emotional cargo pants

sometimes i think
i must be crying
someone else’s
tears
must be feeling
someone else’s
pain
must be haunted
by someone else’s
ghosts
how could one person
feel
this
much?
maybe i am cursed
maybe i am blessed
maybe it is
my destiny
to pocket
not just my own
suffering
but a piece
of everyone else’s
as well
people who don’t have
all the pocket space
i do
i must be a pair
of emotional
cargo pants
used to carry
all the woes
of the
world.

you know,  emotional cargo pants to go with my sweater of depression. to be found in my neurotic wardrobe.

this one’s a bit messier than usual. the thought was difficult for me to express in the right way. i suspect there is a spectacularly poetic way to do it…but i am falling short & struggling with it.
additionally, my rapidograph pens were being assholes….as is in their nature, but i still love them.

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that’s not funny

so i keep looking for my true love by searching wordpress blogs using not-so-random key words because surely my true love blogs…

unless he is too busy lumber-jacking a sustainable forest….

and then i had a beer and started annoying jenny lawson…again (assuming she reads my sad attempts at getting her attention.) now i hate myself for it and just want to shut everything down. close down every social media outlet i have an account on. who do i think i am? why would anyone want to read my drivel? i’m no different. i’m not special. just another sad cog in a lopsided wheel.

some people, apparently, have long bouts of depression. my moods, however, spin–bob & weave–kick up dust before falling in the mud.
i’m a cancer with a moon in scorpio and scorpio rising. for those of you who aren’t astrology savvy, cancers & scorpios are both water signs, water equals emotion. so i’m like 99% emotion.

1% lumberjack.

i’m not trying to be funny. i am actually tired of me and the stupid things i say and my expecting people to actually listen to me. i tried to tweet today and now i hate myself. read the post from last week about my not being able to play the game. it’s like that. whenever i try to partake of social media, i just feel like a phony.

like the lumberjack comment? is that to get attention? or do i really like lumberjacks? i don’t know. where does the person end and the social media personality begin?

i try to be honest and to be real. but then i also want attention and an audience.

if i tell you that today i had to take a shower because i had gone so long without one that my hair hurt…is that my being honest or showcasing my neurosis? both? like it’s funny because it’s true? or if you can relate, that makes it funny?

i am tired of the narrator inside my head he/she is making my life into a bad tv show.

when i was a kid i thought my big sister was so funny. so i emulated her. i tried so hard to be funny. she wrote funny letters to her friends. so i wrote funny letters to my friends. i would try to be ridiculous on purpose.

what if it is all an act? what if i’m not funny.

but then there are those days, most days, where i crack myself up at least once. so at least one person thinks i’m funny. unless she is laughing at me, not with me…?

i had a snooty teacher in a writer’s workshop once assure me–when i said i did not think i would ever have a very big audience–that i was wrong. she told me i was funny and that funny sells.
in retrospect, i think she may have been insulting me in a very dodgy way.

but i will have the last laugh, rowan buchanan (if that was your real name) because even if i am funny…no one takes me seriously.

(i don’t feel like drawing–so today you get a random collage i did for a digital media class back when i was an art student. i miss being an art student. and i really like buttons.)

mister chicken

so as it turns out,
i’m not crazy–i’m an empath.
okay,
sometimes i’m still crazy.
but when i get super sad and then feel elated the next minute–
the thing is–
i often don’t feel my own emotions,
i feel other people’s emotions.
so weird.
i always knew i was really really empathetic
but only in the past couple of years have i learned about being an empath.

so i’m an empath.
i feel things
and know things
that other people cannot sense.
i know when someone is lying.
i can see an aura better than i can notice the color of your eyes.
and it has come to my attention that being an empath–& not knowing how to protect yourself–is a dangerous & even a bad thing.
i don’t know how to protect me.
i lay open for everyone to just dump their emotions in.
and then i turn into a raging pond of dumped emotions.

so today i was reading a book about service dogs for families that have special needs children and i felt profoundly sad.  and instead of just feeling sad, i examined why i felt sad…only to realize that the sadness was not my own, but the sadness of these families.
it finally clicked.
i was not feeling my own emotions.
i was feeling someone else’s!!
and just like that, the sadness evaporated.
how often am i doing that?
being angry with someone else’s anger?
being happy with someone else’s happiness?
being frustrated with someone else’s frustration?

i wonder.
when i was a child, i loved animals. all animals. i loved them. i collected them. i had over fifty pets as a kid–and even more imaginary ones.
but my dad was so angry.
and he put that anger on us kids
and on the animals.
and i felt myself absorb that anger.
i felt it grow inside me.
i recognized it when it came out–it was his anger, not mine.
but over the years i adopted it as my own.
i was the one being angry at the animals.
it stopped being his and became mine.
and i felt so horrible about it
about myself.
i cringe to think that that is who i am.
but what if it isn’t?
i wonder…
if i now realize it is not my anger after all…can i send it on its way?

 

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