I may talk to loads of people, but the truth is

I don't really have many friends. I was confronted yesterday by two such, because I'm apparently "spiraling out of control". (Let's not go into that right now.) And they said, "You can talk to us. anytime, anywhere, we are here for you."

I was struck immediately by how few people I've had say that to me. And then how few people really mean that.

But why do I have only...let's see... four (or so) real friends at the moment?

I think it boils down to being "once bitten, twice shy". I have spoken to friends about what's going on in my life and it's backfired. Hard.
do you really expect me to open up after that? I still hurt. After *stops to count* 4 years, I still hurt. Badly. And then I see  this.That doesn't magically massage my bruised and broken emotions though, but I'm trying. (Me, the rambler, off on a tangent. As usual.)

So maybe I am spiraling out of control. Whatever. I don't think I am buuuuuuut let's not go there either.

The fact is, regardless of how I feel, those days when I'm just like "I have approximately zero friends!" there is someone-- technically four or so really but let's not quibble over trivialities-- who will slap me upside the head and say "Bitch what the fuck am I, a tree?" 

The funniest part of it is that there're like 2 girls (who I don't consider girls really cuz they aint feminine at all) and then the guys who I've known for like 3 years but still can't friendzone. In fact, I think I'm starting to get a crush on one such.

OK I'm gone before I spill what I'm not supposed to and get my ass in trouble.

@Jaye_Eccentriq

Is it that the ISIS militants are so firmly rooted in their beliefs that they just

randomly select people whose lives they will then unmercifully wield control over? All for power?

I just watched a series of 3 videos, where the 3 journalists were forced to say what the militants wanted to say to the super-governments. I heard their fear. I felt their despair. I saw in their eyes not self-pity, not self-loathing, but reluctant acceptance of what was to be done to them. I saw forgiveness in advance for what was to be done to them.

I saw a fragile hope. Hope that their deaths brutal slayings would not have been in vain. Hope that they, through having their lives brutally snatched from them, would somehow succeed in making the world a better place. And I barely managed to repress my emotions. Because, for a while there, I felt like I was them.

But right now I can't focus on them, or what they went through. All I could think about was the one killer. That one man who held the fragile thread of three lives in his hands. And did he just make it quick? One clean guillotine, sever their souls from their bodies?

No. A rusty blade. Breaking the thread fiber by fiber, watching souls bleed out, watering the dry ground.

Why?

That's the only thing in my mind. I think in movements, sounds, pictures. But right now all I can think is "Why?"

Those men had people they loved. People who loved them. Dreams, aspirations, hopes, memories, regrets, unresolved issues, questions, answers....they were, like we all are, like the ISIS militants are-- even though it's hard to believe-- human.

I started this post angry. Now I'm just sad.

Sad that men think that this is the only way to get the attention of the masses: carnage.
Sad that this is the best way to get the attention of the masses.
Sad that the carnage isn't over yet, because they haven't gotten what they want.

And these are the things that make me wonder, where the hell heaven is God in all this? Is he just looking down indifferently, occasionally cackling, and scratching his balls?
Is this his form of justice?
Why isn't he doing something?
WHY is this happening to innocent men who probably were counting down the hours till they could go home to their families, sit down and eat a good hot meal and just live? 

And I wait patiently for an answer.
Child. My ways aren't yours. My thoughts aren't yours. Believe that this is just a part of My grand scheme of things.

It's hard to do, God. It is.
Which is why I won't.

I will, instead, pity those poor brainwashed souls that believe that violence is the way to paradise. I will pity them, and....what? Hope they never reach my little island in the sun?

This just proves to me that we will never fully, if at all, understand the human psyche. Which is why I, now more than ever, want to be a psychiatrist. To at least try.

Yes, I know I've ended this post remarkably lamely, considering the buildup of emotions I started it with. But I just don't have the words. I can't find the words.

I've been rendered speechless, wordless, by these acts of unspeakable cruelty. I think I will now enter silent mode.

-@Jaye_Eccentriq

Eureka!

A moment of Eureka a few nights ago. All these years I've been struggling to define myself in terms of me, to step out from the shadows of others and form my own.

Suddenly, Saturday night, it happened.

I was writing, as I usually am, when suddenly I found myself writing the following:

You may not know who I am, but I think I have an idea. I chase after the wind. I trap lightning in bottles. I do the impossible and smile afterwards, because it was so easy.

I am both the diamond and the dirt. To expose me, you must first erode me. I hide who I truly am...simply by being me.

I am a true solipsist. I believe in the absolute power of my mind. I am neither a pessimist or an optimist. I am both an idealist and a realist; I live in a utopian world, well aware that it will never happen, and I have accepted this as fact.

I chart my own course. I refuse to trod the paths of others before me. I choose instead to walk within the jungles when everyone chooses to walk the highway. I embrace the pain on tripping and falling, of skinned knees, when all others rush to alleviate the stinging pain...

Saturday night-- or was it Sunday morning?-- caught me in the most introspective mood I've been in for a few months. But finally, finally, finally, I've learned who exactly I am.

I am exponentially more than the sum of my parts. I am a child, yet I am a woman. No. I am more than a woman. I am unique. Unique in that there is no other combination of genes which could ever produce this person, this exquisite example of... self... that is me.

I am not you. I am not my mother, my father, or anyone else. I'm me. You understand? I'm me, and I've finally learned to accept that which I cannot change.

Once I wanted to be someone else. To lose myself in the shadow of her personality and become her. But I've learned.

I seek true peace and happiness. I have yet to achieve it, but now I embark on the next step of the journey: acceptance of self.

I accept that I am flawed. I accept that there will be times when I will sink deep into the recesses of my mind and wish to remain there, stuck, for a lifetime. I accept that I am not perfect, and that I never will be perfect. I accept myself as I am, flaws and all, a girl who all she wants is to find her own niche in this world and make a difference, who wants to be happy, who wants to laugh until the tears flow and the stomach aches, who just wants to be accepted for who she truly is, who doesn't have to hide the diamond in the dirt, a girl who listens to the songs of the starsin the dead of night and marvels and the exquisite perfection of it all.

I accept my paradoxical personality. I accept that I am an oxymoron. I accept that I am an eccentriq in every sense of the word. I accept that I will laugh where others remain stone-faced, and I will remain stone-faced where others laugh. I accept that I will be different from the rest of the crowd simply because I am me.

I am an oddity. I am whimsical. I am unpredictable. The empyreal is my desideratum. Never the terrestrial. I am flawed. I am oxymoronic: I am flawed and imperfect...yet I am absolutely perfect.

Finally, I know who I am. I flopped back on my bed that Saturday night/Sunday morning with the biggest grin on my face because guess what... Eureka!!!

Happier than I've been in a looooooooooong time,

@Jaye_Eccentriq

Praeteritus

I am here, waiting to be found
To be remembered
But alas
No such fortune.

Everyone is too busy with memories to recollect
There was once one who wished to be like them.

In the beginning I'd thought
I'm just a memory
Turns out I'm less than a memory
I
am
nothing
at
all.

They have passed me on
Barely stopping to look at me
The few who have met my eyes are blank
Not even the merest flicker of deja vu.

So it has been since....
I've forgotten.

They have forgotten me utterly
And now I begin to forget myself

What shall I do when, like them, I have forgotten?

@Jaye_Eccentriq

16 years

Michael

Sorry for not writing before but a girl got business to take care of plus it's exam season now so you understand....don't you?



It's now exam season. Again. Which means that all my friends in upper sixth shall be off to that great exciting unknown called college. And I'll still be here with my memories of them and things said and unsaid. Things I wish I had said.

It may not be obvious, given that I'm prone to rambling, but I find it extremely hard to say things that matter. So if I hurt you, I'll beat around the bush, and rationalize, and avoid. I can't say I'm sorry. Even harder for me to say that dreaded L word.

Even when I do mean it with every fiber of my being.
No I am not talking about Iceburg. That's something I need a week or four to contemplate. I'm talking about people like Excelsior.

Excelsior....this one is yours.

I met him when I started 6th form at Chesta.
And I hated him. Hated his guts. My first impression? "Jesus ee nuff sah!" The guy came up to a friend and me one lunchtime and was introducing himself and expressing his good wishes for our lower sixth year. (Incidentally, he and my friend's elder sister are friends.)

We both disliked him. I mean, come on. Who wouldn't dislike this male they dunno from Adam who just randomly comes up and starts talking?

Fast-forward a couple of days. We saw each other around the school and it progressed from "Hey, what's your name?" to "What subjects do you do?" and eventually us realizing that we had Carib class together and consequently sitting next to each other at the....wait for it.... back of the class.

Whenever I skipped class and hung out on the gazebo, he was always there. First came the days when he'd be like "Shari yuh need fi gah class enuh" and then those days when he just said "Shari....ah fuck it yah man"

All this time I didn't trust him as far as I could push him, which isn't very far. He always saw me in my depressed states and asked what was wrong. He understood what I meant when I shook my head silently without looking at him. He understood I meant "Leave me alone. I don't wish to talk about it." And he did as I requested. He left me alone until I came around.


My nickname, after he found out I was 15 at the time, was "Jailbait". We eventually let the rest of our friends in on it because that was one in-joke that killed us every time. "Jailbait."
My private nickname for him is "Drama King" but let's not go there... and I'm rambling. Dammit.

On my 16th birthday (I celebrated it at school, in Carib class for heaven's sake) he officially rechristened me as "The Girl Formerly Known as 'Jailbait'".

Yes. Et cetera, et cetera. Or, as Iceburg would say, "And some other shit."

Now? I can't imagine Chesta without him. Who am I gonna idle with now? Who am I gonna be inseparable from? Who's gonna listen to me and give me good advice that I don't wanna hear?

Who's going to be the best friend I've ever had in a school setting?

And I'll bet he'll have some smartass response for that.

But the purpose of this rambling was just to say I do love the boy/man. I really do.

Remember how I said earlier that I'd hated him the very first time I met him? I never learn. It's always those people who end up meaning the most to me.

But I'll miss him. And the thought of going through another year of stress and problems without him to destress and kick back with...frankly, it's making me shed a hella lot of tears. And that, for those of you who don't know me, is something I rarely, if ever do.

Anyway, Excelsior.....good luck. Keep writing.

Not used to expressing feelings like this but I'm sure he understands,

@Jaye_Eccentriq

[Untitled]

Can we go back to that moment
When that night was the night?
We didn't stop till it was over
We kept putting our hands up
Because the ceiling couldn't hold us.

The ceiling couldn't hold us.

@Jaye_Eccentriq

16 years

Thanatos

So a friend of mine celebrated his birthday last Friday. At first I was like "Mehh it's his birthday today" but after a while I got to thinking: for the past 19 years he's celebrated an anniversary of life, but for each of those 4th of April milestones, someone dies. Someone breathes their last. Someone's soul finds out the degree of verity in all those statements about the afterlife. Someone's mortality catches up to them and spirits them off to posterity.

For the whole day, death was uppermost in my mind. Now I am not usually a morbid person, so it must be hella serious when I get to contemplating death. Especially in the abstract.

As a child, I was never afraid of death. Growing up in an extremely religious household, I was taught that, if you live right and love God, when you die you go to Heaven. Now apparently Heaven is a place where the streets are lined with gold, there are mansions for you to live in (I assume they too are made of gold), you get milk and honey to eat AND you wear white robes all the time and go around playing harps made of....yep, you guessed it. Gold.

Why would I fear death after hearing all that? Come on! I was about 4 or 5, a perfect angel at the time, a good Christian (those were the days I got sad if I didn't go to church) and I adored God and little baby Jesus. So I figured, in my angelic mind, if I died, I'd get all that, including and especially honey (yes, I have an 11-year-old sweet tooth). In my own way I kinda wanted to die, 'cause paradise, honey, gold, honey, music, HONEY...you get the idea.

But now, as an adolescent, full of questions and doubts (and I won't lie, fears), I'm not so sure. It all seems too good to be true. I keep seeking answers and finding none. It's like dangling, but being unable to see what's holding you up.

Once upon a time, 2 or 3 years ago, I hit rock bottom. I was depressed to the point of self-mutilation. I still feel the urge sometimes, but I just can't find my scalpel. I was depressed to the point of wanting to commit suicide. But being the true and complete bibliophile that I am, I remembered a quote from Hamlet:

"Death, to sleep; to sleep, perchance, to dream..."

And I realized that I'm not at all sure what would happen to my poor messed-up soul were it to be evicted from my body.

Ah, fuck this "not sure" shit. I just don't know a rassclaat. No one does.

Which has me scared as fuck. I've even started asking dead people to come back and dream to me, tell me what it's like because I CAN'T BEAR NOT KNOWING. What murders me even  more is that there is one and only one way to find out. Go die. Evict your soul from your body.

Dawg I'm too scared to try. What if I do try, and all those stories that preachers shout at me over the microphone every Sunday or so about Hell are true? I'm honest enough to admit that, if they are true and I die right now, I'd go straight to the lowest, dankest, most awful, fiery pit of Hell. The pit with the most smoke and scorpions and venomous snakes and....ugh...

AND I DON'T WANNA GO 'CAUSE I GOT SINUSITIS AND I HATE SCORPIONS ALTHOUGH THEY'RE MY STAR SIGN AND I'M TERRIFIED OF THOSE CRAWLING THINGS AND I DON'T LIKE BEING HOT AND I DON'T WANNA GET POKED IN THE ASS WITH A PITCHFORK BY SOME EVIL DUDE WITH HORNS AND A TAIL AND HAVE ALL THAT HAPPEN TO ME FOR ETERNITY 'CAUSE I'D SCREAM AND BURN AND SCREAM AND BURN AND EVEN WHEN I GET HOARSE AMMA STILL BE BURNING AND I AIN'T BOUT THAT LIFE!!!!

Sorry about shouting, but that was all real.

They have a word for this. Thanatophobia.

Thanatos: death. Phobos: fear.

I guess that's yet another of my fears. Right up there with snakes [shudders] and God [cowers with Bible atop head].

I can't keep living this way. But I also can't die this way. What a problem I'm in, I'm in.

I have thoroughly frightened myself with the vehemence of my emotions. So next time ole Thanatos sneaks up behind me and whispers "I'm here, waiting patiently for you," I think I'll run away screaming.

Yours thanatophobically,

@Jaye_Eccentriq