oh, the mind of a writer..

It’s 12:45am, and I find myself in a sticky situation, yet again. A spirit has presented herself to me for the second time since yesterday, telling me things that I know are not true, showing me things that I know could never happen; will never happen. She’s not what she seems, she’s something more- or maybe less. In any case, I’m in another dilemma. Before I met him, I would be resorting to my default setting; I would already be on the phone with my mom, having her talk me through what to say to this deceiving spirit; following her every instruction to make it go away. Afterwards, I would sit up talking to her for another hour or so, depending on how much that particular spirit got to me, letting her calm me down enough to go back to sleep. Letting her make me laugh and smile and realize that everything is alright, no matter what that spirit told me. 

It seems, though, that my default setting has altered a bit. 

I will always love my mother; always turn to her when I am in trouble… but it seems that the first person I want to call right now, as I am being bothered by this spirit, is no longer my mother, but instead my boyfriend. The only other person besides my mom who understands what I see, what I hear and what I live with. The only other person who seems to be able to keep a smile on my face without having to put much effort into it; the only person who knows how to calm me down and make me happy again.

His reason and rationality seems to have rubbed off on me, though. 

Before, the things that I am being told right now would be tearing me up inside. They would be getting to me more then they should, and even though I knew that then, I still couldn’t help myself from listening… and believing. But now, I find myself analyzing everything this spirit is telling me, using reason and logic to decipher what she is really saying to me. Listening to her in a way that she obviously doesn’t know I can. 

She’s not hurting me in any way. She’s not making me upset. She’s not leaving a huge impression. But she is triggering my anger; my temper… and that seems to be the reason why my default has kicked in. 

My default. The phrase kind of makes me laugh; he is more then just a default setting to turn to when I need some help or need to talk. He’s more then just a boyfriend to me.. Boyfriends, in my experience, mean next to nothing. They’re an irritation, an obligation to attend to. But not him. C doesn’t even come close to that; he’s far from an irritation, and I think its quite obvious he’s not an obligation. 

So now, it seems that he is no longer a default in the way that my mom was. Instead, my default setting is to call and make sure he is okay, to make sure she hasn’t gone to bother him when she realized she couldn’t bother me. I know he’s alright, I know he always will be. But, I also know, its hard to fight something you can’t see.

He left, I went to the laundry mat. Lit a cigarette, went for a stroll around the block. ‘Stroll’ would be the correct term here, because it was hardly walking. I was taking my time; alone in the dark streets. Barely a car passing by, no one else walking. Collecting my thoughts, enjoying my vice. I feel nauseous. The cold ought to do me good. My shadow was a sad one, but I am hardly sad. Watching the houses, filled with light and laughter. I don’t really feel like laughing right now- I don’t know what I feel like doing. Certainly not crying, however there is no smile to be seen on my face. Worry, that’s what would be seen on my face. Am I alone while I stroll, or is there something unseen coming along with me? Unseen is a term I rarely use; I see everything around me. Living souls and the dead ones. Most living souls, at least. But is there an unseen living soul near me? With me? Inside me? I’m worried, have been worried for some time now. I’m late; early. Late in bleeding, potentially early in someone else’s life. Odds are, I am physically alone. Maybe I’m feeling ill because of a cold. Perhaps the headaches and fatigue is nothing more then an on coming flu. Could be that my cycle is late because I screwed up on the pill, and have been living without it since my first missed period. But I’m still scared. I cannot be responsible for someone else’s life when I’m barely responsible for my own. 

Responsibility. My parents raised me to be responsible for my own life, ever since I could feed myself. They taught me how to take care of myself at a very young age; getting my own food, getting my own clothes, essentially taking care of myself unless I absolutely needed their assistance, something in which they were all to ready to provide (as you can see, I was very blessed with amazing and loving parents, much to my distress when I was 16). They raised my brother the same way. I am independent, always have been. But responsible? Maybe to a certain degree. 

As the cold starts to seep through my thin coat, I reach for another vice. I don’t mind taking care of people. I like to be of some use to someone other then myself; I’m barely useful in that respect. I don’t mind paying for my roommates laundry to be done when she has run out of money, I don’t mind doing it for her when she’s sick. I don’t mind buying my boyfriend cigarettes and gas, or bringing him food when he’s not up to making his own; he makes me dinner quite frequently. I don’t mind being someone’s caretaker at times, as long as they appreciate it. I don’t mind looking over someone’s essay or assignment when they barely know English, fixing it up where I see fit. I don’t expect anything in return.. For the most part, I feel I take care of those around me better then I take care of myself. And, I’m completely okay with that. 

I will be a good mother. People have told me that time and time again, and I feel it as well. I will be a good role model and parent to a child; my child, when the time is right. But, right now is not that time. I am not ready for a child of my own, not ready to become that perfect role model, not ready to be solely responsible for someone else’s life. And, chances are… I wont be for a while. But that doesn’t mean that worry is not there.

Walking alone in the street. It doesn’t matter if I’m partially alone or completely alone anymore. If I am worried about this, I shouldn’t be indulging in my vices, however.. It’s times like these that they are most comforting. I turn onto another street, just as isolated and empty as the last. London street. I breathe in the cold air mingled with the smoke from my cigarette, and the nausea subsides a little. Essentially, I am happy with all that I have done in my past; all that I am doing. I am happy with where I have taken myself; the people I have surrounded myself with, the decisions I have made; will make. I’m happy with the effort I have put into everything I do. I am exactly the type of person I have always wanted to be… I’m actually quite fond of myself right now. More so, however, I am fond of my parents for teaching me to be this way. I realize that I am how I am mostly because I can’t help it- this is my personality. But I cant help but to think that if I had anyone else as parents, my personality that I am so happy with right now would be slightly altered. If it were slightly altered, I would no longer be me; resemblance of me, perhaps. Someone who I could get along with. Someone who is surprisingly similar; not me. I continue walking.

One hand in my pocket, the other free to feel the crispness of a march night. No hint of spring, though. Still very cold, but tonight I can appreciate that. No make up, I am as I was born: free from superficiality. Free from judgment. Free from society. At least, for the time being; these rare minutes. My stomach starts to cramp up; I see the street back to reality. As I walk closer to the business of George street, the soft echo’s of my footsteps fade away behind me and are replaced with the sound of busses and cars passing by quickly on the street ahead. My brief return to innocence and thoughts are left behind me in the dimly lit street. I walk back into the real world; filled with sorrows, joys, confusion, clarity, love and hate. Time to go home.

-Amber Christina

“stop using your logic”.
Alright.
I saw a face. The one thing that scared me, the one thing that made me drop his hand quicker then I took it. If that’s what I’ll continue to see every time I hold his hand in that way, I refuse to take it. I refuse to peek into his mind and his future in the way only I can. I wont use this gift if that is what they’ll show me. “Darkness surrounds the world every day, and in his arms you will stay. Shadows here, shadows there, but in his arms you’ll feel no fear”.
Yes, I know.
I understand all that you are telling me, I acknowledge the fact that you are always right. But, do you have to be right about this? Will he really have to chose? And, more importantly, will the decision be a hard one? All these questions roam around in my head long after he’s left. Alone in the darkness of my room, visions keep streaming in. Hitting me hard like a blow to my head, all dizziness and black; color. Shadows moving, left and right… back and forth. Why couldn’t I stay? Why must I be so stubborn?

I’m finished writing for tonight, I think. I’m done contemplating my thoughts and feelings, wondering what they mean and where they stem from. I’m through with sorting out the emotions that are running through me through the English language for tonight. I think it’s time I put my aching head to bed, and think about tomorrow and the days and weeks after that. Think about all the good that is bound to happen while it’s still (blissfully) quiet. Think about how happy I am, and how lucky I am to have him in my life. All I feel when I think of him is the overwhelming feeling of love, happiness and contentment; I am completely his. Not to overrun, not to control or to ‘pet’… but, his to talk to, to love and to have as a source for everything and anything he needs; a best friend, a girlfriend, a partner, companionship. His equal, his everything; just like he is mine.
-Amber Christina