit”, remember? And if I’m sick over the fear of the loss of love, if it’s true love, if it’s fate or destiny, or a match, or if “We loved with a love that was more than love”, then time can do no harm. It’s always nice to have answers. It would be even nicer sometimes, to know the future. To know the outcomes of each possible decision. But life wouldn’t be interesting and we would learn nothing and cease to develop into the wonderful person that might have been. It’s all about time. It’s all about waiting. And, “The waiting is the hardest part.”
Sweet Dreams,
Me
It seems to be one of those days where only standing in the rain will make me feel better.
Beyond the usual uppers and downers I have counted on in the past to keep me trudging through my days, it’s several words between quotation marks that help keep my wings flapping.
“We loved with a love that was more than love” - Edgar Allen Poe
“There’s too much beauty to quit” - from the movie “Stay”
“The waiting is the hardest part” - Tom Petty
During trying times people always seem to veer toward the same cliché’s to help others out. One of the most common, which I have heard 3 times already today is, “It’ll all work out over time”. The problem is, to avoid disappointing you, they never finish the rest of the phrase, “It’ll all work out over time, the way it’s supposed to work out”….and we all know we WANT it to say, “It’ll all work out over time, just the way you hoped.” But I guess that’s too much romanticism to be true.
It’s sad, I cannot even look into a mirror for more that 10 seconds without being utterly disgusted with myself, both inside and out. These regrets I have been holding on to have turned into parasites that are destroying my body. The sole cure is forgiveness and acceptance of myself and to listen to everyone else who tells me that I am indeed a beautiful person. Right now though, I’m pretty sure all of those people are on drugs. Or they are retarded blind. Or maybe, I’m really not that bad. Maybe we all really do make mistakes. Maybe we all are a bit crazy. And maybe, there is someone out there who will love us for who we were and are, and we should just let them.
Sometimes it’s good not to forget, other times, it’s torture. Without the rain there is no rainbow. Without the pain, there is no true joy.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what feels completely right. Maybe it doesn’t have to be completely right, and maybe that’s not even possible.
But alas, as always, it is the way it is and there’s nothing I can do about it. Whatever will be will be. Que sera, sera. Cliché’s mask nothing. I hate them. I need to stop asking so many questions. I need to be able to give up some control. My metaphorical knuckles are always white, clenched tight with anxiety. I need to let go, only then will I see. When I’m not looking, I’m sure I will find it. At times I have felt close, and now, my heart and mind are thinking more deeply, considering all possibilities and viewpoints and things are happening. Maybe I am closer to my epiphany than I thought. Stop worrying. Stop making up all possible outcomes. I’ve thought about and prepared myself for all of them already anyway. More “preparation” is NOT going to help. But relaxation will. And sadly I have to remind myself that relaxation does not equal day dreaming…especially not daydreams that something amazing will happen and all my troubles will fade. Even more sadly, relaxation does not equal sleeping the day away and hiding under the covers waking up only to wipe away tears.
Life really can’t be that bad can it? No. “There’s too much beauty to quit”, remember? And if I’m sick over the fear of the loss of love, if it’s true love, if it’s fate or destiny, or a match, or if “We loved with a love that was more than love”, then time can do no harm. It’s always nice to have answers. It would be even nicer sometimes, to know the future. To know the outcomes of each possible decision. But life wouldn’t be interesting and we would learn nothing and cease to develop into the wonderful person that might have been. It’s all about time. It’s all about waiting. And, “The waiting is the hardest part.”
Sweet Dreams,
Me
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Day One
I have spent years getting to where I am now. Most of my turns have been due to mistakes. Most of my tears have been mourning those mistakes. I strive to someday be ok with my past, proud of my present, and look forward with hope and excitement to my future. One day I will get there. This is day one. Inste
ad of trudging through each day, I will walk lightly, float over my path, arms up, sun warming my face and the breeze kissing my fingertips. Instead of being ordinary, I will be extraordinary.
ad of trudging through each day, I will walk lightly, float over my path, arms up, sun warming my face and the breeze kissing my fingertips. Instead of being ordinary, I will be extraordinary.
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