It's a strange feeling i've been having when reading... and actually, a strange feeling in general in which i will note to later in this entry.
Having finished this summer reading book finally 'The Lovely Bones' (and having read the rape scene over and over due to having put down the book many times and attempting again) it pulled so many sensitive spots that have been boring down on me in the past few years that really.. changed a lot.
I think of the night not long ago, hiding in the bathroom with a blanket and a phone, scared so fiercely that my heart banged to escape. The fear insecurity, then reality and something else. A feeling i felt the night before my dad left. When i started to grow up.
It's funny how this is the first night both my sister and my mother have been both home in ages... and yet i felt so alone as i invaded a lonely world inside this book. Every time i read, i feel like some stranger... alone. Whereas watching a movie with a friend, you know that the world is far away from you with the company. The book you read invades your thoughts and you are the only one.
I read the book and think "is every man like this?" "does every women get this neady and deep down seek divorce if their husband is away at work too long?" because i know its where the only life i know fell. How after a year, i shoved everything in a dense symbol and the next day woke up in a new life i just decided to 'get used to it'. How when the memories of cooking with my father surface again, i cry. and when that day he left, cooking by myself, i pent up again. like the child still growing left with my father.
Something about books never seem real to me. the cheesy names, the fact that every person seems to be connected to eachother and appear again over time as some 'odd coincidence', when for me... you meet someone sweet, but see the open world with more people to discover and exchange glances with at least. Maybe i could express this strange feeling as the book being one sort of 'click'? Not knowing something i know, i feel so disconnected.
The strange thoughts... a sinking depression. One that forms from an experience somewhat long ago, but takes in a quiet murder later on. I draw. I eat. I see friends. I laugh, i cry. but nothing interests me anymore. i try to draw, but it doesnt spark the same joy it used to. For this past year, i've been searching for something to fill that empty space, telling myself its working, but it just isnt. I wake up wondering when i'll die, when life will get overwith.
I want to paint and look at it with a hidden emotion in my heart again, instead of a hollow one.
August 20, 2006 11:32 PM PDT
August 16, 2006 02:44 PM PDT
thank you, that meant a lot to me :)
August 16, 2006 02:24 PM PDT
Well... i read over your post about three times... trying to find something to say, but i think I may not have the words to articulate just what I would want to say. Plus I haven't gotten enough sleep so i'm a little out of it.
But I do want to say: I emapthize. At this point I could never and will never claim to know what it's like to have your family broken in two like that. However, I will say, that I have felt that sort of loss of self, I can remember times where I felt like I was at the brink of a chasm, steadily falling into lonly nothingness. I do suffer from bouts of minor depression so I do know know what it's like.
Now there are so many things i want to say, but I don't want to over burden you with my feeble opinions. But... one thing I would suggest, you know, seeing as you seem to be losing that 'spark' that drawing once gave you. That very same thing has happend to me on multiple point in time with writing, art or both. Ususally at those points in time i slept until i could sleep no more, that is until i started to explore. I explored various subjects over time, which eventually lead to my current world view made up of secular humanism and psudo-pantheism.
i would suggest--and I don't know if this'll work for you, but things are always worth a try-- that you delve into other subjects that intrests you, even on a slight level, go to the library or look on the internet but just DO something different. Out of the norm.
Things I looked into were astronomy, edible plants, construction, baking, linguistics, botany, history, and the list goes on.
Something I learned to utilize: When you cant write, draw. When you can't draw, write, when you can't do either. Walk a new path for a while.
Corny yes, but it's what's kept me going.
As for the books.... you know, I think that's why i love books so much. That solitary world. I'm a terribly independant person(That fact shows up everywhere XD ) and so the lonliness doesn't bother me. The six years i lived on the road i was all by myself except for my brother and parents.
Anyway... think that the quiet book world allows a person to escape the noise of everyday life and actually see themselves clearly even for a moment. After i've read a really good DEEP book, I get restless, I pace about the WHOLE house digesting that deepness and I end up seeing a very introspective part of my being.
anywho..... I'cve talked too long, and now I need a nap XD
Love ya!!! and i'm alwasy here if ya need to talk. Sorry if I'm corny. >_> A side effect of sleepiness. *BEAR HUG*
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