Wasting Away Whilst Wasting Away


Every once in a while a coal train will dawdle it’s thicc-ness past my house, making everything that isn’t tied down shake about like Shakira, and it got me thinking about some of life’s biggest rumbles. Overbearingly apparent is what we were force fed from young ages as “ideals”. How we should all aspire to the nuclear family, and to have a spouse and two and a half kids so that everyone can make fun of your armless half-child “Torsolita”, assuring there will always be some form of comic relief. How realm-shattering it can be to love someone with utter and growing certainty, only to be told that through the increase in your passion, they have felt diminishment in their own, or an increase towards someone else. The sense of honour you feel when someone gives you your first fo-shizzle wedding invitation with your name in fine calligraphy. There are so many sides to these BIG events that they form the largest part of their definition separately, to each of us as individuals. It is increasingly uncommon to hear someone say that their “best memory” or “worst trauma” is exactly like someone else’s, because of the vastness of human experience. Each compartmentalized emotion and action become the building blocks of our lives, tempered by what we choose to grow and accept as fact, and what resources we truly use to fruition. Someone who is in an abusive relationship may choose to see the actions of the other party as “regular” or “a phase”, leaving them on a crushingly small island of understanding. Without being informed of the reality of our own worth, the significance of our souls, and the uniqueness of our offerings, we are left to form our own definitions of what it means to be (if there was a better word, I couldn’t think of it) successful.

I personally believe that success is measured by the re-telling of your actions. When people talk about you, do they shower you in praise, or has the path you’ve chosen only allow their tales of you to begin with a bad taste in their mouths and end with others sharing it? Sure, we can all spout bile-coated statements out of emotional vulnerability, and yet those statements almost always say more about ourselves than those we are speaking ill of. We can go out of our way to pick others up or help them when they are at their very worst, and yet those helping hands are what become spoken of in dark corners, not the suffering they tended to. We paint our battles as scenes of bravery in the face of death (as if that depicts courage), and merely take photos of what we have destroyed. No one wastes their time looking for more abrasive information if it is readily available, which perfectly dichotomizes how everyone wants to be remembered for glorified charity. In circumstances where you give genuinely, the admiration and commendation from those you assist is going to outshine any random friend giving you a pat on the back, and if it doesn’t, you probably weren’t doing it for the right reasons.


Oh, Joni. My girlfriend brought this song up to me the other day, and it had been ages since I had actually READ Joni lyrics. I was pleasantly caught off guard by the last verse:

“I met a woman,

She had a mouth like yours.
She knew your life.
She knew your devils and your deeds.
And she said,
“Go to him, stay with him if you can,

But be prepared to bleed.”

Underlying most relationships is a visible tension which belays a subverted fight for control, or “balance of power” if you will. We bicker about what is acceptable to us solely without the first question being “How does this affect my partner?”. Miscommunication aside, the real killer is not accepting one another. Bumps, bruises, scars, and stories. Before you get that intrinsically linked to an individual, make sure you both actually know something about one another. Share a secret that they could break you with, schedule something impossible together and achieve it, prove to one another that there will be more than just your presence in times of trouble. Know that those times will come, and pass, and likely come again, just as the tide does, but it doesn’t need to erode your shoreline.

Yeah, the dudes that brought us “RIGHT HERE”, with that legendary dude falsetto that always makes its way to karaoke night. Don’t judge me, bruh. This one touches closer to the “Parents know best” motif, to which I would like to make an addendum. “Parents suffered too”. Just because the minor details do not match does not mean that parents are any less understanding of the situations and turmoils we are forced to face as we grow up. This doesn’t stop at twenty, or thirty, or genuinely EVER! We can never fully comprehend the struggles of any individual from the outside, and it is risky for many to open up in a way where we may personally regard it as meaningful. Small steps need to be taken, like admitting when someone in your care is unhappy and being willing to fix yourself instead of asking what is wrong with them. Admit your own imperfections to help others see the similarities, to feel less alone, and to open a safe dialogue for them.


‘Cause we’re all SICK PUPPIES at heart. That little flicker in the back of your mind that says “push that guy” or “make them suffer”, that’s the epitome of the human condition. Why we compete to be the lowest thing to the bottom of the barrel when we are all that can save another BLOWS ME FRIGGIN’ MIND! I believe in all of us, and though that may sound misguided, I have faith. Unbreakable faith in my own power, and in a select few others. Faith that there will be value in introspection and growing the self-worth of those around us.


*Ethereal vanish*


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