trying to calm down now
Jan. 24th, 2003 10:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
after thinking i'd got through my crying fit yesterday, as much as i needed to, at least; crashed again after dad had left and i was cooking supper for my nephews. i don't know why this is happening now.
yes i do. i don't have a job, i don't have something to occupy every waking minute and i try to keep myself busy but i can't help worrying. as soon as i start worrying i get depressed. and i am afraid that i'm going to lose my car if i don't get my driver's license soon, i'm afraid that i won't be able to find a job before my money runs out. just everything. damnit, i noticed that when i was having my fit in the car, i keep thinking i was fat, just that i was gonna ballon out and fill the car and i thought i got out of that after FUCKING HIGHSCHOOL!!!!
go damn it. i don't know, i need to work on my self confidence but i don't knwo how. this is so stupid!
okay. deep breaths. and back to what i told myself i'd do in the morning.
i've been typing up everything i've written, all my poems and some very old attempts at stories. been wondering if trying to rewrite some of these is even worth it, so.
If This Is Real
If this is real,
what do I do?
I do not know,
but to see it through
I have to find
whence the vision came
I need to find
the rollng plains
where a black horse stood
with storm clouds
for its mane
distant mountains
look down on the plain
and that is whence
the vision came
in the dream, the rolling plains
the black horse and the angry clouds,
the sound of wind as loud as i've ever heard it.
on waking, the feeling that it was real somehow,
and the questions plauging me, as to purpose
and to meaning...
The Hunt Rode By
And I can hear it still
the ringing of the bells
the roaring of the night
a sound that sudden swelled
as the hunt rode by
death on horses white
an appartion of fear
that I will not speak of
but in those words
nor ever again go near.
it will haunt me for the rest of my life, child. that sound is something no man should have to hear.
that night was as still as they get. insect-song, the whispers made by the wind in the grass and the leaves. i was hunting, child, and went too far into the woods.
the world seemed to shift around me, to lose its colors as the sound began. what i saw then... it was beyound understanding, the sort of thing that a phrophet might have called a vision, but i could only call a nightmare. it was as if the sound of bells was in everything. it was the trees, the air, my own self; it was life and i was only the most insignificant part of it. i hated it, child; that hate has lasted longer than any love i've known.
they were there, child, the fae folk. those people your mom and dad insist are stories, they aren't. and they aren't little flying things, either; and i don't believe that they're friendly at all.
they came riding by on white horses, just as terrible as anything i'd seen until then. only, they were worse somehow too. some of the stories would have it that they're beautiful, and i suppose some eyes might be blinded and see it so, but i wasn't. i looked at them and saw just how terrible they were. seeing thier eyes as they passed was like looking into snake eyes. it was just that cold, that feeling of knowing you could be dead quicker than blinking if you don't make the right move. child, i wouldn't have been surprised if my heart had stopped.
but it's the sound that's important. 'cause i realized as the last of them passed, and i thought maybe i'd got free, that i could still hear it; it was still in me.
been with me ever since. you listen to your parents now, child. you stay the hell out of those woods.
with the original poems above them, so you can see where i started at. just, if anyone has an opinion.
EDIT: i am mood swinging like nobody'd business, and while some of it is justifiable, i am desperately hoping there is a purely biological reason for this.
yes i do. i don't have a job, i don't have something to occupy every waking minute and i try to keep myself busy but i can't help worrying. as soon as i start worrying i get depressed. and i am afraid that i'm going to lose my car if i don't get my driver's license soon, i'm afraid that i won't be able to find a job before my money runs out. just everything. damnit, i noticed that when i was having my fit in the car, i keep thinking i was fat, just that i was gonna ballon out and fill the car and i thought i got out of that after FUCKING HIGHSCHOOL!!!!
go damn it. i don't know, i need to work on my self confidence but i don't knwo how. this is so stupid!
okay. deep breaths. and back to what i told myself i'd do in the morning.
i've been typing up everything i've written, all my poems and some very old attempts at stories. been wondering if trying to rewrite some of these is even worth it, so.
If This Is Real
If this is real,
what do I do?
I do not know,
but to see it through
I have to find
whence the vision came
I need to find
the rollng plains
where a black horse stood
with storm clouds
for its mane
distant mountains
look down on the plain
and that is whence
the vision came
in the dream, the rolling plains
the black horse and the angry clouds,
the sound of wind as loud as i've ever heard it.
on waking, the feeling that it was real somehow,
and the questions plauging me, as to purpose
and to meaning...
The Hunt Rode By
And I can hear it still
the ringing of the bells
the roaring of the night
a sound that sudden swelled
as the hunt rode by
death on horses white
an appartion of fear
that I will not speak of
but in those words
nor ever again go near.
it will haunt me for the rest of my life, child. that sound is something no man should have to hear.
that night was as still as they get. insect-song, the whispers made by the wind in the grass and the leaves. i was hunting, child, and went too far into the woods.
the world seemed to shift around me, to lose its colors as the sound began. what i saw then... it was beyound understanding, the sort of thing that a phrophet might have called a vision, but i could only call a nightmare. it was as if the sound of bells was in everything. it was the trees, the air, my own self; it was life and i was only the most insignificant part of it. i hated it, child; that hate has lasted longer than any love i've known.
they were there, child, the fae folk. those people your mom and dad insist are stories, they aren't. and they aren't little flying things, either; and i don't believe that they're friendly at all.
they came riding by on white horses, just as terrible as anything i'd seen until then. only, they were worse somehow too. some of the stories would have it that they're beautiful, and i suppose some eyes might be blinded and see it so, but i wasn't. i looked at them and saw just how terrible they were. seeing thier eyes as they passed was like looking into snake eyes. it was just that cold, that feeling of knowing you could be dead quicker than blinking if you don't make the right move. child, i wouldn't have been surprised if my heart had stopped.
but it's the sound that's important. 'cause i realized as the last of them passed, and i thought maybe i'd got free, that i could still hear it; it was still in me.
been with me ever since. you listen to your parents now, child. you stay the hell out of those woods.
with the original poems above them, so you can see where i started at. just, if anyone has an opinion.
EDIT: i am mood swinging like nobody'd business, and while some of it is justifiable, i am desperately hoping there is a purely biological reason for this.