Dark.

I turned the light off today.

In telling me to let it shine...commanding it...exclaiming it...he, in fact, extinguished it.

I turned the light off, my light off, today.

The ants that wreak havoc upon my skin are like Slytherins slurping upon my soupy soul.

I pretended that he made me better, that his darkness only served to amplify my light, when in reality, his darkness rubbed off on me daily.

So now I'm covered in smudges, sooty fingerprints now freckle this once brilliantly resilient light of mine.

Where does the good go?

Does it hide beneath the freshly fallen snow, pretending to be white with fright.

Does it tuck itself in corners making love to foreigners who don't know any better.

Does the good fly high on kites in the sky catching currents like handshakes so fleeting and fast.

Or does it float down rivers dwelling on days passed.

The light and the good are gone. So long.

Runaway, here comes the dawn.

Update.

My life grows and withers in coffee shops. As my mind flourishes so it crumbles. I blame quite a bit of my artistic endeavors on coffee shops. Blame isn't the right word. I accredit. I owe the honor to. I am inspired at tables in corners with coffee and strangers.

Caffeine is a wicked drug. I am not addicted. At least I don't think I am.

But maybe.

I am an addict. This I know.

I met him in a coffee shop. He quickly became my drug of choice. Listen to Ke$ha's "Your Love is My Drug." That shit was my anthem for awhile.

Maybe I need some rehab, or maybe just need some sleep. I've got a sick obsession. I'm seein' it in my dreams.

A lovesick crackhead.

What I had become.

I shared my love to a depth that he couldn't handle. I loved too much. And now he is gone.

Only myself to blame. To accredit. I owe myself the honor, of chasing him away.

And so I cry out to the Lord. I open up My Utmost For His Highest...and there it is "The Initiative Against Depression."

HA! A LOL almost escaped my weathered lips. These lips that have spoken what felt divinely inspired, but was not received accordingly.

Depression, in my case, is a choice, is situational. I do not have a chemical imbalance, at least, if so, I am not aware. Depression, in my case, is a choice. And therefore, I must take initiative against it. Ozzie Oswald tells me "If we do a thing in order to overcome depression, we deepen the depression; but if the Spirit of God makes us feel intuitively that we must do the thing, and we do it, the depression is gone. Immediately we arise and obey, we enter on a higher plane of life."

This morning I nearly started watching the movie 2012. The man talked a lot about the end of the world. How he's certain that it's ending in 2012. So I wanted to watch the movie. I did start watching it and about 30 seconds in, I bailed, felt intuitively that I shouldn't be watching something so dark in such a fragile state.

So I put on Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. And laughed my aching heart out.

I felt the need to go for a walk. I love where I live because I can walk to places. Downtown is a seven minute walk away. And the ocean is about a three minute walk away. So I've been wandering downtown. The bank. Parking services. The library. Yet another coffee shop. I ate Chipotle alone in a park in the sun. I filed my taxes. I'm blogging. Thinking about moving home.

I'm not sure why I'm in Santa Barbara anymore. I thought I was here for Jemma and Rovenna but they're getting older now, and so am I. I can't be a nanny forever.

I got a job bartending. And promoting a night club. We just got ranked 85th in the nation.

It's not me. I've fallen into this facade. Dolling up. Slinging drinks. Flirting. Getting people wasted so they can make bad decisions. Who am I?

I let the management belittle me, berate me, because I'm new. They are demeaning. And I am supposed to be ever-grateful. Because I am the anomaly. I have no previous bartending experience, nor do I have any serving experience, nor have I put in two or more years working for Sandbar. But they gave me the job. And now I am forever indebted to them. Or so they treat me.

I am a club promoter.

I run around town handing out fliers. Come to Sandbar. I'll get you in free, wristband you for drink specials, I'll get my cut, and go home.

Where I am unhappy. Because this is not me.

And so my heart is tattered lying on the laminate floor in this homely coffee shop in downtown Santa Barbara. I don't feel like I'm supposed to be here anymore. But maybe that's just my wicked and withering mind playing tricks on me.

I don't want to be a slave to money, which is what I have become.

I am selling my soul to Sandbar Santa Barbara.

And I gave my heart to a man that didn't want it.

My mind is what I have left, and it is trying to beat it's way out of my skull. Round and round we go on a sick cycle carousel. Depression. A choice. To live in my brain. Or to step out of the darkness. To sit in the sun and let the waves of self crash elsewhere. For I am mine own. And I determine the extent to which the choices of others will effect me.

Is this where I belong?

Stunted Santa Barbara.

Only time will tell.

Pray for me please. If you're still reading. Still caring. Thank you.

Musings.

I posted this blog awhile back and deleted it for various reasons. I've decided to re-post it because it will give you a bit more insight into what I am going to write next...so have at it.

Here I am stuck in my head again.

The last two months have stripped me. Of my sanity. My innocence. Fucking purity. My conception of life and my purpose within it. It's funny how falling feels like flying. For a little while.

Spiraling down. Alice chasing rabbits. Frolicking in wonderlands. Worlds I've never known.

I have learned catastrophic amounts in the last eight weeks. About who I am. The ways I treat people. What my motives are. Plans. Thoughts of future. Fears. Truths.

We are conditioned. We believe because others tell us so. Here I am, in my head, delving, diving, discovering new realms I never knew existed.

We put ourselves in boxes because we are afraid. The world is too big. God is too big. Humanity. Hearts. Minds. Darkness. Too big. Light. Beauty. Truth. Warmth. The sun is too fucking big for us to fathom. So we shut ourselves in. We get stuck inside convention. Doing things the way they are always done. Because we are afraid.

I have learned how to let go.

I have been hurt. Offended. Ripped open. Guts all over the cold kitchen floor. Heart beating into oblivion. No more.

I got caught up with a man. A dark, twisted, insanely brilliant man. A man who has changed me. And I'd like to say for the better. But right now, I am caught up in my mind and if you asked me, I would lose it all. I would try and explain it all to you...the decisions I've made, and they would sound like jibberish to you, but here in my head, in MY head, it all makes sense. That I am changed for the better.

The man is 33. The age of Christ at death and resurrection.

The man is an arborist. Attuned to the fine pruning of trees. Trees I've been drawing in my journal for the past year.

The man is a writer, a poet.

The man is an artist.

The man is a musician.

The man is a basketball player.

The man is dreaming of hiking the PCT.

The man is.

The man is no more a part of my life. Here and then gone.

What started in a coffee shop has ended through a text message. The coffee shop is no more a part of either life. He is no longer a customer. I am no longer an employee.

I am on an endless journey, traipsing through tunnels of color and truth, discovering who this person is. This woman. Her name is Sabrina. But who is she really?

There's no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going.

Emotions are a waste he says.

I want to learn to play poker.

And I'm on the homeless kick again. Just spent time on craigslist looking for a van.

Which direction are we going. Blowing. It is snowing, somewhere in the world. But here in Santa Barbara the warmth on my skin is blissful.

It's all gonna be ok.

Growing. Flowering.

I'm reading a twisted ass book right now. I've been cursing a lot in this blog of mine...I am Clark Gable and frankly my dear, I just don't give a damn...

Again, I am reading a twisted ass book right now.

It's called Thirteen Reasons Why.

It's about a high school girl that kills herself...and there are thirteen reasons why...thirteen people to be more precise. And so before she kills herself she tells the stories of each of these thirteen individuals and how they have all contributed to her demise. Then she sends the tapes out to the first of the thirteen people...and instructs them to send them on one by one, until all thirteen have heard their portion. She tells them that there is a third party who has copies of all of the tapes and will be following each of them around to make sure they're listening...and if they don't listen or send them on to the next person, the third party will expose the tapes to the public.

Yeah, sick.

But as I am reading, there is so much truth in the book, truth about how every little thing we do, every choice we make, affects someone else. No matter how harmless. Innocuous. Choice matters.

It's definitely a page-turner. Dark and depressing, but I am blowing through it. And thinking about starting my own tapes...noooo, not in that way, but a method of forcing myself, outside of myself. If that makes any sense. I am learning how to speak, like a child learns to walk. I've never been one to openly share feelings, thoughts, anything, unless of course it's through writing, a letter, you all know that about me now don't you? But I am learning to speak...and I think that recording myself could escalate the process right? I don't know. Thoughts coming out through fingers into a blog without making sense. I'm going to try it. The whole voice-recording thing...maybe I'll start podcasting!! That's the ticket. Ha.

Anyway, I'll let you know how it goes.

I'll try to be back more often. But this shit will be raw, and real. I am different now. Changed for the better. Breaking convention and crashing into Christ with a fierceness I've never known before.

So keep reading if you dare.