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Rackers

give in to your light

It’s a cold night, considering how warm it has been. Cold enough for a cardigan, anyway. The water looks enticing. More than just for a late night swim. It’s almost pitch black, except for the light on the boats out at sea, the light saying “hey, I’m here. Don’t forget about me.” I could do with some of that. The forgetting. Forget about me. Forget about everything. If I could just be erased. It would be quite easy, wouldn’t it? To just erase myself. I find myself walking toward the water. It’s warmer than I would have thought. The water laps at my ankles, almost like an excited dog. Notice me, notice me. The world means nothing, really. It wouldn’t change much if I weren’t here. If I just swam out to sea and let life do what it may. Life, or death. Depends how you look at it. Knee deep now. It would be so easy to sink in. You know those urges you get? That dark part of your mind. It’s taking over. Throw your phone into the ocean. Jump off that ledge. Push that person over. You know the one you usually push to the back of your head, glad no one can read your mind? That one. My dress is in the water now, I’m waist deep. I forgot how heavy water made clothing. It’s weighing me down but I’m not fighting it. I keep walking. Shoulder deep. What difference would it make? If I were gone. Just a simple footnote. They would grieve, and then they would move on. Simple. Life would continue with or without me. Everything is immersed except my head. All I would need is to let go. Walk a little further. Ignore my body’s fight or flight. Just. Let go. It’s all black now. It doesn’t matter anymore. It never really did, did it? Life. Death. Depends how you look at it I suppose.

The wind is playing with my hair. The smell of the sea is strong. The smell of life. I’m standing on shore, completely dry. I haven’t walked in. Only thought about it. Will continue to think about it, probably. All of us do. Some just have a darker counterpart. My light will always win. It always does. I give it the attention it deserves, see. Always will. I hope everyone else does. Give in to their light, rather than their dark. Nothing romantic about death, is there? Nothing romantic about grief. It holds on to you, once you’ve experienced it. It just, sticks. It’s a part of your soul once death has touched your life in a profound way. I don’t really believe that, you know. That I don’t matter. That nothing matters. Of course it matters. That’s why I’m still standing here, still dry. Waiting for the light. It’ll come. Tomorrow morning. A new day, a new chance.

Give in to your light. Give it the attention it deserves. Your dark is strong, I know. But your light is stronger. You are stronger. I promise.

Categories
Rackers

the world is not out to get you

Why me? you cry, as something shitty happens in your life that thousands of other people are going through as well. What did I do? you yell at the sky, blaming every other being but yourself for the way things are working out. Why is the world out to get me?
Instead of saying, why me? Maybe ask…well why the fuck not me?
110% can confirm that I have spent multiple nights tear-staining my pillow, internally screaming WHY ME?!
Why does this happen to me? Why did they want to hurt me? Why am I never good enough? Why did they take her away from me? Why is the world out to get me?
I don’t know the particular moment I stopped letting myself think like that. I won’t lie and say that I never have those self-destructive thoughts, because, duh, that’s part and parcel of being ya gal rack daddy. But I am self-aware and (I believe) at times a little bit wiser, now, and can stop the thought halfway and internally fight back; stop being a whiny dumb fuck. the world hates everyone.
Honestly. The world fucking hates everyone. Some people get the worse end of the stick and some people get the better. I often find that the people who deal with bullshit, but with maturity and grace, are the ones who seem to have it all together. They are the ones we enviously watch from the other side of the fence, watering their grass as we sit on our dried out, prickly, making our bum itchy grass, and say why do they have it so good?
You know why they have it so good? Because they bother to make it look like they water their grass. They don’t sit on their ass and enviously watch everyone else’s lives. And they sure as shit don’t compare their lawn to yours.
The grass is never actually greener on the other side.
The world is cruel, there’s no doubt about it. Every single minute there is death, hunger, hatred and heartbreak. It’s incredibly unfair and seemingly doles out the shit times all at once, or all to the same people.
But the world is also magical. There is so much love and life in everything we do.
Self-pity is inevitable, but jumping into, and making a home in, a pit of pity is not okay. It will truly make you feel as if the world is weighing on your shoulders and it’s picking on you and only you. Re: Stop the pity. It’s shitty.
How you perceive the world around you is entirely your mindset. We could go as far as saying that the world is created in your mind, but we’re all a little too sober for that talk. Read a good book, take a long walk, call your mates that make you laugh, tell your parents you love them. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: life is fucked and magic all at the same time. The world is not out to get you.
Categories
Rackers

there is calm

Categories
Rackers

haven’t met you yet

I’m sitting next to someone I have never met before and will probably walk away from having never met. I’m listening to trusty old Michael Buble, Haven’t Met You Yet, busting out the occasional not-so-subtle head bop. I’m watching the ocean and the hundreds of people finding enjoyment by big, salty waves pushing them over. Smelling the ocean, listening to happiness. There is a world inside my head; thoughts, memories, overthinking, fantasies, imagination. I’m writing a novel, conjuring up a whole separate world from yours and mine. I slyly look across to this guy next to me. His eyes are glazed over as he too watches the ocean, wrapped up in his towel like a blanket.

We are as close in proximity as one would sit with a friend, a lover, yet we know not a single thing about each other. All I know of him is he has sandy blonde hair. All he knows of me is I don’t stop typing, unless I’m taking a moment to stare out into the abyss (or gush over the cute dog nearby).

He has a world inside of his head. He is lost in thought as much as I am; thinking of people I have never heard of, reliving experiences I couldn’t imagine.

Moments like these make you stop and think of the amount of humans in this world; the amount of people thinking, feeling, dealing with the same bullshit as you. There is a whole world outside of your head, a whole world inside of it, and a whole world in every person who walks by.

If you ever need a reality check, a moment that makes you and your problems the size of the ant crawling on my leg; sit in a busy area and just take it in. You matter. But you also really don’t. The world is a paradox and life is fucked and magic all at the same time.

I just looked over and he’s actually asleep.