Butterfly fly away

Beautiful Stranger, How do you do?

Lyrics

I changed my mind,

Then I changed it again,

I took a deep breath,

And I counted to ten,

I thought about you, and me, and us,

Closing my eyes, I started to trust

that I would forget and you would remember,

the damage done during December.

2+2=4

Sometimes I wish that I could watch my own life story unravel before my eyes. That I had confidence as I rattled of my speeches and replies like lines of a well rehearsed script. But life is rarely as predictable as the movies make out. Sometimes, although they are perfect for each other, the prince and the princess don’t live happily ever after, and even if they do what’s stopping the princess after the directors shouted cut from running away because she’s scared?

Why does math {a language that is so foreign to me} make more sense inside my head then the logic behind my own English thinking. 2 plus 2 always equals 4, but sometimes I can’t explain why I’m crying, or what I find funny or my motives behind a number of my questionable actions.

I sometimes can’t even tell my own emotions, like a very real and solid wall has masked itself over half of my brain and has stopped the wires connecting to a solution which would solve the mystery as to why I’m even angry or why my heart is trying to escape or why my air supply has suddenly thinned.

I think it boils down to 2 facts, firstly that I’m scared, Scared to stand still, to move forward, to accept and to not accept anything. The second is much more juvenile and to be honest all the more frustrating. That I’m teenage, that I don’t even feel like a whole person yet, that I can’t even understand what I want or why, and to help I have an army of hormones just buzzing inside me, as if they’re searching for the answer too. It all just works together to create a frantic and aggravated me though. Once again two qualities I never pinned to my personality until very recently.

Maybe I just have to accept that for now, I literally am just not making sense, and not half as down-to-earth and grounded as I thought I was or wanted to be.

Dear A K...

Depression is a strange thing. From my own personal experience it hits you from angles you weren’t aware needed protecting, it cuts off your connection to not only the rest of the world but more importantly yourself. Hit is the wrong word to use, depression seeps and grows like mould or infection and you don’t realise its there until the smell is potent or you’re soaked in it.

It’s like having an epiphany and then not being able to word it, it’s like not being able to reach your own fingertips. It is complete black paranoia and mind suffocation.

I medicate myself with time and calm. I don’t ignore the feeling but instead I dwell on it, question it and invite it in to explain itself to me. It’s not important if it is a painful process, because pain is a feeling and to me, during depression any feeling is progress.

If I panic that feeds my monster. It exposes me not to be the calm and patient person I am presenting myself to be. Instead I follow simple instructions. Breath, just breath.

No Cinderella

Is there always a catch? Must there always be a glitch in the system, some fault or imperfection to everything in life? Can perfect ever really exist or is it all just smoke and mirrors.

When you think of perfect you might envisage the last holiday you took, your child’s smiling face or even an intimate moment with someone special. But think for a second, how many gruelling hours were clocked at work to pay for the holiday? What about the screaming labour which brought that beautiful face into your life, or what happens to the vision when that smiling face turns into a rebelling frowning teenager, did that intimate moment just happen or did it take unlimited scrutiny over words passed, interpretation of body language and self-confidence to get to that place.

These are all much lighter arguments then most but what it all boils down to is worth. Does the worth of the thing itself outweigh the flaws attached or do you just have to face up to the facts that sometimes your idea of perfection isn’t worth what you are paying?

So I’m coming to the conclusion that nothing is free. Everything has a cost. My own personal cost is much like Cinderella and that I lose control of my whereabouts or strong relationships with my parents and instead am caught in a very real and unpleasant tug of war between future and past... However the fight remains very much in the present. So I decided something without ever really consciously thinking it over. What I want is worth much more than the cost, so I’m ready to pay as long as I can find the right currency. Another life lesson this whole see-saw has brought me? Never pay a cost that’s higher than the worth. Sounds simple written down but apply it to the real world and insane situations become a little clearer. I will never sell myself short, even if at the moment I’m selling out... I’d sell out again and again for someone, even if I must resort to (outside the box) stealing.

Stop... Blogging time!

Decided to stop staring at an empty blog just because I cant think of anything particularly witty or fashionable to say. I've been asked to blog so I shall blog, and I'll blog how I blogging want to blog. Is that enough blog for you?

So technically I will be breaking the rules and I'll be covering personal stuff and it won't be fashion focused, but staying in the lines was never how I coloured.

Love Ruth xoxo