Of Fearing The Empty

You want to know a secret?

I'm scared of being alone. In more ways than one. But right now? I'm terrified of this house I'm in. Because I'm completely alone.

No, that's a lie. I've my two cats and three fish. But I doubt any of them would be able to be considered "Guard Cats/Fish."

I'm scared that someone will break in. I'm scared someone is looking through the windows. I'm scared someone is hiding in the shadows. I'm scared there's ghosts hiding downstairs, or just around the corner. I'm scared I'll see a centipede or spider and I won't be able to ask for someone to kill it. I'm scared I'll have a nightmare of any of the above. Actually, the latter three I'm scared of all the time, but it's heightened when I'm alone.

It's just not safe.

And since my brother and his friends saw that peeper outside the living room window back in April, I've been scared that he's going to come back. I want new curtains, since blinds just don't cut it.

I wish we had a second storey, cause I'm also afraid of being kidnapped. Through the window even. Like those two girls a couple of years back, one being dumped in the woods somewhere and one hacked into several pieces and scattered along the bayfront.

I'm scared of a lot of things, but whenever I am I just brush it off. I'm okay. I'm okay. Ha-ha, watch as someone breaks in. Isn't that funny?

Except it's not.

But I won't tell my parents because I'm an adult now, and they've got a cottage to go to, and I can't go with them because I've got work.

And I have to sleep in this huge room by myself, where there could be a sasquach passing by my window at any moment. Some hairy beast. That can't happen around here cause, well, someone would see him, it, her, and there's fences and raw wood and a lot of stuff. And I don't want someone telling me differently cause those are the things that keep me from crying.

And I won't tell anyone because I like being alone. I like having the freedom to blare music, or (as I normally do) sit around in the silence and enjoying it.

But this house just isn't safe.

So there's my secret. Care to share one of yours? I promise I won't tell.

Of Uncontrolled Temper

Honestly, right now, if this was a year ago, or worse- two or three years ago, my room would be smashed to pieces. Along with everything else in the house.

It's only because I've gotten a helluva lot better at controlling my temper that I have not hopped on a bus and rode it down to my cousin's house to punch him out.

But I'm more sensible than that now.

Somewhat. But a lot more than I was so-long ago.

Of Trusting Almost Everything

I'm going to hang out with one of my ex-friends. Ex-sisters. We'd been falling apart much before February happened. In all truth, we probably should have never been friends, let alone almost sisters. And yet, we were. Funny how that works.

We hurt each other. I know what much. What was said and what was done, it's all equal measure. We were crappy sisters and friends until the lights went out and we hugged our pillows to our chests and texted our biggest worries to each other, and replied in the same fashion.

How does that change? How does a person change from day to night, two completely different people?

But when there was no one other to talk to, and even when there was, we'd turn to each other, because we somehow understood each other. We were too alike, you see. Fire and fire only causes a bigger fire.

And now I can't trust her. I haven't in months. I don't. And part of me doesn't want to. I want to seclude myself, cut myself off from anyone who would ever have the means to use everything I've said against me. Especially when it comes to certain people.

So why did I agree to hang out with her, though almost everything is screaming alarm?

Because, I think, it's the fact that it's only almost everything. It's not everything. There's something there that doesn't scream alarm. There's something bigger there than a person who I know wouldn't say a word has in my mind. I trust him less than this ex-sister of mine. And perhaps it's just sentimental. But late in the night when I text her "Do you remember..." and it all feels like it once did... Well...

 And I sum it up to something more heartless because when I think about the risk I'm taking for a bit of old-times sake, I get a bit anxious. A bit run run run away. I sum it up to this, which is no less true; I need to start trusting people more, and if I don't give someone a chance to choose whether to hurt me or help me, then I am stuck where I am.

And I'm a stray, looking for other strays.

Of Searching for Paradise

We all searched for paradise. We all followed the path we thought would take us there. All our paths were so different, but we were determined that our way was the right way, and screw everyone else.

We all participated in our own little rat race. Who could reach Paradise first. Who could claim it for their own. Who would hold the bragging rights.

And in the end, we all lost Paradise.

I don't know if we found it, or if we never even made it there. All I know is that everything crumbled in our hands, and now we're trying to make something out of this suddenly-nothing.

I don't exactly know what I have right now, or where I'm going. I don't know if I'm still foolishly looking for Paradise still, or if I'm just looking for another place to run. I don't know much.

I just know, or think I know, that I have some kind of happiness in me. Some kind of calmness. I still have anger and sadness, but I'm okay. I'm still working out things, and I'm still figuring out trusting, but... I guess the big point about this is that I'm Okay.

I don't know anything about Paradise anymore, but I'm okay.

Of Remembering When

All my texts and all my emails to you start with the words "Do you remember..."

Because I don't see a future in us.

Because all I have of you is the past and the memories that go with.

Because I need to make sense of the past, and everything that was said and was done in it to decide whether I can forgive you, even if I will never see you again.

I need to know in my heart whether to lock you in a box and throw it to the depths of the ocean, or to just put it away at the top shelf of my closet, behind the Porcelain dolls that share and keep my secrets.

Of Baking Cakes on a Moment's Notice

I can't make cakes on a moment's notice.

I mean, you could tell me to make you a cake the day before and I could probably do it (24h), but that's a lot of work and I'd be up all night doing it.

But when I've got work all weekend, and I'm out a lot of the day Friday, and you want me to make a cake I've never made from scratch and you tell me four days in advance, at midnight?

Yeah, a little hard to do.

I can do it. I just will hate you for a while.

Furthermore, if you don't respond to my messages for hours in between, even less time.

Some people are just lucky they're family.

Of Secrets in the Dark

And sometimes you don't need the dark basement and the breathing bodies close. You don't need the glowing clock of three AM. You don't have to have the whispering and the quiet confessions. You don't need the hands reaching out in the dark to grasp hold of.

Sometimes, having a distant connection through MSN, a phone call, a text message, is all you need for one of those moments to happen.