here’s to your fucking alibi

 

maybe i wish you were mine
maybe i wish you took time
to see just what you’ve done to me

hey, hey, you ever been a spent wreck at 2:19 in the morning? because same. baby, same.

i’ve been listening to alibi by clans for the last couple of days because of how i’ve been feeling. if you’ve been here a while, you’ll know of my self destructive tendencies and how i empty myself into bettering other people after i’ve run dry twice over. i went back to uni after six-ish months off, and nothing’s changed. how foolish of me to think otherwise of myself, yes?

alibi is a good song. the more i listen to it, the more i see every interpersonal relationship i’ve ever been a part of in it. the more i listen to it, the more i want to laugh hysterically and also climb out of my skin. the more i listen to it, the more i want to ask every single person in my life: where’s your fucking alibi?

she’s gonna tell you exactly what you wanna hear
she doesn’t mean it but she needs someone
who will dry up all her tears

i got food poisoning today! yesterday. whatever. i got me a dose of that good ol’ food poisoning and ended up skipping a really important class this morning. i thought i was feeling better, but i have this sinking feeling that i’m not as better as i had hoped. maybe it’s the food poisoning, maybe it’s the tightness in my chest that makes me want to fling myself into the outer reaches of the universe — either way, i still feel like i’m about to throw up.

i’m good at being good for something. which sounds…fine. until nobody needs that something anymore. it’s a shame, really, and i’d give almost anything to get out of this mindset. as for now, i’m doing the same things that 2014 and 15 and 16 shalom begged me to stop: being because someone else needs.

and though i know just what you’re doing
i’ll still pretend you’re right
and even though i see straight through it
i’ll still put my heart on the line

you know what’s the worst about this? it’s that the more i try to fix this for myself, the more invested i become in learning how to be a person for myself, the more collateral damage i cause within my already fragmented thought process. it’s a lot like a frank conversation i’m having with several versions of the same self. “there’s nothing wrong with mothering, shalom.” there is something wrong with it being your be all and end all. “i do this because i like to, and i happen to get validation from it so i like that too. it’s fine.” shalom, you’re running yourself into the ground because you’re feeding people by starving yourself. who feeds you? 

well, shalom,  i don’t know.

i see through it. i see through myself, and through those taking advantage of my nature, and those who can’t stand it. and still, my heart is everyone’s starting line – a good trampling is a reminder that you’re still alive unless it’s all you feel. is this getting a bit melodramatic? maybe. but also, i feel so so shit, so. yes.

she’s gonna make you feel like you’re the only one
when she’s done with all her fun
she’ll tell you it’s all in your head

people aren’t disposable, and yet, here i am. boy, do i wish i could get my head out of my ass. it’s a direct result of my being the way i am and also my existence in a world that doesn’t cater to it. it is all in my head. i only think people are finished with me because i convince myself that they need me more than they do, because that’s where i find worth. problematic? yep. fixable? ah. well.

at the end of the day, my interpersonal relationships are lopsided because of how i view myself and my worth. i know it. there’s no blame on the people who meet me and are simultaneously met with an outpouring of love that shocks them three ways to sunday. and yet…i still want to ask every person that’s seen me destroy myself time and again, and then allowed me to ruin myself for them once (twice, ten times) more: where’s your fucking alibi? where were you at the time of my overzealous self-sacrifice? what were you doing? why?

the thing is that it doesn’t matter. it’s on me. let me make it clear that i know this, alright? it doesn’t make it less shit. so, regardless of the when and where, those reports will do nothing until i find a way to stop doing this. @ everyone who does provide them, well.

here’s to your fucking alibi.

love and light,
shalom xo

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s