All those enough's

I don't support others enough
I don't clean the house often enough
I don't smile enough
I don't meditate enough
I don't chase guys enough
I don't study enough
I don't work enough
I don't focus enough
I don't love God enough
I don't hang out with people enough
I don't open my heart enough

These are the things people tell me everyday. And I wonder why I never feel good about myself. I wish I knew somebody, anybody who felt like I was enough without having to do all those enough's.

Desperation is no longer quiet

I have to find a place to live. A school to go to. A career to choose. A job to sustain myself. And yet all I want to do smoke some weed on my bed and listen to sad songs on repeat. Fuck I wish God had given me talent. Then these responsibilities and mundane "supposed to do" things that everyone has to do, I would say fuck off to. I'd let my music, my passion, my undeniable talent take me across the world.

 But maybe to test me, maybe to punish me the universe gave me a brain. Not a smart one either. Or at least not where it counts. I can memorize more bullshit than the offspring of a calculator and encylcopedia fuck. I can tell you George Washington's birthday, and the process of photosynthesis, and the rulers of the Supreme Court and other "enlightening" facts that high school shoved in my brain. But if you asked me how to fix a broken wire, or cook a meal, or find a address, I'm bloody clueless. I didn't  learn any life skills from school, or from my family, or just naturally on my own. So now I a perfect hybrid of this twisted society. A brain full of facts, but none of them include survival knowledge. Thousands of options open, yet I have no clue or direction to follow one. Most of the time I just think I should end my life. That why I wouldn't have to see how much I wish I could have, wish I could be.

Henry David Thoreau said most men live lives of "quiet desperation." Only my desperation is no longer quiet. It screams.

The Hell I call vacation

I have vomited, peed, cried, bawled, shivered, sweated, and generally died in these past 10 days in what I loving refer to as the hell I call vacation.

Sorry, getting ahead of myself. Remember how I said I was going to convocation? Well I did, or rather I didn't really.

I left Vancouver on the 3rd and went to Encinitas, a small coastal down in southern Cal. It was beyond beautiful. The sun hot, the ocean spectacular, and they energy sweet. Even the air breathed. Spent four days there with a family friend so it was kind of awkward but he left of the second night so I had the whole pad to myself. I thought I'd be scared or lonely but it was just the opposite. I've never had so much peace or so much fun in my life. I slept in, ate with my hands and my feet up, had ridiculously long showers, chilled all day at the beach, walked around town, and did whatever the fuck I wanted. My version of bliss. Plus I met some cool people, a surfie neighbor and his wife, a guy on the beach who lent me a bike and took me around the city. I did smoke alittle pot cuz everyone here kept offering me some so I did break my pot fast.

All in all it was fantastic. And then Covocation happened. And for some reason I already had this sixth sense something wasn't right. I met up with this old freind Sam (who I really had a crush on and he blew me off for some big boobed chick) for a ride up to LA. It was weird and stilted talking at first and I was glad two more girls were getting a ride with us to ease the tension. Driving I tried talking to the girls. But they were tight, close. I guess what I'm trying to say is that they weren't really open to me, like too clicky and all that bullshit to even want to allow me into their group. I was soooo fucking pissed because in my mind thats exactly what I had come to Convocation to get away from, that superficial sunblock people wear now. So I tried to just chill and relax. But then Sam kept yarning away about his hot girlfriend and about looks in general. I was thinking I was overreacting to my dislike to these girls when Bina (the brunette) said with total seriousness said, "Yeah me and Bina are going to be the hottest girls at Convocation."  Yupp I officially hate you.

 Like can you believe that? We're going to spiritual gathering and she has the arrogance and ego to say that? I must of had a very incredulous look on my face because her friend Tasha (the blonde) said, "Well we're just saying...."

I ran out of that car when we got there. I got to my hostel room across the city (which was a cheap shithole to make a long sotry short). Met up with friend Matt (the friend who visited from earlier blog). over the next two days I tried to immerse myself into the spiritual stuff but was having fights with Matt lot and it was making it difficult to concentrate or even feel open.

Then it happened. To go through fast motion I'll just get it all out. One night was walking, got the shivers so bad couldn't walk. Matt carried me back. Had 104 fever. Threw up. Shivers again. Fever. Threw up again. Threw up some more. Spent two days dying then decided to go hosipital. I cried and cried and cried my eyes started getting an infection. More fever. More throw up bags. It was terrifying. I thought I was going to die constantly. They finally diagnosed me with bladder and kidney infections.

I got well enough to leave the hosipital and now here I am. Nevada city Cali with with my sis to recover. I cannot believe my luck, or karma, or whatever the fuck it is that made me this violently ill DURING the spiritual week which I planned paid and prepared for a year ago. Most of the time I try not to hate God or blame the universe for my misfortune, because in truth most of the time I just want to cry. This is one of those moments.

the heaviness of too many longing

Why is it the things you want are the things you can't have? I've been in Encinitas California for the past couple days and even though I'm not leaving yet I'm already dreading and sad to go back home. This place is a paradise. The gorgeous coastline going for miles all the way up the highway 1. The small town with it's little boutiques and cafes lining the street. The beaches with the beautiful waves (and might I say beautiful surfies too). And the people. All these cool yoga-wearing-veggie-eating-beach bum-surfing badass yogis. All these devotees grew up together, go to chapel together, have eachother over for brunch. It's enough to make me yearn deeply for some kind of belonging and family they have with eachother. Bumped into an old friend on the beach today. Heard from him about all the group,weddings I didn't know about, breakups that I was shocked about, and location changes that were happening. It was hard to realise but life was happening for them, whereas I'm still in the same spot as I've always been. No future and no plans. Fuck. I don't think I'm meant to do anything sometimes with my life, and then other times I feel like I'm only here for a certain purpose and everything is extra bullshit. What is it about uncertainty that I can't handle? That makes me terrified of letting go even just a little? I know I always say this shit, but i'm lost. And sometimes I feel like everyone else has a map, and I just got planted in the middle of no where. I want so many things my heart has started to physically hurt from the heaviness of too many longings. I want to live in encinitas. I want God to speak to me in any way. I want family. I want a partner who loves me. I want to stop hurting. I want focus. I want goals and dreams that come true. I want enough finances to acomplish it all. Where's a genie in a bottle when you need one eh?

Not all those who wander are lost

Listening to a song today I realized I'm going to embrace my lonerness. I always thought of it as something that disabled me. That secluded me. That made me feel like I don't fit. That I would eventually learn to adapt and transform and become like all the social butterfly girls I see everyday. But for some reason listening to this beautiful, just beautiful husky song that swayed me even in my seat, I realized I will never fit. I will never be "normal". I will never trade personality for clothes. I will never trade soul for popularity. I will never trade my inner geek for being flawless. I will be a loner. Music and the way it empowers me, makes me feel, makes me dance and bounce in a public place, has given me the confidence to rock being a loner. I must overcome my bullshit fear of not looking good or appearing collected and just be happy being lost. Happy being a wanderer. Because not all those who wander are lost.

Beg to Differ

Came across the quote "life sucks and then you die."
I beg to differ. Life doesn't suck. I do :P

Confidence Disorder

It official. I am diagnosed with confidence disorder. It doesn't sound as life threatening or terrifying as cancer or epelepsy but I can assure you my disorder fucking disables me. Growing up I was the youngest of four kids. Right there fucked me up. I was always tailing after them, awkward and impressionable I wanted to be popular and included. But I was years behind all of them so I spent most of time watching from the sidelines while my brother and his skater friends did stunts, or being told by my older sisters and their girlfriends to piss off while I tried listen to their gossip. It was hard because I liked people but I wasn't very social. I didn't like boys or taking sides in fights or plastic toys like most girls did. I liked making bug farms in empty jam jars or reading books about fantasy worlds. Needless to say I was a bit of a loner. I did socialize and I did have my school buddies or the neighbourhood pals to screw around with firecrackers with or fuck someones yard up when the mood hit, but other than that I was alone. So I never started or build much self confidence around friends, or even around people in general.

 I was also bullied in middle school. I had originally went to this sweet little elementary school in small town where it was okay to not wear makeup and wear the same puppy dog t-shirt everyday. But then we moved and I had to go to public school downtown. It was huge. I went from a place with 300 students for the whole building, to 900 students in only 3 grades. Girls here were scary. They were tall, skinny to the bone, had long perfect straight hair, and they had clothes that would make even a stripper shocked.  Thongs hung high above jeans, boobs hung low out of tank tops 3 sizes too small for them. Instead of learning about the importance of character, loyalty, friends, I had to learn the importance of Roxy, lululemon, and Dorina's. It was a cultural shock that literally broke me.

I'll never forget I came to the first gym class in grade 6 and they were all sitting there as I was introduced. I noticed a few of those perfect girls staring and whispering together as their eyes raked down my shrimpy body. I knew what they looking at. My legs. I hadn't learned to shave yet and my sister always teased me, calling me "Christopher" because I had such hairy man legs. But I didn't care then, I was happy to run around and be careless about those pedicure girl things. Until that moment. After an hour of whispering and giggles I came home crying and begged my air head mother to show me how to use a razor.

I learned to survive middle school. But surviving isn't about developing. I made friends with the other weirdos and unclassifieds and we gave eachother strength, but not enough to be fearless. So again my confidence, my assurance in myself wasn't growing.

My mother wasn't much help either. She wasn't the type of person who could handle kids, physically or emotionally. I had to take care of myself, feed myself, make sure the house was okay, that my homework was done. Because my mother wasn't there for any of it. I used to leave for days on end to stay at a friends house, and come back and my mother wouldn't even have noticed I was gone. When I was being bullied by a particular girl at school I used to come home crying and tell my mother how much I hurt, and she would tell me to just get tough and get over it. When all I wanted was some support, some love, maybe even just for her to tell me things will get better, all she could say to me was "Stop being such a baby." Fuck it hurt me growing up with her. She stripped me of any kind of emotional backbone a parent is supposed to help build.

So I came to live with my dad. He was better in ways. He at least put food in the fridge. But I noticed his attack was more subtle. He was never pleased with me. If I got straight A's on my report card he'd shrug. If I vacummed the house, he's fit a spot and then make me do it all again. And all I heard from the family was things he complained about me behind my back. My Grandpa would ask why I wasn't working 2 jobs instead of one only a day after I quit, my siblings would ask why I wasn't cleaning up enough if I didn't do the dishes one night. Nothing I did was enough. And I was never even seen compared to his other star children. I would never be as pretty as the eldest, or as talented as the brother, or as devoted and godliest as my sister. I was never anything more than "the baby". My self esteem, shrunk to the size of a golf ball.

Why am I saying all this? Because at this time I'm trying to figure out a career. A job. Something to study in college. But I can't decide. I'm afraid. Terrified. And so confused about myself that I can't figure out what I want. I'm so screwed up I don't even trust my own thoughts. I have no confidence or boldness to just make a decision and stick to it. To trust myself to know what I want. Where does that leave me?

When I was eight I used to look for caterpillars around my yard. When I'd find one I'd get one of my mothers pickle jars and cut small holes in the lid. I'd put grass and twigs and make a little green habitat for the caterpillar to live in. I'd watch it eat, and sleep, and even make itself into a caccoon all in room. And like clockwork I'd wait all year for it to emerge into a butterfly in the pickle jar, and like an alarm I'd forget to hide it and my mother would (in her random raids) come into my room and throw it away. I never got to see the butterflies. She stole that from me.

One year though I was extra careful. And I finally came home to a beautiful gold butterfly where there had only been a brown sack before. I took the jar outside and released her. I wanted to set her free, to watch her fly away. But the funny was she didn't fly away, she didn't even leave. She just sat in the glass, stupid and scared to even come out. Thinking about it now I wonder, is that me? Too conditioned to  destructive people, to a destructive enviroment? Contained in glass of doubt that even when I have to the chance to break free I don't take it? Will I ever fly? Or am I still in a cacoon.