[I Lie in the Dark]

I lie in the dark

Wait for the sun

Surrounded by art

Like an unfinished sum

Expansion elusive

The finish unseen

The darkness intrusive

Like an unraveled seam

Allowing reentry

To worlds yet unknown

As I stand here sentry

In a darkened home

The dark is a curse

I cannot explain

The light its reverse

The removal of pain

Caring Again

I could never stop caring. Even when I want to, my heart burns inside of me with the pain of those around me. Even when I want to believe that I could focus on my own pain, my own problems, I still feel what they feel. I know I’m not literally feeling it. But I cannot help but imagine what they are feeling, to want to do something about it, even in situations when I can’t.

I remember the time I killed a spider. I do it all the time and I never think twice. But there was this one time. I let it live in my window for a month and a half until it got cold. At first it would run away when I would open or close the window, but gradually it got used to me. I had never hurt it, so it just stayed still. I became afraid that it would come all the way inside as it grew colder, I guess. But what could it really have done? But out of my concern for myself, I killed it. And it sat there and let me. It knew all that time I wouldn’t hurt it because I never had. And then I did. Worse than that, I killed it. And it didn’t even move an inch when I came in with a tissue to end its life.

That may seem petty to you. Ridiculous that I would even care about something that stupid and small. But I can’t help but feel as though I betrayed something. I let my concern for myself override my compassion for others, and that one instance has bothered me for the last three years. It doesn’t mean I never kill spiders. It just means I don’t let them trust me and then kill them, and if I can avoid killing them, I do.

You might think I’m one of those crazy people who is all for not killing anything at all under any circumstance. But stay with me for a minute.

As I drove home today from school, I had a lot weighing on my mind. But I tried not to let it undermine my happiness about my graduation. And then I saw this deer. It had been hit by a car and was still in the road. But as I passed, I saw it move. Its breath steamed in the cold air. It was still alive. Just lying there, waiting to be hit again at the bottom of a hill. I did everything I could think to do, and the man who had hit it came back to end its life. I was just glad it wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

I could have kept driving. I could have thought, I’m not equipped to do anything in this situation, so I don’t need to try. I could have said that it wasn’t worth it or I could have ignored it in order to continue focusing on my attempt to remain happy. But I couldn’t do that. How could I put my own happiness before something like that? It didn’t even enter my mind.

I am moved by compassion regularly. People tell me it makes me a good person. But does that really define a good person? Shouldn’t people just feel that way anyway? But I get caught up on things just as much as other people. It isn’t till it’s staring me in the face, just like tonight, that I am moved enough to act.

It bothers me that I let things pass so often that I could have prevented or at the very least helped with. And it bothers me that it can be so easy to just ignore the suffering in the world. It bothers me most during the times that I find myself unable to ignore it. When I feel so strongly about something that I can’t let it pass. Because I don’t know why I can at other times. And I don’t know how people can every day. How can we pass something or someone suffering and do nothing or think that we can’t or shouldn’t help? I can’t understand the feeling. And yet I feel it in myself. Sometimes I want that. Sometimes I don’t want to have to deal with the death and suffering this world throws at us, as though if I ignore it, it’s not really there because I am not thinking about it. But I simply don’t have that option.

Death is a part of this world. Suffering is a part of this world. Pain is a part of this world. That’s the reality of it. And if that’s reality, then isn’t there anything we can do about it, that we should do about it? Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like as people who say we follow God, we should be willing to put ourselves aside a little more often for the sake of those around us to alleviate the suffering we see in the world. Or at the very least to not add to it.

Caring

I remember why I stopped caring the way I used to.

It hurts too much.

Sometimes when I'm sad I still feel it.

Feeling every person's sadness.

Enduring every person's pain.

Experiencing the sorrow of each person vicariously.

It wears on your mind.

It wears on your emotions.

My own pain is more than enough.

Yet I have lost all sense of empathy.

Only my own pain matters.

Only my own sorrow.

Only my own hurt.

And then I become the person I am today.

The person who doesn't care.

The (Possibly) Pointless Writings of a (Possibly) Meaningless Writer

I can't think to say things. I can think to write. Give me enough time and I could write something that sounds impressive. Give me the same amount of time and I still won't think of anything worthwhile to say. It's who I am. It sucks at times, but it's who I am. It's why I want to be by myself. Why it would be better if I knew no one. I could live in solitude, be a recluse, and write. Send my writings to the world. Send my pain to the world. No one will read what I write regardless. Whether I know people or not, my writings will fail. They may be impressive, but people don't read. Why do I love what no one enjoys? Why do I find the most useless things to do with my life? So I could try to say things, know people, hold conversations, make speeches, shit like that, and fail. Or I could spend my life writing and fail in the minds of others regardless. Maybe it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe I'm the one that matters when it comes to my own life. Or maybe I mean nothing; perhaps I'm insignificant. The latter seems more likely. Maybe it doesn't matter that I fail because I don't matter. But I don't want to believe that. I want to believe that I have purpose. Do I want to think that whether or not I do? Do I prefer myself over the truth? I don't know the answer to that. I know the answer to nothing. I know nothing. My conclusion to this is just that: that I know nothing. For what point have proved here, what truth have I unveiled? Absolutely none.

Useless Tears

I feel so alone. So alone. Even God feels like He is not here. My heart hurts. My eyes fill with tears. I cannot contain all of the sadness inside of me and it seeks to leave through the salty tears leaking from my eyes. As though they could really help. As though they will alleviate the sorrow within me, as though they will lessen it at all. What good are tears? They will not help my pain, they will never take away my hurt. My heart aches and my response is to cry? What good will it do me? What will crying do besides stain my cheeks with tears? How can it ever make me feel better? But even though I scorn them, I know I will not be able to stop them. I cannot hold them off for long. I can already feel this building inside of me, pressing outward on my chest, trying to escape, and then constricting upon my heart in an attempt to force the cries from me. And soon I will give in, for even these words do nothing to console me.

7-8-12 11:09PM

Falling Apart

I feel as though my world is slowly falling apart,
   bit by bit, piece by piece.

The weight of sadness is tearing at my heart;
   the vultures gather to make me their feast.

There are too many things from which I must part.
   This changing will never cease.

I swear to God, it's been like this from the start;
   from the pain there's no release.

I will never be used to the way life treats my heart;
   there is no rest, no comfort, no peace.

Painful to the Human Mind

I was writing a paper today on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and was skimming through the book to refresh my memory, and I saw this:

"Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certanity which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear."

I'm pretty sure this may be one of my favorite quotes now. Because it is so true. I mean, who wants to sit around and do nothing after something has happened that has upset them? And yet, somehow it seems as though that is exactly what always happens after something bad has happened. When I'm upset, I feel as though there is nothing to do and I simply sit around and think. And when you're upset, thinking is exactly what you should not do. Because of course you're going to think about what upset you and nothing is more painful. You have that certainty that Shelley speaks of, knowing that it really did take place. This really is the way things are. There is no hope for the situation, but there's also no fear, because it's over. And it's the worst feeling in the world.