I thought about telling you the news when I found out, but I've been thinking about telling you a lot of things I haven't.

Call me masochistic, but I seem to prefer to carry my burdens on me and me alone. Though that is not to say that I do not enjoy the occasional helping hand or arms to hold me when the weight is too much to bear.  Or maybe we could chalk it up to communication issues- I can't communicate what I feel when I know it may burden or hurt another.

I digress, the real point of the matter is damn genetics. How can one little gene have such a hold on my family. A single gene; an unrelenting brute with the desire to kill.

I hate the heart-sinking feeling of disappointment.

The sudden onset of downcast eyes and a hanging head.


I've always considered myself to be someone who is easily pleased. Show me an act of kindness and I'll show you an eternity. However, when I'm let down, it hits me hard. I do not understand why it is so hard for people, friends and enemies alike, to show common courtesy. It's unfathomable, to me, for so many people to only care about themselves--to lack a vital quality such as empathy.

I'm not trying to preach and I know I often come off as a "Holier than thou" personality type--but I can say that 99% of the time, I try to treat others how I'd want to be treated. I always look at a situation from every angle and treat it as fairly as I can. Is it truly THAT hard to place yourself in another person's shoes? To think of their situation as your own?

I guess it really is difficult to some people and that is what disappoints me. To put forth every effort you have into doing your best for everyone around you and constantly being let down by them. Sitting back and watching people mistreat others. People holding grudges, lying, using and abusing. Witnessing 23 years of that and I still have the naivety to not assume the worst in people--innocent of all of the above until proven otherwise.

Sigh. SSDD.

Allison Krauss - It Doesn't Matter

It doesn't matter what I want
It doesn't matter what I need
It doesn't matter if I cry
Don't matter if I bleed
You've been on a road
Don't know where it goes or where it leads
It doesn't matter what I want
It doesn't matter what I need
If you've made up your mind to go
I won't beg you to stay
You've been in a cage
Throw you to the wind you fly away
It doesn't matter what I want
It doesn't matter what I need
It doesn't matter if I cry
Doesn't matter if I bleed
Feel the sting of tears
Falling on this face you've loved for years

Sad Sponge

That's what I am, at least in the eyes of my brother--and rightly so. He found a simple way to define exactly what I am. A sad sponge.

No, not a sad sponge-- some lonesome sea sponge that wallows in it's own pity at it's inability to reproduce through budding.

Rather, water is to sponge, as sadness is to me.

I absorb all the sadness around me, albeit my own or those in my life. I search for sadness, I feed of sadness, I harbor sadness.

I can't seem to move to work on my own issues until those around me have had their problems alleviated. I try to take that sadness, that frustration, that suffering and make it my own. Once they're uplifted, then I can tackle my issues at hand.

What an exhausting life, the life of the sad sponge.

What happens when max absorbancy is reached? Rupture? Apathy?

Who knows, but I certainly feel I'm reaching my breaking point as of late and there's no one to blame but myself.

Is it too much to ask to be able to help others and still be able to lead the life I'd like to? Apparently so.

Where is my mind?

I've lost the relief I once obtained from blogging.  A real tragedy.

I used to feel the weight lift off my chest with every letter I'd type. The heavy burden that maimed my heart dissipating as my thoughts poured on the empty screen.

Have I fallen so far that what once was uplifting has become nothing more than another obstacle to overcome?

It surely feels so.

Wow.

I feel like I've not been here in quite some time. I feel very out of touch with writing now, all of my time and effort has been dedicated to photoblogging, school, and work.

I feel like starting fresh on this blog, wiping the slate clean. I feel it's burdened with the past. However, I cannot stand to delete an expression of how I felt, no matter how utterly ridiculous it may have been.

Nonetheless, I hope that I can get back in touch with writing. It's such a relief to free the thoughts that weigh on my mind.

I have so much I could write tonight, however I'm exhausted.

Maybe next time.

Your familiar voice sinks into my ears and I'm all too comfortable yet again--I hate it. We sing out our stories and cackle amongst ourselves. Then it happens, as if on cue, we stumble right into your delicate lies. The ones you've told your friends, co-workers, and family. The deceptive story of our past. Your impeccable fallacies wreak havoc on me, ravage me. How many years must one age til he realizes the measure of his mistakes? How wrong must one do before he is sorry?