Ignore This

This blog and I have had our ups and downs. And honestly I had forgotten the reason behind it's existence. It's right there in the name. My soma.

I need this blog to air out my thoughts; allow them to float in the breeze and find their own shape.

Soon I will be posting a link on this page to a new blog spot. As with many things, it is better to start new and fresh. Maybe I will follow through with my desire to pour myself onto the page.

I don't think I can still be Lenina. While I am still that girl, blindly finding herself and her way in life, learning lessons she didn't even know she was learning, I am so much more. Perhaps a new name is in order.

I love you. I don't know why I cut myself off from you.

Gay is Evolution

My childhood friend and reincarnation buddy (we have managed to find each other in almost every life cycle), started his own page of catharsis.  Reading it gives me much joy, and he is so very talented in all that he does.

Unfortunately, he has moved far away to the shore, so I miss him each day.  But reading his words gives me comfort.  Check it out.  He can comfort you, too.

Gay is Evolution

Today is also his birthday.  As my mother and grandmother would say, "Love on him."

Getting Back Into It

Moved in to new house November 12th. Check

Wedding date set, December 4th. Check

Graduation date set, December 18th.  Check

Then guess what, kiddies?  I am going to be so free and open.  And of course, searching for a job.  Hopefully in the civil engineering world, but I am open to my minor career fields as well.  Especially writing.  I would love to turn that little hobby into my way of bringing home the bacon.

And as you read above, a house was purchased and we moved in last Friday.  Today is the official anniversary of being in our house one week.  You feel different when you sign those closing papers.  Personally, I kept expecting someone to jump out of the shadows, grab the papers, and scamper off saying, "Just kidding!  You can't get a house!"

But we did.  Mainly due to Patrick's job and income.  I contribute roughly $100 a week to our household income.  But come on, I am in school and I am graduating in December. 

I feel a lot better from that last post, although I still have my moments dealing with myself.  As of now, I am attempting to power through.

But in the world of a bipolar, you have no idea what tomorrow will bring.

Just Get It Over With

You know how I feel right now?

Empty.

I don't know why.  I just got off work, I have to be there again in 7 hours.  I should be sleeping.  But instead, my mind is turning in on itself, thinking thoughts I don't want to be thinking.  Feeling things I shouldn't be feeling.

In my dreams lately, the color dreams, I am being chased.  Chased by a monster, a monster that bears down upon me, no matter how fast I run.  In the dream, I keep creating these safe places.  Such as, while attempting to hide in a house (that I know in real life) from this monster, I created this secret compartment, an underground safety room.  I closed myself off, and promptly woke up.

Why do I always feel like I need to protect myself?  Why am I always running?  Why do I try to please every fucking person around me, then forget that I have needs and wants, too?  Why do I put everyone before myself?

Why am I still fucking awake, typing on the computer, asking myself a million freaking questions?
There's another question right now.

I just want to make everyone happy.  I want to make him happy.  I try so hard.

Sometimes I fall short.  Just forgive me for the wrongs I do.

Mad World

The dream is in black and white.  It's always in black and white.

I am a young boy, 13 or 14, and I am beyond thin.  I am emaciated, frail, as are the other living skeletons around me.  Determining anyone's age is impossible as they all look like 100 year old men.  I probably look the same way.

We stand in a line, men in uniforms with guns herding us to a field outside of the barbed wire fences.  Once in the field, terror grips my chest as we are all handed a shovel and commanded to dig.

Tears are burning down my face, and I know I am going to die.  They do not ask people to dig holes and then take them back to camp.  Smoke from the oven pours into the sky, blackening and polluting the air.  All I want is to kiss my mother and have her hold me one last time.  I am a little boy.  I do not want to die.

In all too short a time, the holes are completed.  They scream at us to get on our knees, and I comply, crying and praying and begging for salvation.  There is none to come.  I am the 4th person down, and they stand behind the first man, striking him in the back of the neck with the blade of the shovel.  He falls in his shallow grave.  I close my eyes and wait.  There is an eternity before the next blow hits.

The second strike and then the body drops.

The third strike. 

My turn.  

In the dream, I feel the pain on my neck, and my body becomes paralyzed as I hit the bottom of my hole.  Everything begins to blur, the dirt hindering my breath, until there is just black.

And then I wake up.

I don't know my name, the boy's name.  Maybe if I knew that I would have something to go off of, prove to myself that it isn't real.  

It isn't the only black and white dream I have, not the only recurring one.  It's just the one that haunts me the most.