an anchorless vessel on the ocean of life

Head out alone and hope for the best.

From coast to coast or where ever I find my place.

"I ask you right here to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because, take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived. Sad words are just another beauty. A sad story means, the story teller is alive." Chris Cleave, The Other Hand

Too sad.

Too sad to do anything, or so sad because I'm not doing anything?
Stupid fricking essays.
This weekend I've spent about 16+ hours staring just at it. I've written no more than 350 words in that time.
And there's a mouse.
I made cake for rev band tonight after failing at the essay.
I'm sitting up watching it cool down so the mouse doesn't eat it.
I can hear the bugger. Where's a cat when you need one?
I need some strategies.
I don't know how to react when I see nothing.
What to do when my brain just can't stay focused on the task.
It all seems to much to cope with.
I just freeze.
I think about how I can express myself.
I ate too much tonight.
My mouth feels so sweet and sickly.
Northern weekend away is next weekend, I have another essay due on the Monday. If I don't finish this one before Monday night then I don't see how I can go away for the weekend.
Does that mean I'll spend the weekend moping about how I'm not having fun? Not do any essay anyway. Like tonight. Why am I not at Caitlen's? And last night, why not Sarah's? Am I punishing myself. I don't want to see people. I don't want to have to go out my house ever again. Except tomorrow when Rev Band is on so I can avoid them too. I'm not sure if I can face going to church tomorrow. It's been making me cry the last couple of weeks. And rev didn't even make me laugh this week. I'm just a sack of sorrow. Sucking the joy out of others and depositing it in the black hole that was my soul. It's no fun being me. It's no fun being around me.

Joy for the joyless?

“He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities.  For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).

Scattered pieces of a broken soul, a broken people, a broken world.
Shattered lives, barely living; shattered eyes, see no beauty
Rushed. Anonymous. Empty.
Never stopping; always lonely.
The world just keeps on spinning.

Deadlines

I can't concentrate on essay writing.
I can't concentrate on anything real.
I can't stop thinking how easy it is just to get on with it and write an essay, how I need to get over myself and pull myself together.
But I can't.
I'm going to go home because I am doing too much crying which is just anti-social when in the library.
Need a plan though.
I think it will involve 30 minutes of TV, some tea, and then maybe another attempt at writing.
I'm at 580 words. I keep worrying I'm not answering the question. But in so few words I should stop thinking about that.
I just feel too sad to do anything.
I wish the endorphins worked better.

It's not an escape.

It's not a statement.
It's not a cry for help.
It's not trying to take control.
I just like it.
It means I don't have to think of words.
It's an obsession. Day and night.
All my thoughts wrapped up in it.
Trying to be subtle, yet wishing to be free.
Weeping when my eyes cannot.

Promise yourself another 24 hours.

Darkness Cove Me.

¹¹If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light around me become night,”

¹²even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

Psalm 139