I like you best, 'cause my heart makes the most interesting sounds every time you break it.

In some recent adventures along my procrastination-filled, insomnia-ridden journey, I recently came across this website titled wouldhavesaid.com. (thanks, StumbleUpon!) Initially, it got my attention because the premise of the page seemed as though it had the potential to get some interesting feedback: "Whether the person has passed away, contact was lost, or the strength needed at the time was lacking, this is a chance to say what you have always wanted them to know."
I've always been drawn to looking back, to hearing people's stories, to honesty, and-frankly- to being kind of a creep and living semi-vicariously through the feelings of other people. So naturally, this site actually caught my attention. The kinds of stories people shared also gripped me: of a woman finally confronting a childhood abuser, of siblings working through the suicide of a sister, of a granddaughter who are is still ashamed of her silence on the day she heard her grandmother being mocked by some kids her age. Stories of lovers lost, of friendships torn apart, and stories of hope. It makes me vaguely uneasy reading through people's stories, and to be honest, I can't really go through too many too often, because I begin to become kind of cynical. I wonder if these stories are true, whether anyone REALLY needs to write a five-page letter about how they miss their cat, and I start judging their writing style. It's not that I'm an awful person--promise--but I think it's a coping mechanism.
I think it's safe to say that everybody has unfinished business of some sort. Things to say, people to make things right with, and stories that haven't been told that really should be. Some stories, while we might not identify with them situation by situation, can hit close to home because the feelings behind it are that raw and difficult to digest. It takes a lot of bravery to deal with our regrets, simply because we often can't always do much about them, particularly when the individuals involved are deceased, or impossible to contact (either for geographical reasons, emotional reasons, or whatever other reason you can come up with.) Reading through some of the entries on the site, and hearing people pour out so much unrestrained emotion is a phenomena that rarely happens in the ordinary world, so it provokes a strange combination of curiosity and detachment and empathy within me, personally. And, since I'm all about the application, makes me wonder who I need to say my "would-have-said's" to now.
Eventually, I came to the perspective that there's a reason we don't often discuss our deepest, most troubling, or most embarrassing "would-have-said's" to people straight to their faces. The primary reason is fear, either of the consequences within oneself, of the individual themselves, or of the aftermath. Sometimes it's easier to go along without confrontation and to deal with things when we feel we are at a place where the individual/individuals are no longer in a position to harm us. Vulnerability is a frightening concept. It's sometimes easier to write out our feelings and thoughts and emotions than it is to actually address them, which is probably part of the reason I blog in the first place. It's like a free therapy session. Sometimes, I like to write out the things I want to say to the people I'm mad at/hurt by/sorry for acting like a jerk to but too embarrassed to admit it to...etc...and then I at least know that, should the opportune moment arrive, I know I'd have something to say.
It's tempting to just go all passive-aggressive here and write out all my innermost frustrations with all the people who stress me out and cause me pain and who I'm too chicken to deal with to their faces right here...but I'm tired and I also think that it is probably a terrible plan, because this is not the time of day to get all up close and personal with my feelings. Or anything besides a pillow and dreamland. But the sound of rain on the roof and my window is peaceful, and I'm kind of addicted to the white light emanating from my computer screen. Maybe I will later. If it seems like an appropriate idea when I wake up. Which will, hopefully, be many, many hours from now.

Night/morning, folks!

I'll just imagine the caffeine I would intake right about now if I wasn't a broke student without the funds to purchase it.

Today is going to be an interesting day. I can tell. I should know, because I've only missed about two and a half hours of it since it started, and it's going to continue on for about twelve more hours, and I will probably be awake for most of that too. November... definitely the season to make Christmas/ winter break far more appreciated. Today, instead of being frustrated or feeling dead, I'm surprisingly wide awake. The feeling of accomplishment (finishing the essay of DOOM), of having a far better idea of what to do for my final project for my Communications Research class (which, if you are not mathematically minded or miss a lab, is painfully difficult), and probably the haze of cloudy brain-fog keeping me from panicking. One more essay, one more project, and then I'm done until exams. Granted, exams aren't that far off....but still. The momentary release from the pressure of school work is appreciated.

I don't really have anything particularly insightful, deep, or hilarious to draw out of this for you...sorry...but I'm in a good mood and I have a few minutes to kill before class, so I thought I'd try to lighten things up around this blog o'mine and give you some menial day-details. Charming, I know.

Peace out, girl scouts.

Well, hello again.

I don't want to face my demons this time.

Feeling like I left my army behind and I'm stranded in the front of my makeshift battlefield as they're marching towards me with the hot stink of regret trailing behind them, soaking into the ground through their footprints.

There is no real reason to think this fight is winnable, and there's no way to realistically feel justified in my self-pity, since this time I've handcrafted each of my specialized tormenters, one by one.

But you can't run away from concequences.

You can just hide, and hope they take longer to find you.

emotional striptease

standing in front of you
with shaking hands
unbuttoning the fabric of this so-called relationship
piece by piece
bit by bit
going so, so slowly.
not for the dramatic effect
not for the prolonged anticipation
nor for the pleasure of your frustration
but because fear moves with trepidation
creeping along
thawing its freezing hands around my heart
until it melts enough ice,
and the cold slows my pulse enough
to move faster
unraveling the warmth of my comfortably vague assumptions
cutting through the layers of unasked questions
and laying them out on the floor
shrugging off hesitancy and of waiting for the never-to-happen “right” moment
untying my tongue till all the stored-up words fly free
I am all exposed and bare and breakable
and you are here
and I need to know if you want me as I am