i’m addicted to words and they’re useless

Tired, tired, tired. So tired. But I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because I can’t miss my 8am class. I can’t sleep because if I do I won’t wake up in time for my class. I can’t sleep because I’m too tired and too wired all at the same time.

In my Civil War class, there is a guy who sits in the row next to me, but a little behind me. His name is Adam. On Monday, during the break, he left the classroom. I stayed in my seat and talked with Sarah and KJ. When he came back, he smelled like Camel cigarettes. Mike used to smoke Camels, when he did actually smoke. It triggered all sorts of memories and flashbacks. I finally turned to him and just blurted out, “You have Camels, don’t you?” It really made no sense, and I think I caught him off guard. All he could say was “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” but he was grinning nevertheless. I told him the guy I’ve been seeing used to smoke them and it just reminded me of him. So I spent the last half of class having random flashbacks of Mike and missing him like crazy. The residual missing Mike lasted for a few more days and its been driving me nuts. For the most part it doesn’t bother me when he’s gone for so long. But I think there are a few things different this time around. Its been quite a long time since I’ve actually seen Mike, but when he was still in the States, we talked a lot. He made it pretty clear that he missed me a bit. I just don’t know where all this is leading.

Part of the flux of my bipolarism lately has made me hate my oboe and my music. I don’t want to push so hard anymore. I’ve been pushing and trying for so long with no advancement. I don’t know if its ever really going to get better. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is as good as I’ll ever be. There’s another part of me that constantly reminds me this isn’t what I really want. I want to get married, have kids and raise a family. That’s what would make me the happiest.

At least, I think. My biggest fear is getting excatly what I want and still not being happy. I’m trying not to put my happiness all into one thing. I don’t want my happiness to be reliant on a man or something like that. I don’t want to ever be one of those woman who needs a man to make her happy or depends on that man to make or break her happiness. But then where is my happiness? What makes me happy? It used to be my oboe, my music. But its not there lately. I’ve been having issues with reeds and music selection. People keep telling me, “You can’t rely on your oboe to make you happy, just like you can’t rely on a man. Rely on yourself.” How the hell do I make me happy? I used to make me happy by playing piano, playing oboe. But that’s not working out so well anymore. So tell me, what do I use to make me happy? How do I make me happy if it’s not music and its not a man? I don’t know how to make me happy. What happens when I get my family and kids and everything, but I’m still not happy?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking that the rest of my life be roses and rainbows. I’m ok with the occassional firestorm and the constant barriage of problems to overcome. I don’t need a perfect life or even an easy life. But I’d really like to be happy. I’ve really like to have something in my life that would make me happy. Is that supposed to be a man? A lover? A child? A person? People are humans, they are faulty and let you down. “Don’t let a man control your happiness.” Have I confused that with “Don’t let a man be your happiness”? They are different sentiments, but they can also be the same thing.

Right now, Mike is something/someone that makes me happy. I’m not going to deny that. I can’t look at him and honestly say, “You have no effect on my happiness” because its simply not true. I love seeing him; I love being around him. He does piss me off sometimes. And I do really miss him when he’s gone. But the times when he calls, or when I do get to see him make me really happy. And when he’s not around, my world doesn’t fall apart. So is he my happiness? Or does he just contribute to my happiness? Does he control my happiness? I mean, sure he could make me unhappy, but he doesn’t. He’s not the only who can make me happy or unhappy, too. Lots of people have the power, the opportunity to build me up or tear me down. I think its just balancing, so that everyone doesn’t make me unhappy at the same time.

But what is my happiness? What makes me happy? Where do I store my happiness? What do I want in my life? Where do I want to end up? Do I want to give up my dream of travel and music and Europe? Do I want to give up my dream of a family and kids? Do I want to even make my 50th birthday? Do I want my 75th birthday to have grandkids or be spoken in German? When I’m 95 and on my death bed, what would I regret? “Live your life without regret.” I’m trying, but I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I’ll regret or not. I’ve never been the kid who had big dreams. I wasn’t even the kid who wanted to grow up. I didn’t want to be a ballerina, or a fireman, or a teacher or an astronaut.

I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to take care of people. Not like a doctor, but someone who provided people with a place or person to go to. I wanted to raise children and teach them the ways of the world. I wanted to watch them grow up, learn, even make mistakes. As a kid, I never played doctor or dancer. I was the foster mom. I ran an orphanage. How many 4 year olds run around pretending to check homework, make meals, put kids to bed, getting “new” kids, doing laundry, cleaning dishes? I mean, come on! My mother used to laugh at me because I would make up these complex games for multiple children and then proceed to play them all by myself, with of course the pretend children. I had a whole world that was created in my head. As I got older, it got a bit more complex, but kept the same premise. I was a ‘mother’ to all these children who had no other place to go. Somewhere, I stopped that fantasy. I think it was in junior high, once music came into the picture. In junior high, I started to blossom. I figured out my place, where I could fit in. It lasted through high school. Music gave me a place, gave me an identity. I was oboe, and piano. But mostly oboe. And I was okay with that. In high school, the people who knew me as just the band geek didn’t bother me. They didn’t care to know me as anything more than the band geek and it never bothered me. The people who knew me as more than just a band geek were my real friends. They were the people who saw all of me, or at lesat what I showed.

So where did the mom go? Where did the girl who took care of everyone else end up? To be honest, that was part of who I was in high school. I was the girl people told secrets to; the girl people could break down to; the shoulder to cry on. The secrets I knew, the desires, everything. My parties were, and still are, just hanging out. I make food, a lot of food. My guests watch TV or listen to music or play games, whatever they want to do. I take care of them. Its just what I do. So maybe the dream of being the mom, the one who takes care of everyone else still hasn’t changed. Maybe that is my happiness.

Except I think it was a factor in my breakdown after high school. I sacrificed a lot for what other people wanted or needed from me. I lived, worked and played for other people. I stayed at the law firm for so long because I felt that people really needed me there. My boss always said she didn’t know what she’d do without me. She wasn’t saying it to keep me from leaving, but because I know she did depend on me. The work I did at the church and for our bell choir was all because I knew it was what the church needed. I could see the places the church was lacking and I knew I could do something to help it. I could do something to fix it. There are so many problems in the world, so many things wrong. I can’t fix everything, but there are little things I can do. But then somewhere, somehow, I self-destruct. I’m not living for me; I’m living for everyone else. I crack and fall apart. I breakdown.

And I need to stop writing now, because I’m on the verge of rambling if I haven’t already gotten there. Its 5:30 in the morning and I need to finish my theory homework.

Let’s get fucked up and die..
I’m speaking figuratively, of course..
Like the last time that I committed suicide.. social suicide..
Yeah, so I’m already dead on the inside,
But I can still pretend with my memories and photographs,
I have learned to love the lie.

I wanna know what it’s like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.
I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah
Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong,
And I need to get strong, and if memory serves,
I’m addicted to words and they’re useless.

(In this department)
Let’s get fucked up and die..
I’m riding hard on the last lines of every lie,
And the BMX bike of my life is about to explode,
I’m about to explode.
I’m a mess, I’m a wreck.
I am perfect, and I have learned to accept all my problems and short comings,
Cause I am so visceral, yet deeply inept.

I want to thank you for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds..
And all the things that don’t get old..
Is it legal to do this? I surely don’t know.
It’s the only way I have learned to express myself through other peoples’ descriptions of life..
I’m afraid I’m alone and entirely useless…

(In this department)
Let’s get fucked up and die.
For the last time with feeling
we’ll try not to smile
As we cover our heads and drink heavily into the nights
That still shock and surprise.
I believe that I can, overcome this and beat everything in the end
But I choose to abuse for the time being,
maybe I’ll win, but for now I’ve decided to die.

Sister soldier
You’ve been such a positive influence on my mental frame
If I could ever repay you,
I would, but I’m hard up for cash
And my memory lacks initiative.

God damn the liquor store’s closed,
we were so close to scoring
it hurts, it destroys ’til it kills..
I am tired and hungry and totally useless.
(In this department)

L.G. Fuad ~ Motion City Soundtrack