Fantasy

Where do you draw the line between reality and fantasy? The two worlds have blurred and I can't escape either because I don't know where I am. I don't know what path I am on or where I am heading to. I'm walking with a neutral stride hoping to find reason on this indistinct path.
I've been dreaming up my own world. A world that doesn't exist. Reality has become so dissatisfying and demanding that I've unknowingly created an unhealthy outlet. A place where my worries are far, fleeting and forgotten. What is reality? Isn't my world my reality?

There are things I want but I'm unable to acknowledge what these things are. There's a puzzle to solve but the pieces are too scattered and too invisible. There's a problem and there's a question but I don't understand it and I don't have the answers. I stare at it like a taunting math problem that glares back at me I become intimidated by an illusion of my own creation.

Confused. Lost. Like a baby in water, swirming in the foreign environment unable to comprehend the coldness wrapping its body. It screams and cries to draw attention and to express the discomfort even though familiar arms are hugging its body keeping it secure. The sense of familiarity is not enough, the water is suffocating and irritating the skin.

I need out.

The person I once knew died in you.

Somewhere inside of your rock solid exterior is that person I once knew. I desperately want that person back like a distressed owner missing his dog, like a lost dog missing his owner, like a lover missing his lover, like a tree missing its leaves. I feel like the train left without me and now you've transformed into a monster and the connection is fleeting, if not already gone. They say we select the birghtest and darkest moments of our lives and call it memory. I have only memories of you at the best and memories of you at your worst. That amazing person is no longer alive. As these memories evanesce, you'll be a forgotten character.

Illusion

The transparency in their expressions. The simple discolouration in their eyes made it clear. Their disgruntled faces expressed the thorough disappointment. Empty promises. They are victims of empty words. They placed undeserving trust into these deceptive strangers. They arrived with great expectations and will leave with bitter disappointment. They fell in foolish love with the words and descriptions that formed an image of beauty. They became obsessed with this embroidered concept that held a mask which they fell irrevocably for. They heard stories about this place, amazing stories about how lives were changed and frowns rearranged. They headed off on a journey that was supposed to cure their sorrows and longing better than anything the pharmaceutical industry could provide. They deeply believed that this place would change everything that they once knew. Their life lacked meaning, colour and happiness. This place was pure illusion. The world is deceiving. False hope can sometimes be the only thing to drive human hunger and passion.

Most people are other people.

People so often succumb to their desires of being someone they admire. They become someone else. People who have known them prior to this alteration are left confused as an individual has died. Gone forever. Doomed to be another carbon copy.

Never.

He once meant everything. I admired. I was swept off my feet. I flew. I was in a beautiful place. It felt like a dream. Maybe it was. But I’ve woken up. I’ve realised it will never be. It can never be.

Step back...

Sometimes you don't realise what you have and what you don't have until you step back and take a look at the whole picture.
Many people focus on the pain they feel and they allow their own cruel insecurities to drown them. Sometimes it's due to the simple fact that they don't know any better. But in some cases, people love to victimise themselves. I've noticed this recently.
Pain. It's everywhere. Easily caused. Physical pain heals with time and medication. But that pain you feel inside, it's more complex. Philosophers and writers etch their ideas into paper and minds about pain.

"No one can hurt you without your consent"
- Eleanor Roosevelt

It's true. You choose to feel the pain. You choose to surrender.
You can choose to dodge and seek shelter from the bullets of reality. You can refuse to feel the emotions. But in a way it is easier to give up and succumb to circumstances. It's easier than to fight back. Fight back with every ounce of your being. Fight against the wind that pushes you into the deep ocean. Fighting requires effort.
I promise myself that I will fight. I will fight against the tides, the wind and the storms that will arrive. And I will survive.

Gratitude.

There are so many things to be thankful for in this world.
We live our daily lives blinded of the simply miracles and beauty of life.
I'm thankful for my family and my friends. I'm thankful for the life I have.
Everything is beautiful if you look at it the right way.

Rough.

When things get rough and you find yourself in the middle of one of life's storms you have to hold on. Hold on to hope.
I can't expect others to be there for me. It's my life, my problems and my insecurities. I've got to fight my own battles. I've got to make my own mistakes.
I've been fooled. But I won't make the same mistakes again.

Because.

I don't want to know you. Because I know you'll let me down. I know you're not who I think you are. I'm taking the steps back, rewinding and erasing the beginning. I'll blur the first few chapters that have led to this point.
I won't know you. I'll end our acquanitance short and quick. I'll cut it off like a piece of string and switch it off like a light switch.
We'll go back to how things used to be. Because I don't want to know you. I don't want to be disappointed.

Hello 16.

I'm reflecting back on my day and I have small snippets that replay in my head. It's like a broken record. I thought it was going to be different and it played out differently in my head. Things are different now but I did expect our years of friendship to mean something more than a few words and one glance. But it's all good. The gust of reality brings shivers to my soul. But it's good. It's real.

Mother. I miss you. I woke this morning realising I was alone. I know you'll be back soon but you missed my birthday. You missed my 16th birthday. I don't blame you.
I was afraid to ask for you to be back by my birthday. But I couldn't. You're visiting your own mother and I won't go in between. I'm sitting here with the last few seconds of my birthday and all I want is one single hug. One single moment with you.

And now my birthday is over.

Goodbye 15.

I'm turning 16 tomorrow.
I'm neither happy or sad. My feelings are neutral. I feel like I should be feeling something more. Excitement? Dread? It really just feels like any other day and any other night.
This may be the first year I'm not excited.

I won't ask for much this year.

I don't have any special birthday wishes. This year will not be special, I know that as a fact. Mother's not around this year. My first ever birthday without her and it feels like parts of my soul are missing. Leaving me again with that hollow and empty feeling that I've grown used to.
I remember how I used to count down the hours and minutes. But this year, I really don't have anything to look forward to. It's just another Saturday.
So goodbye 15.

?

Life doesn't always go my way. I know someday my time will come. Everything will make sense one day. I will figure out who I truly am, what I can do and what I want to do.
For now, I'm lost. At a crossroad, confused, please give me a map. And a compass.. Sure, I won't know how to use it but at least it'll look like I'm doing something. Finding that something that is unidentified. At least I'll look productive.
It almost feels like a cyclone has taken everything away. But I'm still caught in the middle of it watching everything fade. But what is everything? Was it all my mine? Was it ever?
There has to be something else out there that will give me purpose, give me reason. I used to hold the reigns but then I loosened my grips and now I've lost all control.
Maybe someday I'll figure it all out. Maybe someday I'll find the pieces. Maybe someday I'll put the broken puzzle of my life together.

You make me better.

You're that force and that push that makes me better. You make me work harder. You make me stronger. I appreciate it. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for understanding me.
For making me better, I want to say, thank you.

I need it.

When things get rough, you just have to get by. When things don't make sense, you've just got to push forward. There's no point in asking questions. Lately, I ponder in my mental world on a daily basis behind the smokescreens of conversations. But I'm not going to pause anymore. I'm going to move forward, be who I am. I can't restrain it anymore. I'm going to do what I do. I'm not the type of person to stay put. I'm not the type of person to be nailed down by people or circumstances. I've been trying.
But now I'm going to do what I do, going with the flow and moving forward. I won't stop for anyone or anything. Because that's the only way I know. It's the only way I can live. There's no backing down now.
I can't live life on pause. I just can't do it, it's not me. It's not who I am. What's living without mistakes? What's living without bruises and stupidity?
I've been trying so hard to keep everything on hold lately. Dragged myself down to reality and pinned my feet down to the solid ground, thinking it was for the best. But it's not me. I need the fast pace. I need the craziness. I need it all. It's like the substance that keeps me alive. The drug that makes me, me.

Someday.

I know that someday I'll make sense of it all. I know that someday I will find meaning, I will find myself. I will find where I belong. I know this deep down inside. Someday.

"At times I suffer from the strangest sense of detachment from myself and the world about me. I seem to watch it all from the outside from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all."

Thank you.

Thanks to those who have hurt me, you've made me stronger. Thanks to those who have been there for me, you've made me realise the world isn't all bad. Thanks to those who care about me, you've made me warmer inside. Thanks to those who didn't believe in me, you made me work harder. Thanks to those who always supported me, you've made me believe in myself. Thanks to those who lied to me, I'm no longer gullible and stupid. Thanks to those who made me laugh, you remind me what happiness is. Thanks to those who left me, you've made me realise I'm better on my own.
Thanks to everyone who has entered my world, you've made me, me.


Thank you.

"Expecting life to treat you well because you’re a good person is like expecting an angry bull not to charge because you’re a vegetarian"

Reality.

I've never been the type to be nailed to the ground and have my feet and head focused on reality. I'm a dreamer. My dreams and fantasies burn the fire in my soul. But reality is the joy-kill shattering my dreamy glass of a world that doesn't exist. This world is fragile because it lives only in my head, no where else.
It may be the only substance in my life that keeps me going. It's the only fuel that keeps my engine running. I can't accept the restrictions of reality, I won't. I can't bear to believe that this is all there is. There has to be more. Surely this world can't be so grey and bleak. If only I could re-paint the world, edit it a bit, bring some life and action into it. Reality and normality is boring. I hate boring.
The sun comes up in the morning and the dark sky with the illuminating moon comes out at night. Everyday. It's the same old routine. Sometimes there's rain and thunder, it's something different but it fails to entertain. Like a poor puppet show that everyone runs away from, sheltering themselves from the disgrace. The wind often comes along to provide a bit of push, swaying the trees, giving lifts for kites but it does nothing to cause a new emotion, a difference. Instead, it's just another normal aspect of everyday life. I need that extra boost. That extra spark to light up my sky. Nothing solid offers that, so I continue to live in the world that I've mentally built.

Thursday.

This is the life I'm living. I've got to put a pause on everything else, I can't want. The things I want have got to wait. Staying focused is what I have to do. Everyday, I drill it into my head as if the words are screws. It keeps my head together, keeping my life together. Places to be, people to see. No. I've got to figure this out before I leave.
I want to ignore these responsibilities badly. But I can't and I won't. This time, I'm really trying. Trying to make things right.
Schedules filling up. I just want to escape. Is that so much to ask? Live a day without having to be somewhere important, having to do something. I miss those careless days, been a rebel for too long. I've got to face up to responsibility now. Can't live the way I've been living. I'll miss those days. But for now I've got to keep my head up high and iron my life out. Sure, I'll be distracted a lot of the time, but I can't help that. Just have to keep reminding myself that I've got things to do and places to be. It'll be hard, I know, the heat of it all will get to me. I'm sure I'll burn with frustration but this is what I have to do.

Missing.

He was missing something. Something indescribable. Was it a feeling? Was it a possession? All he knew was that his life was incomplete.
It was only lately that he had been feeling odd, out of place and just not right. People said he had it all, the LA mansion, the rich business family and the most expensive car on the block. Not to mention that he was "Mr Popular". He was the guy the girls yearned to be with, and the guy every other guy wanted to be. So it didn't make sense for him to feel this way. Friends surrounded him every second of his days, he was never alone. Yet he felt lonely.
He had spent the entire day helping his dad at their family's car dealer. Exhausted. But he never complained, never sighed and never showed a single tinge of annoyance. He always did as he was told, not because of fear but because that was who he was. Never the complainer, always the hard-working, busy bee willing to help everyone.
And he had been happy. So he thought.
Life felt bleak, grey and suddenly seemed to lack meaning. He wasn't sure what brought this all on, but the more he tried to push the darkness over, the more he thought about it. So the thoughts and feelings drowned him. He sunk in them, not understanding.
At the annual country fair, he was surrounded by his friends and as they smiled and laughed, he tried his best to plaster a fake smile on his own face. Happiness was around him. But it wasn't something he felt. He glanced around noticing the young kids around him holding fluffy, sugar-filled, pink fairy floss. It shot his mind back to the past, his youth. Back in the day when he was 10, his family wasn't rich, merely surviving on bread and cheese. He recalled his mother digging through her wallet desperately to pay for fairy floss he had begged for at this fair seven years ago. He could picture her struggled face as she searched for two dollars in her old, rugged and torn bag. He could feel the embarrassment he had felt that moment. That was before. Now his mother could buy a whole fairy floss factory if she wanted to.
He had it all. So why was he feeling so low?
He could have anything he wanted, he could have a new car just like that, a new Ipod or a new television just like that.
But something was missing.
His senses began to go wild. Everything became loud, the laugher, the screams resembled shattering glass. His head spun and his sense of smell deepened as the sweet smell of candy mixed with the scent of hotdogs. It all became overwhelming. His sight began to blur, the sky darkened and faces began to dissolve. Something happened right there. He had no idea what but he was suddenly somewhere else. A familiar place. The smell of fresh paint filled the room, the smell, the orange colour of the small room seemed so familiar. It was a part of his past, a segment in his childhood memories.
His instinct forced him to walk into the kitchen, there were his parents, seven years ago. They were covered in paint holding paint brushes working away and sitting on the kitchen bench was himself, seven years ago. The little boy sat there watching his parents work their extra job. It was one of his parents' under the table jobs. He came over to sit next to his younger self, amazed. It was like a dream.
As he watched his parents' beautiful strokes that seemed so effortless he could sense that the young boy next to him was happy. Happy to spend a friday afternoon after school with his parents. Then his mother turned around and walked towards him. Could she see him? He thought to himself. But she didn't go to him, she went to the small boy, the him years ago. She smiled, a warm smile that would have melted a glacier and she said: "No matter how rich you get and no matter how much money you have, don't be blinded and always listen to your soul.."
Then bam. That was it. He was back into reality, it was like nothing had happen. He was there again with his friends walking around the fair. "Listen to your soul.." the words echoed in his mind. But he no longer felt anything. He felt no emotion. Just empty. What if he had no soul?