where the wild things really are.
Top five regrets of the dying
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- I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
- I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
- I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
- I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
- I wish that I had let myself be happier.
“Sometimes when I’m brushing my teeth, I’ll look at the mirror and I swear my reflection seems kind of disappointed. I realized a couple of years ago that not only am I not super-skilled at anything, I’m not even particularly good at being myself.”
— Charles Yu, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, Slaughterhouse 90210
Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
—― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Life Ruiner
The first thing you learn in media class is that all media in a construct. There’s nothing different about this when it comes to social media, except where traditional media makes you feel bad about yourself in a generic way, social media personalizes it comparing you to those around you, young and old, who are happier, and more accomplished, and better in every way.
Isn’t it great to be special?
(via nevver)
It Fucking Hurts Today
It hurts today more than it has in a long, long time. And while it seemed for a moment there that these full-on sobs were threatening to wrench me apart, they’ve already subsided and I’m already calm.
But I’m still pissed off.
The stupidest thing.
I downloaded a bunch of Disney covers yesterday care of one Kiersten Holine and I’ve been listening to them all day. A really fun idea and the new versions are right up my alley. But I digress. A bunch of them were songs that I couldn’t place, so I googled and youtubed to figure them out and came across this. And I fucking lost it.
All I could think about was the way my mother used to hold me and how much I didn’t deserve it. No child deserves their mother until they realize how awful they always treated her. I thought about all the times I rejected her affection and attention. All the times she put herself out there and put me first. How much she simply cared.
I did not make life easy on her.
All I kept thinking while watching this bloody Disney clip was how much I would give to have either one of my parents around to hold me, to touch my face, to tell me everything is going to be ok. Because, again, for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t actually feel like it’s going to be ok. I never thought I’d ever be brave enough to attempt to live the life I dream about, so I always figured I’d be safe. That I’d be ok. Well here’s the rub: I’ve been keeping to the status quo and in a way I feel worse than ever because what comes along with this feeling of failure is the feeling that I failed without even trying.
No risk, no reward, I guess.
But I don’t even feel like I have the energy to try and fail well. I’ve fallen back into wishing I just didn’t exist anymore. Not wishing for death, mind you. Just wishing for no beginning in the first place. That all sounds terribly melodramatic, but fuck it, this is a grief blog, is it not? Wait, don’t quote me on that. I don’t know what the hell this is other than an attempt at sorting out the fragmented pieces of my pitiful little life.
And I’ve officially repressed into angst. Solid.
It’s so easy to hide. I could do it forever.
And today it feels like it would trouble no one.
*
If you — either of you — were just here…I’d have a slew of other problems, but at least I’d have you wiping my face with a warm washcloth, singing a song that makes things right, and doing that weird, unnameable thing that unconditional love does to a person when they see it’s right there.
