Cicatrice

A few days ago, I woke up to the sun cascading it’s glowing aura down on me. I lay there trying absorb this moment in time and I felt the world slow down for me. I felt the knowledge of time slip away from me and I was in this impermeable bubble of suspended animation. For a spilt second, nothing was wrong and I was content with everything until I sat up and looked down at my legs. Since it was quite warm the previous night, I had slept in nothing but my underwear (pardon the awful mental image) so my odious and contemptible thighs were exposed. My bubble had burst and the beautiful glow from the sun had turned into a spotlight, showing my shame to the world.

As they shone in the sun, I initially felt anger mixed with this actual nausea but strangely enough, it turned into this incredible sense of reverence. For the first time in my life, I thought they looked beautiful. Some of them white, some of them raised and some faded in time. As I traced them with my fingers and I felt the memories wash over me, some of them decaying me, some of them regenerating. I was mesmerised by my own skin and I felt like I was touching the skin of another. And for some strange reason, it made me realise I am in love.

I am in love with the distorted. I like the ugly. I like the wrong and the macabre. I am a masochist and I like leaving blemishes on me that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I like the pain and I’ve grown to love the shame. I’ve grown to love the guilt of the blood leaving my body. My mind has spun upside down, I love what I should fear and I fear what everyone else deems normal. It scares me how much I like the other side. It scares me how much I want to just give in and go.

Alas, I won’t. All I will leave will be more lesions and more blemishes on people. I wish to lessen the effect I have on this disgusting keloid scar covered world. And I just realised that this post makes no sense. Thousand apologies.

Poison

A little over 2 months after my 16th birthday, I began bruising after blood tests. Since I was 8 years old, every two weeks or so, my theophylline levels are checked and until the 4th of March 2013, it was stable. I returned home after a routine appointment at the Royal Children’s Hospital and went up to my room to sleep (which I seemed to be doing a lot of) before my singing lesson. Singing went rather smoothly despite the increase in pain whilst breathing. Upon arriving home, my dad asked me to sit down and this worried me because a) he never sits down, b) when he does, I’m usually in trouble and c) the last time he asked me to sit down, someone had died. Luckily for me, I was not in trouble and no one had died. My chest specialist from the hospital had phoned while I was at singing in regards to my blood test and this caused me to worry again because a) I had done the blood test no more than 4 hours beforehand and b) I had taken a significant amount of morphine for pain the previous day without telling anyone. Providentially, it was neither. My theophylline levels in my blood were so incredibly high that if I didn’t cease taking it I would have a heart attack.

I thought it so ironic that the very chemical keeping me alive was the thing poisoning me and killing me. My life force was killing me and I had to stop taking it other wise I would be gone. At the same time, by ceasing to take it, I am putting myself in danger. My lungs are hurting, I’ve begun coughing up blood and breathing has become so ridiculously difficult. There is nothing I can really do about it and I guess this saddens me. I cry a lot because of the pain but mostly, I just cry because I want to disappear. I’m causing so much trouble.

Fatigue

2 am and my thighs burn
Deciding why I can’t acquire oxygen like everyone else
And you seem troubled and bothered
I don’t know what about
The loss of blood makes me dizzy
And you sound worried
There’s no need to worry about the dead
And you’ll be okay
I’m okay
Don’t wake me up tomorrow

I want to sleep.

Breathing, Journey, family and onion soup

Onion soup is by far my favourite. It’s warm, rich and easy to make. I made some last night. It took all the effort in the world to get my lungs to suck it up and work. It tasted fantastic and my family seemed to like it. And then I bought a new game on my Playstation. I bought Journey and I have to say, $20 well spent. It is an altogether beautiful game with its sparkling sand and magical flying carpets. The ending was amazing and I’d like to think it was talking about the journey to heaven. Maybe I over interpreted it but it seemed like I was walking into the light of heaven. Ironic that I’m far from religious.

When I woke up his morning, I regretted making onion soup. Breathing was hard and so I spent most of my time taking medication and sobbing softly. My family isn’t really helping. My grandmother is being rude to my father (as well as everyone else really) and everyone is acting like this is fine. Everyone expect my father doesn’t seem to get that I’m sick again. It’s funny though, the only person I truly consider as family right now is my brother who isn’t technically related to me. I wish he could be here.

My dad wants to take me to hospital but I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. Every time I go, a little big more of my dignity withers away. And not to mention the pain. A hospital is a house of pain, tears and heartache and yet we only ever hear about the medical miracles. I just really don’t want to go. They have begun to believe that I am “faking my asthma and crap lungs”. I would love to know exactly how one fake this considering it would mean I’m faking x-rays too.

I’m beginning to lose consciousness and I wanted to write to make sure people know what’s happening. Time is no longer present in my mind and all I want is to talk to my brother. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to worry and yet that’s all I’m doing. I might be going to hospital so I’m going to queue this for tonight. I love you bro and I’m sorry.

1st of December

I’m usually extremely happy on the first of December. It always means the family decorated the house with unnecessary amounts of tinsel and play corny Christmas carols at ear drum busting levels. It always means everyone is happy and the only this we will argue about is where to put the tree this year or who is going to put the star on the top this year. It means I start to feel the warmth of Christmas inside me and I always start to get excited. This year was no different. We decorated all day, we played the carols and we ended the day covered in glitter and tinsel remains. This year we ever had another awesome factor to this special day. A Christmas Carol was on TV and we all sat and watched it. But there was something wrong. I was not happy. Not at all.

It all started a few days ago. I reread Perks of Being a Wallflower in light of recent movie adaptation and the ending made me think. It made me think as hard as granite and made me think as in depth and detailed as an Anne Rice book. It made me cry. It made me remember. It forced me to think of all the things that happened and how accurately the feelings were described. How it remains with you for a long time and you can even feel love for the person. Not many people understand that. I can’t tell anyone in my family. The consequences will cause much more pain than I’m currently feeling right now.

I want to be happy. I want to be excited for Christmas. I want to feel the magic. I want to feel the warmth. I want to participate. I want to believe in Santa. I want to have faith again. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to feel anymore. I don’t want to fear anymore. I just want to be normal again. I want to be that naive 13 year old who fell in love with a guy for no reason. I want to be that girl with no inhibitions. I don’t want to be this emotional, ugly and pathetic carcass anymore.

Let me be excited for Christmas again.

Owl City!

Today was so perfect! I can’t even begin to describe how happy I am. I have not stopped listening to the album and I can’t wipe this smile off my face.

He was perfect. Adam Young was perfect. He was everything I expected and more. His voice was amazing, he attire was fantastic and he sang all of my favourite songs. He looked right at me a few times and smiled. Absolutely blew me away. He played the entire track list of The Midsummer Station as well as some of his old songs including Angels, Umbrella Beach, Fireflies, Hello Seattle and Meteor Shower. He sang Meteor Shower. METEOR SHOWER. It’s like he read my mind.  He was fantastic.

I bought the album (even though I have it) and I bought the t-shirt. No words can really describe how I feel right now but I think one that kinda sums it up is euphoric. I’m on the best kind of high and I don’t ever want to come down. Everyone in the room knew all the words to every song and for one fleeting moment, a group of strangers we joined together. It was so special. Especially when we all sang Silhouette together. We sounded so beautiful and Adam looked like he was feeling every word and I would imagine he was.

He played us an instrumental piece at some stage and told us “dreamers to go where ever we wanted to” or something along those lines. He just spontaneously said that and yet even then, he was poetic. It just came so naturally through his song-like voice. It felt almost like a privilege to even be in the presence of this musical and eloquent genius.

The lights, the smoke machine, the numbing bass, the fantastic instrumentals and perfect vocals have left the most significant mark on my mind. I can’t forget any of it and I actually started crying when I got home. This was my dream and it finally came true.

I could have listened to him sing all day and listen to him talk for hours. Maybe that’s ridiculously creepy but he truly intrigues me. I believe Adam is the only celebrity that has that effect on me. I feel like he knows me and I know him and yet we know nothing about each other. We share a special existence without actually knowing each other.

As cliché as it is, Adam has gotten me through some tough times and I don’t think I’d be the person I am today without his idyllic and utopian lyrics and melodies. I want to thank Adam for everything even though he will most probably never know of the gratitude I have towards his mind and his music. I have the utmost admiration for his music and performance from his touring band and I have complete respect for their musical talent.

Adam Young, thank you for Owl City and all your other projects. Thank you for existing and touching the hearts of millions. You will always be a significant part of my life and I don’t think I will ever stop listening to your musical talent.

Elbow?

On the first of this month, I went to the hospital for an appointment with my orthopaedic surgeon. I was incredibly scared of what the decision would be. I suppose, long story short, I’m having surgery in under 3 months. Turns out I have a compressed nerve in my elbow. I can’t say I’m scared. I’m just paranoid about the timing. I hope I can still go and see Owl City in concert. I hope that I can still go to camp. I hope that I can still enjoy Christmas. I hope it’ll be okay.

Although, I’ll admit I got a little worried when the doctor said it might not work. I went home and cried and screamed at the thought that I might now ever be able to play my instruments again. I don’t really know what I’ll have left if I permanently lose my music. In protest, two days after I was told not to play anything, I played guitar for 12 hours straight. It was beautiful. I just thought that I needed to enjoy it while I can. I don’t really care that it got so significantly worse because it was worth every minute. It was worth all the pain and blisters. I felt myself again.

And I don’t want to lose that part of me. I’m not ready. Not even close. The pain in my arm doesn’t compare to the loss I feel right now. And this is an excruciatingly short post.

Perceiving the world without you

To see the world without you beside me could be compared to the wrath of hell set loose in my mind. It could be compared to seeing all the inner demons of psychopaths throughout the ages for the rest of my existence. The very timbre of the world would be morphed and changed until it simply becomes diminished and monotone. I would be the only one who would see the heavens burn down to a crust and fall heavily onto me like an anchor in the cold, harsh ocean. I don’t want to see the world like that.

To smell the world in the way I do without you could be compared to seeing and smelling colours that have been stripped of their emotions and moods. It could be compared to a genetically modified and created rose that has completely lost its smooth aroma. To smell the world without your presence in my life would be like having all memories, experiences and event change to become this infinite emotionless story. And if I were to lose you before we were to meet in real life, my mind would be forced to conjure up what you smelt like and what colour you were. My mind would be forced to imagine your smell and I know my imagination would not be able to even begin to fathom your essence. The world without the moods of smells would eat away at myself and survival wouldn’t be likely. I don’t want to smell the world like that.

To hear the world without you in it would be like hearing busy and distressing sounds in your ears. It would be like having hundreds of yelling people surrounding and closing in until I’m trapped within myself. Hearing the silence without your voice would be the loudest noise known to man and no amount of screaming will shut the patronizing quietness up. My head would not only be filled with scorpions and firecrackers but with the other voices, the alter egos of me. And every single alternate versions of me would be missing you. They would cry, yell and do things I only dare think about and yet their only reason for their cruelty towards myself and others is because of the unfathomable and growing loss within my very core. I don’t want to hear the world like that.

To taste any kind of food after your departure could be compared to biting into a putrid and mouldy apple. The oozing, bitter and blackened taste would linger around my mouth until it eats away my gums and enamel only to leave a black hole where my mouth once was. Even the refreshing feeling of water would burn my throat as if I were drinking the urine of Satan’s spawn. The taste of my dry mouth would be acidic and harsh against my tongue and all the waters of the earth would not be able to sweeten and wash away the taste in my mouth. I don’t want to taste the world like that.

To feel the world with my skin on my own could be compared to having my entire skin scorched and peeled off inch by inch. It would be like touching a baby’s cheek only to find its made of shards of poisonous glass. Every single perception would cause the memory of you to slip away a little more until all I have left is the pain of you gone. My fingers would become bloodied and blistered by feeling the softest cashmere or the finest Egyptian cotton without you. I don’t want to touch the world like that.

To live without you could be compared to having portions of my body eaten away everyday. It could be compared to having a harpie claw off my skin with its talons everyday. It would be like someone had placed a black hole within me and everything around me, including myself, would be sucked in. My mind would give into the darkness and my body would give into the pain. I would give up. I wouldn’t be human anymore. I would be an empty shell and carcass of what I was. No amount of screaming would satisfy the burning lacerations inside the torment of living on this planet without you. No amount of cutting would appease and release the sordid, anguished and acerbic bubbling blood under my skin. No amount of tears would permeate the lamented purgatory I’d be condemned to. Nothing would take away the vexation I’d feel with you gone.

I don’t want to live without you.

Skyping With You

Skyping with you is more enjoyable than walking through a lush green forest with squirrels and robins around me because I’d rather see your face than discover Sherwood forest without you.

Holding Domo doesn’t quite compare to when we talk about nothing because Domo can’t talk back when I say things to it and nor does it hug back and I’m sure you have fantastic hugs.

I’d rather Skype with you than get a lung transplant because breathing air in this oxygen sparse world wouldn’t be worth it without seeing you every night.

And seeing you react to the ridiculous links I send you is far better than eating a gourmet meal in the heart of Holland while sipping expensive champagne because seeing your eyes light up with stars is much more beautiful than tasting the stars.

Talking to you all day is more fulfilling than if I were to go back in time and have a conversation with King Akhenaten about his decision to eliminate all gods and goddesses because all you say is sacred and powerful and much more intriguing than anything I can discover from a pharaoh.

And I’d rather cut down tress and make fire in Runescape than fly first class to Vienna to sample the different coffees and visit the work areas of Wolfgang Mozart, Joseph Haydn, Ludwig Van Beethoven, Gustav Mahler and Johannes Brahms because killing trolls along side you is much more fun than visiting the dwellings of dead geniuses.

Helping you is so worth it because I decided a while ago that the reason I exist isn’t to invent something that becomes a household object, it isn’t to become a CEO of a multimillionaire company nor is it to find a cure for an incurable disease. The reason I came to be, the reasons my parent’s chromosomes came together like they did, the reasons the stars aligned in the exact position it did when I was born was simply to find you, help you and stick by you no matter what.

Having you as a brother is more fulfilling than dancing with no inhibitions at a party, more satisfying than eating a warm meal in the Antarctic and more enjoyable than laying on the hood of a car in the middle of nowhere to watch the sun go down and come up again. And I think the only way I’d do that and enjoy it is if you were right there to enjoy the sun heating up the metal hood under us.

Loving you is better than loving anything else because you, in three words, are a beautiful person and you are more oracular than any other human being I know.

Holidays and my brother

There is something about these holidays that is really getting to me. Possibly due to the perpetual crying. Possibly due to the infection in my lungs. Possibly due to the state things are at home right now. Possibly due to trying to stop my adoptive brother from killing himself. Possibly due to the irrepressible and incessant pain in both my arm and chest. Whether not it’s one or more of these things, the end result is the same. I relapsed. And for the first time, I wish I didn’t.

I told my adoptive brother and I have never seen someone in such pain. We were Skyping and we both were crying. He just froze and looked at me so blankly. Then he said something that even now I feel that stabbing pain from it. He simply said, “And I can’t even be there to wipe your tears away.” and he burst out crying. In some kind of trance, I saw him pick up his own blade and absolutely mutilate his arm. I don’t want any of you regular readers to judge him. I completely understand why he did it. I found myself howling with pain and almost screaming. And that’s when I realised. That’s exactly what I’m doing to him. I’m causing him pain by causing myself pain. I never want to see him like that again. I know that would mean that I would have to stop but it was possibly the most painful thing I had to witness. I don’t think I can bare to see someone I love and care about hurt himself like that. And now I understand what he means when he told me how much it hurts him to know what I do to myself. I understand it all now. It’s just such a shame I had to witness it to understand.

I love him. There’s no doubt about it. I love all of him. The suicidal part, the self harmer part and the fantastic person I know he is. He has an amazing personality and even with his quirks and flaws, there’s not a bit I would change. I would only try to give him the will to live. He is quite literally the only person that’s keeping me going right now and I’m going to fight for him. I’m going to make sure he gets through everything. I wish he could see what I see in him. I look up to him like a brother and I love him like one. I just wish I could be beside him to help. To be able to clean his wounds. To be able to hold him when he cries. And most of all, to be able to distract him from the messed up world around us. The world that continually wants to be noticed.