tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6662835198409015392024-03-14T04:36:01.163-07:00sometimes words explain thingsada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666283519840901539.post-3830736066578053102010-10-07T01:52:00.000-07:002010-10-07T01:52:15.228-07:00Fear and Loathing here in my Mind.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQhh-58OwnT7PVUSKjm0RocmiOppiu8Li57zFD4m8TAuXPn2grpBJWqW_MI4ozylpCPTGQM5mmdQg-Il4EscDGQdE85ogFPI2CbHycSAHje-IApEDgKsXUgMA2UcQLdW4Z_JIDLmZR4A/s1600/childhoodtitlle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRQhh-58OwnT7PVUSKjm0RocmiOppiu8Li57zFD4m8TAuXPn2grpBJWqW_MI4ozylpCPTGQM5mmdQg-Il4EscDGQdE85ogFPI2CbHycSAHje-IApEDgKsXUgMA2UcQLdW4Z_JIDLmZR4A/s320/childhoodtitlle.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>Sitting behind this desk, in this office for the second last time, I'm fighting my body to not burst out into a rage of absolute panic. The past few months, I used this place as a means of procrastination. Now the time has come, and I have no direction, I'm sure of absolutely nothing and the opportunities at this stage are equal to nil. I hear my mother's voice telling me it's alright, things will fall into place, I will find something. But without her to keep telling me that... I find myself holding back the tears almost every second. I fear the silence, the isolation the doubt and stress that awaits me when I sit at home next week.<br />
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Nothing I do, nothing I achieve means anything anymore. There's no one to share it with, no one to be proud of it, no one to encourage me. Excuse my self pity, but as it stands, I've held it back for a while now.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">What the fuck is to come of me? </div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm utterly alone here.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAG2fBCumF5J8I0KBbRVpZpyDESmLj5q1nJe_NRkBu5gGHICugsGJ3xz9Bhyphenhyphen7X43V6slPeJeO_0VTIO7A-ebqRloVDPabGBhe9iHn3E2N9PJcEhK5MDNg2penZ000uVCM01liM1X28a8/s1600/Scared_Teddy_by_droool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAG2fBCumF5J8I0KBbRVpZpyDESmLj5q1nJe_NRkBu5gGHICugsGJ3xz9Bhyphenhyphen7X43V6slPeJeO_0VTIO7A-ebqRloVDPabGBhe9iHn3E2N9PJcEhK5MDNg2penZ000uVCM01liM1X28a8/s320/Scared_Teddy_by_droool.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">How do you face it with no one on your side? Never in a thousand years would I have thought all this would happen by the time I'm 23. Why? Why seems like such a silly question to ask. To begin to put into words what I feel is impossible. Sometimes words explain things... but not this. There is no way to describe or make you understand what this feels like. This feeling, this reality, this is my past. My future. My reality. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Tears no longer alleviate my grief. Screaming, howling, punching, breaking. Nothing. So what now? All emotion has a cloud over it. Everything that comes through me is clouded with them. Coated with what they left behind. Smothered with memories. Choked with what happened. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm a shadow of the person I could have been. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>ada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666283519840901539.post-77768761900213272082010-10-06T05:10:00.000-07:002010-10-06T05:10:08.610-07:00If it were a crossroad, there'd be direction or opportunities.<div style="text-align: center;">The internship is over. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj08r89t8M2sA6_JkH_j3Wi_Cx84am5eU0asnbZtCLAf6VzrCnrfAeDf9kQ3upImzaO3v-tQxnBJlIOHssUQRGRetszmvFQapqzFgpbH3ai9g-Jtu1n5Uh1aco7D7uRiNF-SNP7SzoYH0/s1600/hardday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj08r89t8M2sA6_JkH_j3Wi_Cx84am5eU0asnbZtCLAf6VzrCnrfAeDf9kQ3upImzaO3v-tQxnBJlIOHssUQRGRetszmvFQapqzFgpbH3ai9g-Jtu1n5Uh1aco7D7uRiNF-SNP7SzoYH0/s320/hardday.jpg" width="282" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Reality hits. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyEjsSnw3jXZmLY2x9juTc6Z6swJoPaQ9rWVToafZ_FsLh70MHw7_wOOdKvel5aR7UXAMILLq-Swy2BiYok9MbUId6ps2CXHkHWhT9l4SofCRINLKcVjbotTuTdhMeYpYWkKgVWrKolU/s1600/now-what-wecansolveit-gorejpg.jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyEjsSnw3jXZmLY2x9juTc6Z6swJoPaQ9rWVToafZ_FsLh70MHw7_wOOdKvel5aR7UXAMILLq-Swy2BiYok9MbUId6ps2CXHkHWhT9l4SofCRINLKcVjbotTuTdhMeYpYWkKgVWrKolU/s1600/now-what-wecansolveit-gorejpg.jpeg.jpg" /></a></div>ada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666283519840901539.post-43070006236520569812010-10-04T05:18:00.000-07:002010-10-04T05:20:30.658-07:00Layer of Lament... Sel(fish)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFoSjD82tbYfRIgmd2NK7FLwDfuQS-bam4RZqnAd1iBWDk8Epg9K3dxj32wtL5RJZd_eabfmuV6GQrEd1JQU6hwdQ6WAq5MxsnUTNTgfa1j254ghWfjzr1qXvl6XDFFi72be_m4cNdytA/s1600/sowhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFoSjD82tbYfRIgmd2NK7FLwDfuQS-bam4RZqnAd1iBWDk8Epg9K3dxj32wtL5RJZd_eabfmuV6GQrEd1JQU6hwdQ6WAq5MxsnUTNTgfa1j254ghWfjzr1qXvl6XDFFi72be_m4cNdytA/s320/sowhat.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>What's that feeling, when you're built up only to be shot down. Disappointment? There's got to be something more descriptive than that. Maybe the definition should have my picture next to it.<br />
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Einstein said- It's all relative, right? When you have been through massive life-changing trauma as I have, it seems certain issues are completely lame in comparison. I'd like to say I understand that certain people's issues, or "trauma's" are just as important and devastating to them, as the sudden loss of my entire family has been to me, but I can't. When you've been hit by a train, puked on by a bergie, then fed to the sharks in the deep Atlantic, the prospect of losing your boyfriend or getting sick feels somewhat of an issue that need not need much moaning about. But on the other hand, to say something like that makes me seem selfish- absorbed in my own problems, with no sympathy for others.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Sympathy? Yes. Empathy? No. </b></div><br />
The phrase "<i>Take a walk in my shoes</i>" is one I often think to myself... As much as I'd like to pretend these things haven't happened, they have. And I need to stop feeling guilty for experiencing all the things I am. Others have always come first. And this is the case in way too many good people in our world, but how do you take that leap and be selfish- without feeling the guilt? Materialities aside, as everyone has their own definition of what selfish may be, but what I'm talking about here is taking control of your own emotional needs without feeling the burn of what society deems selfish and self-absorbed. As cliched as it might sound... I often wonder when the time will come when things, good things, will start happening for me.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><b>Count my blessings you say? Fuck that. </b></div><br />
This is the type of selfish I need to be.ada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666283519840901539.post-82077120217875941012010-10-04T03:27:00.000-07:002010-10-04T03:28:34.039-07:00...sometimes they're just not enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aLpmuVDT_6j3n7OUxbBV3k7fLJQ48z9P83ZdpXRGVzY3Du93GXBpDU7V8ZPDWR_nbAUy1eJVS1r2ArL3UwWDyFpSV-jHvKglyFuYVylXkxuIdwgsALhEtiTIx8eYRzUKPiyLZp5FTrg/s1600/profound_sadness.gif" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aLpmuVDT_6j3n7OUxbBV3k7fLJQ48z9P83ZdpXRGVzY3Du93GXBpDU7V8ZPDWR_nbAUy1eJVS1r2ArL3UwWDyFpSV-jHvKglyFuYVylXkxuIdwgsALhEtiTIx8eYRzUKPiyLZp5FTrg/s400/profound_sadness.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The look of profound sadness will forever be encapsulated within this photograph. It embodies how we all feel at some point, within this little boys eyes, our heartache lies.</div>ada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666283519840901539.post-34826356251011054522010-09-29T00:46:00.000-07:002010-10-04T03:30:06.515-07:00When you say nothing at all... you're still saying it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvALSPQt_d9QUhvsSUa6QmldhSsAua8b4Nykm8WKrbYEUK0-hBZ365MnFQjaJ4rk6ZlCa4OzzjXtRccH9ryqP8MVc6zRzW9KTl1riNWwG4Uif_PXJRmvFva0KidgExNW0OxRqEybGrbs/s1600/happiness1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvALSPQt_d9QUhvsSUa6QmldhSsAua8b4Nykm8WKrbYEUK0-hBZ365MnFQjaJ4rk6ZlCa4OzzjXtRccH9ryqP8MVc6zRzW9KTl1riNWwG4Uif_PXJRmvFva0KidgExNW0OxRqEybGrbs/s320/happiness1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Whether it's a close friend or a lover, there will come a time when the silence they portray tells you exactly what you don't want to hear. Being somewhat of an outspoken person, I'm not shy to tell people what I'm feeling/doing/thinking almost at every time. But it's the things that hold the most meaning that need no words at all. Not necessarily something bad... A look in your lovers eyes that say so much more than just an "I love you", or the smile your friends gives you when you both know each other so well you realise this is for life.<br />
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Moments like that warm my heart, creep up to my face and leave me with the biggest smile. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">"<b>A smile is the light in the window of your face that tells people you're at home.</b>" </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">On the flip side of this, there are those moments when with no words comes the reality- It's over. "I don't feel the same way", "I'm pissed at you", "fuck off", these looks can cut you deeper and faster than a scalpel. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">Sitting in traffic this morning as I was staring at the people traveling the road beside me (I usually stare at fellow drivers and create dialogue in my head that correspond with their facial expressions) I noticed one person who, even in the pace of traffic, even in the slightest glance, said so much through their face, it instigated this blog. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"> "<b>Let's not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it</b>." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">I often like to think I have the ability to mask my emotions, God knows I have many. But we're all fools if we believe that. As humans we have an ability, an intuition to tell, to feel another persons, pain, joy and happiness through some cosmic channel o a higher level than language or facial expressions. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">Sometimes... we hold more power than we're willing to believe. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">x</span></div>ada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666283519840901539.post-17687765125766873712010-09-28T03:59:00.000-07:002010-10-04T03:31:26.196-07:00Being "Untitled" is still a title... What?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YX57v49a_e9wQZr-0BRJQ36KDYG5FN2I3GTn-9HG0Mey1zQTXPqoHUXy0NtTmB72T5JTTRHJM3wYyTdUjtDCiIYvkYUrjCVg1-QXsGEaANacQDTeca8-RmoVTPJeTkRzdFSOGE3lqEU/s1600/clara-balloon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YX57v49a_e9wQZr-0BRJQ36KDYG5FN2I3GTn-9HG0Mey1zQTXPqoHUXy0NtTmB72T5JTTRHJM3wYyTdUjtDCiIYvkYUrjCVg1-QXsGEaANacQDTeca8-RmoVTPJeTkRzdFSOGE3lqEU/s320/clara-balloon.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">My basic knowledge of computer literacy is not that impressive (much to my regret), so the fact that I am (for the 27th time) attempting to start a blog that I can call my own, regularly update, and express my own P.O.V- starts here. I find these templates annoying. Nothing quite says... "This blog will change the way you view life." THAT'S what I'm looking for. Alas.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">To keep something like this "impersonal" is pretty much impossible. So what you see here is most likely a perception of somewhat of a reflection of yours truly. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The way you are expected to keep a distance from what you're writing, to keep it unbiased, is attempting to portray something that has absolutely nothing to do with anything you're putting down on paper when everyone reading this KNOWS what you're truly thinking/expressing, in essence, just a public way of putting it out there for what you think the world might read, seems so self indulgent.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"<b>I know you're wise beyond your years, but do you ever get the fear</b></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>that your perfect verse is just a lie you tell yourself to help you get by?</b>"</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nevertheless, here I am, and here this is.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have annoying tendencies to go on and on about something so mundane. I think it's because I want to know that people understand EXACTLY where I'm coming from, and I want them to agree with me. Impossible task, certainly, but that doesn't stop me from trying.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"<b>I want so badly to believe that there is truth, that love is real</b></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>And I want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd</b>"</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm 23. I'm an orphan. I'm a victim of circumstance, an unique individual- like all of us. I'm indifferent almost all of the time. I'm passionate, opinionated, scared, cautious (a little too much), loud, happy and sad. I'm a walking contradiction, an old girl... And all this put together leaves me somewhere close to being a hopeful cynic. <br />
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<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span>ada bellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04453576536406275888noreply@blogger.com1