Only What We Make Ourselves To Be

This is my blog right?

That generally implies that I’m allowed freedom to write as mine own mind sees fit, I suppose.

If so, this is for me.

I am heaven sent.
Don’t. You. Dare. Forget.
I am, all you’ve ever wanted.
I’m what the other boys all promise.
I’m sorry I told,
I just needed you to know.

I think in decimals and dollars.
I am the cause to all your problems.
Shelter from cold,
We are never alone.
Coordinate brain and mouth,
Then ask me what it’s like to have myself so figured out.
I wish I knew.

I hope this song starts a craze.
The kind of song that ignites the airwaves.
The kind of song that makes people glad to be where they are,
With whoever they’re there with.
This is War.
Every line is about who I don’t want to write about anymore.
I hope you come down with something they can’t diagnose,
Don’t have the cure for.

Holding onto your grudge…
It’s so hard to have someone to love.
Keeping quiet is hard.
You can’t keep a secret if it never was a secret to start.

At least pretend you didn’t want to get caught.

We’re concentrating on falling apart.
We were contenders, we’re throwing the fight.
I just want to believe…
I just want to believe…
I just want to believe… in us.

We’re so c-c-c-c-controversial.
We are entirely smooth.
We admit to the truth, we are the best at what we do.
These are the words you wish you wrote down,
This is the way you wish your voice sounds:
Handsome and smart.

My tongue’s the only muscle in my body that works harder than my heart.

And it’s all from watching TV.
And from speeding up my breathing.
Wouldn’t stop if I could.
It hurts to be this good.
Still holding onto your grudge.
It hurts to always have to be honest with the one that you love.
So let it go.

We’re concentrating on falling apart.
We were contenders, we’re throwing the fight.
I just want to believe…
I just want to believe…
I just want to believe… in us.

This is the craze only we can bestow.
This is the price you pay for loss of control.
This is the break in the bend.
This is the closest of calls.
This is the reason you’re alone.
This is the rise and the fall…

We are what we make ourselves to be. What doesn’t kill us can only make us stronger. Simply what we make ourselves to be, makes us what we are.

My mother would tell me that when I was in hospital as a child. Last year, I questioned how much stronger I would need to be. How much more I needed before I was able to take my struggles without hurting. I’m wondering now, if being able to protect one’s self from harm takes the softness from the good moments from our hearts. Do I ice over the good parts too?

These days, I wonder what it means to be strong. How would I define that strength, and how would I make it necessary? Is the strength the ability to resist problems, or simply to recover?

When I started writing this, I wasn’t okay. But now, I feel like even though I hurt, my soul’s connecting with… something. That itch. That hand in the back of my mind that lingers just a moment too long, and wants to clasp mine. I don’t know where, or who, or what, for that matter. But it’s there, and it’s soothing.

Maybe there’s something more to hearts. I feel I found out through these past few weeks, small shards of white and pure that I was allowed to touch. Tonight, after my own trial and tribulation, I felt more connected with everyone than ever before. I had my soul open for everyone to see, because I couldn’t hide my hurt, and I watched my friends rip open their chests and show their own souls, just for me.

I spoke to another today about the Hedgehog dilemma. A herd of Hedgehogs in the winter seek warmth, but when they huddle together, they hurt each other with their pins. Freud paralleled it to mankind. The closer we are with someone, the more we will get hurt from their pins.

And I believed it a lot. That I couldn’t get close to someone, because they would just hurt me.

But now, not so much. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m truly hitting an epiphany. I think I’ve found my fight. My religion. I want to bring love out for people. I want to be able to rip my chest open, and show them who I am, and help them do the same. Simple understanding of one another.

Broken hearts still beat. But I know, that out there, my soul is crying for something. And tonight, I’ve heard other’s souls cry out too. Too many, maybe. I’ve felt bittersweet victory in every one that I touched. They hurt, I feel, that they were close to someone, but loved and felt compassion in all its glory. It’s a little piece of purity. It’s the glimmer of white in a sea of black.

It made me feel like I’m worth something again. It’s brought me back a new trial.

I’m strong. I’m getting stronger. I’m a muscle that needs to be broken to pieces to build itself into something much larger.

I also feel like a hippy or a Christian, spouting off nonsense about love, and the soul, and purpose in life. But y’know what? Fuck them. They’re doing it wrong. I like the message here. The real one.

From these ashes, I’ll rise again. I have a goal. I have challenges to come. I may have a heart that’s bleeding, and be a bleeding heart, but there’s always something new to work towards. I’m hurting, but I have a new outlook, and a choice.

My meaning. My truth.

And you could lay on the ground and be beaten,
Or you could put up your fist and fight.
Or try, anyway.

Isn’t that right, Christopher?