Tag Archives: problems

Numbing Numbness (Life of a Writer)

​I can’t say that I feel anything for anyone. Nothing real, at least. 

“I miss you”s and “I love you”s have become so, for lack of a more unique word, empty. Hugs and kisses and sex feel good but not down to my seemingly broken soul. I wish that I could drown out these thoughts with the music and birds and kids playing and car alarm going off right now, but they whisper so softly that it’s almost like a fucking shriek. And I just wanna scream and burn away the painful words that’ll creep their way up my throat with cigarettes and the drip. But the vices can’t save me by drowning me anymore. This is the kind of numbness and disassociation and self confusion that I can’t fuck away. I can’t buzz away; I can’t smoke out of my body. Or snort out of my fucking mind. I’m so sick of being this sick. Was I born this ill? Why do my diseases and conditions have to affect me inside and out?

I miss being held and feeling like I was cured. But it only lasts as long as I can get used to somebody’s body and then the touch of their skin makes me uncomfortable in mine and then I feel disease ridden all over again. I hope to forget about this and read it over two years from now and wonder how long it’s been since I felt so hopeless and lost. But I seem to only get worse with every forgotten passage and lose articulation as time passes. 

I wish that he could save me or, god forbid, another he in my life… but I’ve been told and have told others that you can only save yourself. 

But what a fucking hypocritical cliché because I don’t have the slightest clue of what that means or where to even begin. 

I’m so scared, so fucking terrified and petrified that I will always have to self medicate to pretend to cope with so much fucking pain. I hurt so constantly and so deeply and it subsequently makes me feel more inclined to take it upon myself to dull it.

How in the hell does anyone think that they’re supposed to numb their numbness? 

I don’t think that a writer realizes just how much pain that they’re in until they unload after paper silence for months. It’s such a freeing entrapment.

I feel that I’ve made some sort of breakthrough yet I’ve just dug myself into an even more gaping emotional and mental whole. What a fucking morose contradictory art. 

I don’t know what I want to do or be. I’m afraid that I have no fucking clue of who I am, but I’m more afraid that I know exactly who I am. I think that the latter is more horrifying. 

How the fuck is this any way to live? How in the world is this a life?
~Megan Chruszczyk


We’re The Middle Children Of History

Let me explain what it is like to be the middle child from my personal experience :

You’re not the oldest, and you’re not the youngest; that fact is obvious information.
But you must look further into that.

Since you’re not the oldest, you’re disrespected by the youngest because “you can’t tell them what to do”
And, in my case,  the youngest thinks they can boss you around in return
And youre somehow more closely grouped with them, you’re “the girls”
Looked at as a unit rather than individuals
So why would you respect them as someone who practically helped raise you? I’m still somehow on your level
And not being the oldest calls for the oldest treating you like a child
Them acting as your parent
And that’s fine, but they’re more of an authority figure rather than a sibling
They took care of you, they looked out for you, you’re someone they guard, not someone you can share every detail of your personality with
And you’re also the middleman
When there’s a problem with either youngest or eldest, you’re the one to ask because you’re the median, you’re supposed to keep close ties with both, I presume
Yet your opinion is over looked or completely ignored
Because you’re more closely associated with younger than with mature
And no matter how much you know, simply by what you figured out on your own, because you somehow have an overwhelming amount of isolation
Or what you learned by experience
There’s no way you could have experienced so much greater than the oldest

And when it comes to comparison,  you’re compared with and compared to
“Why aren’t you like your older sibling?
They want to talk to me like an adult, it’s about time you do.”
But I’m not my older sibling, I’m far beyond who they are and completely opposite that there’s nothing to compare


When it comes to the youngest and being compared with, “but Megan does this or that”
The response is always, “but I’m not her!”
But when it comes to something they want it’s,  “But Megan gets to do it!”
And we’re complete opposites as well, even more so that I sometimes question if we’re actually really related

And how dare I get offended or stand up for myself, I can’t have an opinion without “she’s your older sister, you have to respect her” and “she’s your younger sister, just be there for her, she looks up to you”

But I honestly don’t give a damn who is or does what. And that isn’t taken seriously either.
My opinions and problems are a joke because I’ve always been the middle child. The “problem child” no matter how worse any of my other siblings have done.
And out of everyone of my siblings selfish fits, my breakdowns when I’ve just had enough make me the over dramatic one

The middle child.

I don’t know “fair.” I never have. All I know is that everyone is out to “get even” with you. Getting even isn’t being fair.