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?

Maybe You Should Drive.

Who do you carry that torch for, my young man?
Do you believe in anything?
Do you carry it around just to burn things to the ground?

What is justice, or morality for that matter? I’m not satisfied thinking that there is no universal answers, or that it’s up to the individual to make their own weight on the matter. What is worth fighting for, and is it just to fight for it?

Are we treacherous hearts?

Are we destined for the hedgehog’s dilemma, only to hurt the ones we get close to?

How to porcupines have sex anyway?

Is this world only as thick as our vision, or is there something more? Would I be crazy to try to trust a second layer?

Shut up.

No.

Please.

And in the choir I saw a sad messiah,
He was bored and tired of my laments,
'said “I died for you one time, but never again.”
Never again…

What is in a name?
What if the devil is the good guy?

Someone asked me if I were he, and I would encourage the sins of humanity, would I punish those that abided. Would the devil do that, if he encourages the behaviour? What if he’s the right one, or even that there is no wrong one? Punishing someone for doing what you ask…

Lucifer is bearer of light. Christopher is the bearer of Christ. Christ and Light are hand-in-hand.

Do I lean to the extremes then, or sit in the middle?

Why does my heart shut up when I need it to speak?

Mittens gets smarter than I want him to.

There’s two more that I need names for.

I wish Skittles and Chris said more things.

I’ve found where in the brain they’re located. Wikipedia’s not as unreliable as people tell me it is. It bothers me when I’m invalidated simply because I got my information from looking at it.

What’s an opinion mean anyway? Why do we always need one?

What if I can’t find God, even if I were to brave looking?

They say you need pray if you want to go to heaven,
But they never tell you what to say when your whole life has gone to hell.

I want to believe humanity is better than this. Better than politics and companies. Something more than human. Something humane. I want to believe in the goodness of people’s hearts.

I just want to believe,
I just want to believe, in us.

Can we do that though? Are we strong enough?

This is the weight of my conscience.
This is an all-time low.

Is there still a place left on earth to live where you cannot be found?

Is there a reason that art satisfies more than process and rationality, yet isn’t considered very valid?

What does validity refer to? Why can 800 psychologists throw their theories out, be correct, and never once be right?

…Needing someone is useless. Do we need them for wants, or want them for needs? It looks like people just want to use.

Like tools.

Like pawns and pick-up sticks.

Like parking validations.

Yes, I was here. Thank-you.

This is a matter of life and death,
But I deal with things like this everyday.

Why do I always feel so cold? Is it because I remember being warm? Why can’t I tap into that passion at will?

Is this another phase, or more?

I’m bothered by the question marks.


Could I step off the edge and never worry about the fall?

I don’t want to go on MSN or have my phone on me all the time. I keep looking at it, thinking I need it, because someone might need me, but at heart, I don’t want to be that connected.

It’s very comfy underneath my coffee table. I’m not there anymore. But I wrote most of this there.

I have not written in over a month.

I have not drawn in almost a year.

Photoshop’d in 4 months.

Played a game passionately since Fallout 3.

Looked for stars since November.

Laughed without Mittens cringing for a while.

Questioned.

Wondered.

Thought.

Lived.

I exist. But everything exists.

I know you’re coming for the people like me.

Have I been like this for months and not noticed?

Mittens thinks so.

Skittles thinks this is just a bad outlook.

And that I need chocolate.

I’ve wanted to be in space more in the last week than in my whole life. I don’t know why.

Someone else should be driving my car. I’m pretty inebriated.

My head hurts. I’m only thinking in lyrics.

This is war… Every line is about…

I wouldn’t mind being a Gundam, if a Gundam was more than just a show or a weapon.

I am a tool, because I get used, and I don’t know if I mind.

Where did the sunshine and rainbows go? I had them.

You could lie on your back and be beaten.
You could put up your fists and fight.
You could try anyway.

What’s more, why is this such a simplex answer, to what feels like a complicated question, when I’m sure the answer’s complex and the question is simple.

I promised myself I would post this. I almost backed down.

…Who do I carry the torch for? Do I believe in anything? Or am I just trying to burn things to the ground.