No Scientific Method

Each and everyday I’m reminded why I tried to stop feeling.  I was successful at it, too.  I won the people who really loved me for who I am, that’s the upside, when I stopped feeling.  The downside was, I lost someone really important.  After that, I spent the rest of my days telling myself that he was just a lesson.  He was not meant to stay anyway.  For years now actually.  I have read and believed that all of us have been handed individual tests in life.  Each test has a unique set of questions so you can’t really copy from your neighbour’s answers.  If you try to do that, that’s when you start asking yourself why are you not happy.  Answer the questions by yourself and how you’d want it; no pretense, no care about what people will say then you’ll be happy.  If not you’ll find yourself doing the same questions over and over.

Lately I’ve been thinking about that same question I have been getting for years.  Not that I’ve been avoiding it, it’s just that maybe I answered it wrong.  For so long this is the only one I have always seem to get wrong somehow, because for some reason, for years and years, it keeps coming up.  I’m actually excited because experiment time, is always good.  I’m going to nail this, and pass.

The plan for my experiment is good, but it kind of scares me, just thinking about it, well, my anxiety might be just acting up.  But it’s good, when something scares me, I get all determined but this might be a little different. Oh well.  Ever since I’ve read it, I have reminded myself about it, time and again that I’d rather live with a life of oh-wells than what-ifs.  So here we go.

-juliet 20180518 2331

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Davy Jones

When and if

When it happens

If it happens

The weight of these words matter

Especially to a confused mind

And an unsettled heart

There are many zombies walking around, well not zombies

What do you call those that are heartless

Oh, Davy Jones

Have been broken so much he had to part with his heart

What and How

What happened

How it happened

The difference of these two words go beyond what is and how is

Where and Why

Where it happened

Why it happened

Place and reason

You can’t just narrow it down to these two

But vital information about the situation lies after these are asked

Sometimes we ask the right questions

We get the right answers

Sometimes we ask the wrong questions because we don’t want to hear the answers to the right ones

But that’s when you know how deep the wound is

With how the questions are asked

You can read people with their words

How they phrase their questions

How they looked before answering your questions

When a person asks so many, or too many questions

The wound is not that deep yet

It’s like a first-degree burn

Hurts like hell but is just right underneath the surface

When a person asks questions that sometimes don’t even make sense

That’s a second-degree burn

Pain is not as bad as the first, initially

When a person asks broken questions

Or sometimes say all-too-normal things

Then that hit a little bit deeper

Third-degree burn

You don’t even know how or if you’re going to heal

But when a person no longer speaks

No questions to ask

No answers to give

That’s not just a burn

That’s death

Something died in that person that very second

But that’s the hardest death to deal with

You can’t bury yourself alive

Nobody else knows about it but you

Then you walk around this earth like Davy Jones

 

-juliet 05082018 2258

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Again and again I find myself at a starting point, well, more of like a checkpoint, like the ones on games.  After the first 4 months of the year, 2018 continues to poke around my life.  It has always amazed me what my day comes up with every single time.  The world has always been my playground. Never my empty canvass for I can’t draw, rather a blank sheet of paper.  Blue sky with chunky white clouds that I’ve always seen in shapes of everyday life and not just a ball of white smoke.  Someone once said, it takes a special kind of eyes.

I have always and always come home to writing, whether typed on a blog, written on a scrap, on a napkin, on someone else’s notebook.  I have always loved the feeling of how paper accommodates my words.  I’m always going to be an old soul, will always believe chivalry shouldn’t die with time.  Yet again people are less concerned with the kind of people they leave and more focused on what society expects out of them.  I have never been of this world, and thus people have frowned, smirked or even spat at the decisions I have made in my life.  It was never about what the world tells me, for I am not his but His.  I have always made my decision according to what I have been given.  I have never looked at my neighbour’s life and wished it was mine.  I have never learned of a friend’s triumph and rained on their parade.  I have always known, I’m of a different kind.  My test questions are different from others, why should I answer them how the world dictates me to.

Many times have I tried to experiment, on people’s responses.  Sometimes I say things, just to see how people would react and get the real answers I need.  I have always had my way with words.  That’s the sole reason why I always give people chances, because I know what kind of tongue I possess.

I know myself better than anyone else, that’s why I never accord my decisions to the world.  This world ran me over multiple times but I just got back up.  I have always loved the solace I have in my life.  I have read that solitude is actually dangerous, because once you’ve experienced it, you would hesitate to let the world in.

Now, I’m starting from scratch, like I haven’t met the people I have, like it’s  December again.  Like I haven’t received a message on my birthday.  Like when my world was peaceful.  Just me, and the few people I love.  Today is my checkpoint.  Starting from scratch.

-juliet 05032018 1547