Assign each letter a value greater than itself
long divided by a sense of wonder
greater than any number
or compilation thereof
Pointless shapes placed adjacent
letters spell words with meanings
words side by side purport,
multiply by infinity
Divide by zero
like black holes in space
senseless lines imply significance
interpreted interminably
My life is filled with riches
for I walk in fields of gold.
I can see it in the sunsets
and my diamonds in the sky.
As they twinkle, glitter, gleam
so high up in the night.
My emeralds in the forests,
alive and filled with trees.
My sapphires blue as blue can be,
down in the deep blue seas.
And the roses are my rubies
And my pearls, the gleaming snow.
And nature is beautiful, indeed
That I surely know
For I am the richest person
and I'm happy as can be
Sometimes the world sucks. Life is hard and then we die.
My heart will break into a hundred tiny mirror fragments, seven years bad luck. I reach and miss, and I hit the ground and I break. But I always put myself back together. Piece by piece, painstakingly glued back together with happy memories and hope. Rebuilt anew, different but the same, stronger but still frail from the fall.
And sometimes instead of falling and picking up all the pieces, I run scared. And I run, and run, and run. I run because I am so tired so exhausted of my life and the world. Because it hurts like broken glass in open wounds. And I run until it hurts to think anymore, which is the whole point. And I Can't stop because I'm scared, so I keep going until the soles of my shoes are ground to dust and my feet bleed from overuse. I keep going because even though I hurt it's better than thinking, it's easier than thinking. I can't stop.
So sometimes I need somebody to trip me and let me hit the ground. Cause if they catch me, will I learn?
Sometimes the saving is in the act of making me fall. And most times it ends there. I trip and I fall and I get back up and move on, just slightly better off than I was. Slightly stronger, slightly smarter.
But sometimes, sometimes I get tripped and I fall to hit the ground but somehow, I miss. I miss the ground and then all there is, is to fly. And instead of coming back ever so slightly better than before I am the phoenix rising and I can fly.
I have a lot of issues. Difficult ones that are overly complicated and difficult to solve. Oftentimes my issues don't even make sense, completely illogical, inexplicable, incomprehensible.
I have issues with avoidance. Issues with anxiety. Issues with authority, independence, and making decisions. I have issues with commitment and with telling people that I need help.
So many issues that somewhere along the line that was All there was. And all I could do was be sucked under a flood of previously dormant problems.
So many that there is no room to live anymore.
All in all, I think I'd like some less... painful issues. No more issues that swallow up my life until I just quit trying.
I think I'm going to replace them decidedly different issues.
Like, for instance, my newly discovered issue with shrimp. I used to quite like shrimp; I thought that it was tasty, especially fried. I liked my mother's coconut shrimp with sweet and sour sauce, all juicy and delicious, and the shrimp from that one Japanese restaurant, hibachi grilled and lemony. Recently though, I don't like shrimp anymore. It's not the preparation of said shrimp (my dad is a damn good cook) it just tastes... funny. And the texture... it's all rubbery and odd. I can't explain it.
I like this issue much better than those up top because, well, even though my random distaste for shrimp doesn't really make sense, it's not a difficult one. Not really solvable but not overly distressing either.
... I do, however, hope to get over it soon. There is so much good food that includes shrimp.
Can't start to live until
You've dared to die
And I die
And I try
And I'm a long way waiting
I'm here and I'm now
It's time to move on
And go on
And I'm gone
And I can't wait to get out
There's no guide to follow
The breath that I breathe
And I breathe
And I seethe
And I do what I want to
The Alpha, Omega
The beginning and the end
And I end
And I mend
And I'm just getting started
Sooner or later
We all learn to fly
And I fly
And I'm high
And I'm finally free
Pestilence draws near
Fever paining, gaining ground
The White horse he rides
Famine causes fear
Wheat failing, rotting in fields
Drawn Black horse he guides
War comes sword in hand
Bodies bleeding, feeling pain
Red horse she arrives
Death rides across land
Scythe sweeping, creeping closer
On Pale Horse he comes
Four Horsemen they ride
Plague, blight, conflict, in the end
All things fall to Death
I don't believe in coincidences. I don't believe in accidental happenings or chance. I don't put faith in fickle fate.
Conversely, I believe in neither predetermined paths nor destined roles.
I believe in the concept of inevitability.
I am who I am, clichéd but accurate. Dina is Dina. I lose sight of Dina every so often. I had lost sight of her for a long time, but I think I've found her again. And even when I do lose sight of who I am, Dina doesn't change.
Being who I am means that the choices I make are inevitable. Even if I could go back in time and fix bad decisions, I wouldn't. I regret them; I regret opportunities lost and the disappointments that abound. But I would not change them, because they brought to where I am now. It's not actually a good place. Yet. But Life is Learning and when you really mess up, you learn a hell of a lot.
Inevitability means that I will meet the people that I will meet. I will make choices, right or wrong. I will live and laugh and love and nothing and no one can ever change that.
Being is Being after all.
It was over...
We had won, but looking across the plain, all I see is Death. A pyrrhic victory if ever there was one.
Bodies lying where they had fallen, life's essences pooled around them as they lay. Even worse were those that looked as if they just slept. Victims to that feared flash of green light.
Haggard faces of survivors, drawn and pale, wander aimlessly. Like walking dead themselves. Some, periodically recognizing one of the many fallen. Crying out at the fate of Brother, Father, Mother, Sister, Lover, Friend. Less frequently, two survivors would cross paths, tears of relief running in stark damp tracks down dirty faces, relief that someone (anyone) they knew had survived the wholesale slaughter.
Mediwitches in mostly white (white stained red) bustling about in hopes of keeping the living alive.
Even the animals were lost. Not a bird in sight. The Forbidden Forest silent.
Ron, relatively unscathed (read here not dying or bleeding profusely) made his way to my position. Moving slowly so as not to reopen fresh bandaged hurts.
He stood with me for a moment, looking out at the devastation surrounding us. Silent, contemplating the view or his own personal demons. I could see him tracking his wife, the final member of our trio, with his eyes as she assisted in healing, finding survivors. And then he spoke to me, just two words.
"What now?"
What now. Where do we go from here. How do we move from this?
We won; Voldemort was dead at last, but at such a high cost. Too high.
And for a brief moment I could not reply.
And then, from the corner of my eye, there was a flash of color. Unexpected and out of place.
Here, in all of this Black and Grey and Red (so much red). Here a spark of green.
The color of Life in all of this Death.
Without answering I walked toward it, Ron silently following. I walked and I knelt and carefully, so carefully, I uncovered a tiny, untouched patch of clover. Just a small spot that had miraculously survived all the violence of ignorant feet and falling bodies.
I knelt there and I looked up at him, my best friend, my first friend.
And as I spoke, a breeze blew up; it blew and brought the sweet scent of fresh air and green, growing, Living things.
And I spoke to him and I said,
"We mourn, we heal, and then, then we Live. But we never forget. What else do you think we all fought so hard for?"
I looked up at the blue skies as the new wind pushed the clouds away and, for the first time in a very long time, I allowed myself to hope.
"We Live."
Help or hurt,
Love or hate,
Shall I leave you to your fate?
Could be poison,
That your drinking.
How to tell you what I'm thinking.
By your actions,
You'll be bound.
Cannot make a single sound
Contemplate,
Do you repent?
Or will you withhold assent?
Talk to strangers, new perspective,
People have their own respective,
Ways to deal with facts of life.
We stand upon an edged knife,
Time to find a new objective
Family, friends they're there for you,
But often more is needed too.
Think through thoughts of desolation,
Impulses and high frustration.
Sometimes need a second view.
Still no solution, seek within,
To solve dilemma, correct tailspin.
What works for others might not fit,
Your situation,style of wit.
Look in, meet life, and grin
I do not understand suicide.
I understand depression, that feeling of hopeless confusion, the unending sense of loss. I can relate to that, even if I have never dealt with it long term. People can't always help depression and I can't fault them, but suicide?
That's just ridiculous.
Suicide is giving up in the worst way imaginable. Suicide is unequivocally, unilaterally, irreversibly obliterating all possible chances for finding whatever it is that your life is missing.
Closure or redemption. Forgiveness or satisfaction or even simple joy. Suicide removes everything.
Life is precious, a unique existence.
There are far and away too many things to see and do and experience to just... cut yourself off.
The sheer waste of offing yourself is unspeakable.
(Waste of potential, waste of possibility, waste of contributions. Waste of good. Waste of bad. Waste of Life)
And no matter what anyone thinks,it is a waste. No matter what you think, somehow, somewhere you make someones life better, just by existing. Even if you are dead positive that you are a useless waste of oxygen, you are wrong. Because it could be something small and seemingly insignificant but every last one of us, all 6,819,765,936 of us is a spark of capability.
A spark that is wasted when one commits suicide.
And beyond all that, there is the selfishness.
Yes, Selfishness.
Suicide is taking the easy way out. Instead of digging in and dealing with all of your personal, professional, emotional nonsense you instead remove yourself from your problems.
Permanently.
Great, no more problems, Death is supposed to be peaceful, right?
What about the ones you leave behind?
What about your Mom? Your Dad? Your sibling, lover, child, friend? What about your coworkers, your neighbors, your damned mailman?
Every single person who knows you, even the ones that hardly like you. All of these people are being left behind. Abandoned.
Every.
Single.
One.
And for those that think they have nobody in the world. Nobody to love you, miss you, mourn you. Nobody who would be sad to see you go.
I call bullshit.
If, against all odds, you really are alone. If no one in the world could care less for your life or lack thereof, you will still leave behind a space, a gap that should not be.
A hollow place that echoes brokenly.
If nothing else I will mourn you, even if I have no knowledge of your life or death. Even if I've never met you. I mourn for the suicidal. I would be sad to see you go. so don't.
I will probably never understand, but I mourn none the less.
This post is a list of things to do before I die
A Bucket List, if you will. Full of all the things I think to do before I kick the aforementioned bucket.
Learn To Fly. Go to Japan and see a Giant Robot. Eat unidentifiable foods with unpronounceable names. Go to Kenya, see the lions. Go to the Eiffel Tower, have a sword fight, with a baguette. Drink unhealthy amounts of coffee from quaint cafes, continuously proclaim how delicious it is. Dance in the rain. Often. Find friends from every continent, make a map of where they all are.
Learn to Waltz. Climb a whole mountain ( a tall one, not a pansy mountain) have an epic snowball fight at the top. Go camping without tents, sleep underneath the stars. Take a road trip with your favorite people, don't pick a destination, drive until you see something interesting (the worlds largest something or other) Get lost in a city, continuously, until you know all the tiny side streets.
Learn Italian. Tell a Gondolier in venice your life story. Ask him his. Go to a restaurant or coffee shop so often that every employee knows your name, Visit it to the point that when you walk in they start your regular and you can greet everyone, including the owner, by their names. Tip a waiter a full hundred percent. Take breakfast to various Homeless people, sit with them and talk while they eat (so they know someone cares)
Learn to Live. Be spontaneous. Climb trees and jump from the top. Don't get hurt. Go skydiving from planes, and scuba diving in the Carribean, and regular diving into a regular pool. Buy a motorcycle, ride it while wearing leather pants. Yell at squirrels because they'll take over the world someday. Engage in lively debates with people you've never met before. Bake at one in the morning, call all your friends and invite them over to eat fresh chocolate chip cookies.
Generally I would say that the unexpected is, if not necessarily good, at least something interesting. And although the phrase 'May your life be interesting' is often taken as a curse, I'd rather have something interesting, if slightly painful, than nothing at all. (though those who know me wouldn't believe it)
In some cases however, the unexpected is highly disappointing.
This was one of those times.
Once upon a... nah I'm just kidding.
seriously though
It was a friday at Chapel Hill, early in the semester and I was going with my girls to a Duke v. Carolina soccer game. A wonderful day to be certain, blue skies, warm, and just sunny enough. It was decided that we would grab dinner from the food hall and take it along with us, to go.
I'll tell you in advance, it did not go as planned.
Being a growing teenager who had to walk everywhere I was really hungry and as I wandered from line to line of the food hall, I smelled a smell. A glorious smell, and my nose led me to, wonder of wonders, the grilled cheese table.
The Grilled Cheese is a simple but wonderful creation. Fluffy, white bread covered in butter and toasted with a slice of melty craft american cheese. (Craft cheese isn't that tasty, in all honesty but it is a must in this particular situation)
MMMMMMMmmmmm
So grilled cheese, fresh made, in a to go box with some fries.
Off we go, to the game. Adventure.
And so we arrive and I, in anticipation of my sammich, sit on the ground and pop open my to-go box.
I was nearly drooling.
First bite, tasty, warm, toasty bread with butter. no cheese
My thoughts: maybe the cheese is smaller than the bread. A sad but common sandwich problem.
Second bite, also delicious and warm. still no cheese
Starting to get a bit disappointed but still expecting a cheese gold mine, I continued on to the third bite. Lo and behold...
No Cheese.
In my quest I decided to check the rest of the supposed grilled cheese for the necessary slice.
But tragically, no dice. (or in this case dairy products)
I had a grill with as severe lack of cheese.
And my sadness was unending... at least until we went and got ice cream
And thus ends the tragic tale of the dairy deficient sandwich (otherwise known as unexpected butter toast)
I read something today, it said that almost was the saddest word in the world.
Almost there. Almost won. Almost succeeded. Almost lived.
ALMOST, but not quite.
It's rather odd how one small word can hold so very much pain, so much disappointment. Just two syllables.
Almost is the sound of dashed hopes, of sad quiet failures.
(almost, nearly, just about, but not)
Truly, this is so very accurate. And just days ago I would have agreed.
But I don't.
And I won't, because there are two sides to the meaning of almost, just as there are two sides to every story. The thing to emphasize about almost, is that even though it is falling short of something, at least there was an attempt.
Almost there, just a little bit farther.
Almost won, just train harder.
Almost lived, fought damn hard.
Almost alone, but not completely. Never completely.
Almost means that no matter how far you fall, you haven't hit rock bottom yet. That even though you didn't succeed you didn't fail either.
I have realized that almost is not so scary. There are things much worse than shooting for the moon and missing, because then at least you land among the stars.
