"The first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth." J.D. Salinger
My name is Chandra and some people even call me that, on occasion.
Others know me by other names, other words, but it's really all the same.
A good friend once told me, "You are my Alice in Wonderland!!"
Maybe it's because I'm curious.
A few decades ago I was born. Sometime after that I found out that I was in love with words. Yes, it is as creepy as it sounds. As a child, I could talk endlessly and for no other reason than to hear the words. I was talking without saying much, but back then I didn't know there was a difference. Then one day, I decided to pick my words more carefully. "Choose wisely," as they say. Now I take my time selecting the words I want the world to hear so they can know me.
Most of the time I still screw it up.
Some of the time I get it right.
All of the time I never stop.
Some of the time I get it right.
All of the time I never stop.
One day, my words are going to make you feel something you've never felt before. One day, my words are going to change the way you see this world. One day, my words may even change you. Don't believe me? Keep reading and try to prove me wrong.
Introduction for an Insomniac
It's only three. I still have hours left. Before what? Before I fain sleep and act normal. Maybe old Will had it right and the whole world is merely a stage, if so, I don't think I'm playing right. But at least I commit. At least I use these sleepless nights to run lines and work on the character I will 'wake up' and play tomorrow. I mean, today; after all, in the REAL world, the clock resets at midnight.
If you ever want to try and know me, that is to say, if you ever want to see me for who I am then you have a lot to learn. And with all information there is to give, I first offer a warning and I'm sure you've heard it before: stop now, don't proceed. Turn back while you can.
But I don't say it to waste my breath, I don't say it to peak interest. I say it because this, these thoughts, they aren't meant for you. I'm only writing this down because it can't stay in my head any longer. not if I ever want to sleep.
So here it is, your first taste. Because if you are still reading this then it has to start somewhere. And for now, this is what I've got:
I am in love with Holden Caulfield.
I love my flaws, because they hate them.
I just want to see what happens when I tear the world apart.
Nice to meet you, I'm an insomniac with a dream, a paradox of sorts, but a real person nonetheless. So here is my jump and I hope you join me. 'Cause fuck, it gets lonely. So come inside, follow me.
Bullets were meant for biting, so here we go.
Conclusion for an Insomniac
The regret has set in and the worry too. Anxious thoughts, "you're buried" my head screams, and "I hate this song". And that's that.
I will keep trying to make things out to be something they're not. I will keep finding lines I like in these songs, as if the song itself explains my life. But quotes and random snippets of a good idea don't get you far, no not far at all, just about here.. Like I haven't said that one before. You'd think I would learn.
But I guess that is as far as I need to make it because it is time to pass out. Not so much sleep, but, oh fuck I'm too tired to explain.
I don't care if you know me, or if you want to get to know me. Because for now, it's already too late. I don't even remember who I am.
I just sit here hoping I will end tonight still being who I was when I started this fucking side project three hours ago. Because this 'insomniac with a dream' can only hope, and fucking trust me I AM, that it won't become a blog about the insomniac with an endless nightmare chasing her into insanity. I wrote that story already, and I closed that book.
Here is to hoping it won't resurface. Still wanna know what haunts me? Fine. Come in this head and see it. Maybe if you see what's wrong with me, you can all save yourselves. Because for living life, this isn't much a life to live. But if the world is a stage, maybe I just need new directions.
Exit stage left.
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Introduction for an Insomniac
It's only three. I still have hours left. Before what? Before I fain sleep and act normal. Maybe old Will had it right and the whole world is merely a stage, if so, I don't think I'm playing right. But at least I commit. At least I use these sleepless nights to run lines and work on the character I will 'wake up' and play tomorrow. I mean, today; after all, in the REAL world, the clock resets at midnight.
If you ever want to try and know me, that is to say, if you ever want to see me for who I am then you have a lot to learn. And with all information there is to give, I first offer a warning and I'm sure you've heard it before: stop now, don't proceed. Turn back while you can.
But I don't say it to waste my breath, I don't say it to peak interest. I say it because this, these thoughts, they aren't meant for you. I'm only writing this down because it can't stay in my head any longer. not if I ever want to sleep.
So here it is, your first taste. Because if you are still reading this then it has to start somewhere. And for now, this is what I've got:
I am in love with Holden Caulfield.
I love my flaws, because they hate them.
I just want to see what happens when I tear the world apart.
Nice to meet you, I'm an insomniac with a dream, a paradox of sorts, but a real person nonetheless. So here is my jump and I hope you join me. 'Cause fuck, it gets lonely. So come inside, follow me.
Bullets were meant for biting, so here we go.
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"Love you..." she choked on the hesitation. the words always came so easily before.
but now was different; now she meant it.
So you suckered me into it, did you? I tried to keep the subject strictly to sex, but oh no, not good enough. now it's time to dive deep into love. love ha.
love is adjective. sometimes it's a good adjective, sometimes it's bad.
(she does know she's talking about adjectives now, right?)
why yes, yes I do.
(and she knows we're still waiting for the talk on love)
I knew you wouldn't give up that easily.
(she sure is avoiding this subject)
Perhaps. but there are much lovelier topics to cover..
(yea, she's not fooling anyone)
'lovelier'? fuck. I should have picked a better adjective.
You asked for it. and I'm a sucker for good question.
this is what I know:
people love until they don't
people say love without meaning
and sometimes their meaning is just mean
and I keep finding myself, hopelessly, caught up in the sensation.
and I was so close too. I added hopeful, it had a good run.
See, the real topic here is adjectives. And now I need a new one.
not hopeful, but not hopeless, just hope. a good balance, somewhere in the middle.
of nowhere.
She will be loved? yea. true. until the day she won't be.
I guess that's the next song.
but you'll always get love from your favorite insomniac.
So open your hearts, let me in.
I'll admit: you're starting to grow on me too.
Birthday for an Insomniac
I always wanted to die on my birthday. I know it would be sad and all… I just like the idea of ending things on an even note. And when people came to my grave site they would say I lived a very long, even life. They would chuckle at how precise I needed to be. Or they would think it an accident and feel sad for me. I wouldn't want that, but I couldn't tell anyone what to feel. I would be dead.
My favorite birthday was when I turned 10.
My mom got me a mini keyboard. I wrote a song and made an interpretive dance about the life and death of a flower.
That was the year my dad called, to wish his youngest a happy 8th birthday.
A few days later I found out he was back in jail. At 10 years old, I felt the punishment didn’t fit the crime. After all, he was only two years off.
And besides, it’s hard to remember things like birthdays when all you care about are drugs.
There we have it… A little deeper of a look into a little girl’s pain.
A little girl turning twenty and thinking back on how happy she was, when she was acting like a flower.
Another memorable birthday was when I was born. It was 7:49 in the morning. Just like an insomniac, I had to be up all night.
Just like an insomniac to sneak away, right when we were getting somewhere? Maybe. But let’s not go running our mouths about birthdays and problems: because we have all had plenty of both. And soon it will be my turn again.
What does an insomniac wish for on her birthday? A little more sleep?
Oh no, I don't even ask for that. This insomniac needs no wishes; besides, I can’t pretend they would come true.
So this year, I give my wish to you. I hope you get exactly what you have been looking for all of these years.
Blow out the candles, make my wish.
Insomnia for an Insomniac
I am here because when I close my eyes to sleep I hear and see and feel all of it.
I am no different. Each person has their own shit to deal with. Pain is pain and it is insurmountable and incomparable. But no one deserves to relive every pain each night before bed.
So, I let it all out.
You are here because once I let go of the pain, I have love.
As fucked up as love can be, I would be more fucked up without it.
And I wouldn't be who I was if I hadn't lost it and fucked up even worse.
That was presumptuous. You are here for whatever reason you would like. I write this for me.
You can read it for you, or whoever else. All I am saying is:
In order to be a good writer you have to love something so deeply, unimaginably tight, with no regard for your safety or the well-being of others, a sort of insanity of love. And once you love something, or someone, in such a way, you must feel the feeling of losing it. And that is why we love. And that is why we write.
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I am no different. Each person has their own shit to deal with. Pain is pain and it is insurmountable and incomparable. But no one deserves to relive every pain each night before bed.
So, I let it all out.
You are here because once I let go of the pain, I have love.
As fucked up as love can be, I would be more fucked up without it.
And I wouldn't be who I was if I hadn't lost it and fucked up even worse.
That was presumptuous. You are here for whatever reason you would like. I write this for me.
You can read it for you, or whoever else. All I am saying is:
In order to be a good writer you have to love something so deeply, unimaginably tight, with no regard for your safety or the well-being of others, a sort of insanity of love. And once you love something, or someone, in such a way, you must feel the feeling of losing it. And that is why we love. And that is why we write.
But, you’re probably only here,
because you can’t sleep either.
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Holidays for an Insomniac
3 packs of cigarettes, two pots of coffee, my favorite blanket and a front row seat to the moon.
insomniac is not good with holidays.
There is another little peak at who I am. Have you figured it out yet? Have you figured out you need to leave.
Fine. Push me. Take your truth. I want you here.
As long as you are here it isn't for nothing.
Was your favorite christmas when you ate jack in the box and unknowingly went on a drug deal?
Or when you stayed in the motel and saw a jail for the first time? happy holidays.
It is too hard to make something good when the expectations are high. promises, christmas, love.
It is all breakable; it is all fallible.
I don't celebrate christmas. Santa has never come to my house.
We used to have a tree, it always had bows. A glimmer of hope, or normalcy.
It’s a façade. The whole charade. It’s an ugly pretense of false hope.
Sometimes I wish I still believed.
I might be heartless, but I know that you are probably fragile.I don’t want you to lose all hope.
So I got you a gift... It's a new chance.
Happy christmas, let's run.
Happy christmas, let's run.
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Adjectives for an Insomniac"Love you..." she choked on the hesitation. the words always came so easily before.
but now was different; now she meant it.
So you suckered me into it, did you? I tried to keep the subject strictly to sex, but oh no, not good enough. now it's time to dive deep into love. love ha.
love is adjective. sometimes it's a good adjective, sometimes it's bad.
(she does know she's talking about adjectives now, right?)
why yes, yes I do.
(and she knows we're still waiting for the talk on love)
I knew you wouldn't give up that easily.
(she sure is avoiding this subject)
Perhaps. but there are much lovelier topics to cover..
(yea, she's not fooling anyone)
'lovelier'? fuck. I should have picked a better adjective.
You asked for it. and I'm a sucker for good question.
this is what I know:
people love until they don't
people say love without meaning
and sometimes their meaning is just mean
and I keep finding myself, hopelessly, caught up in the sensation.
and I was so close too. I added hopeful, it had a good run.
See, the real topic here is adjectives. And now I need a new one.
not hopeful, but not hopeless, just hope. a good balance, somewhere in the middle.
of nowhere.
She will be loved? yea. true. until the day she won't be.
I guess that's the next song.
but you'll always get love from your favorite insomniac.
So open your hearts, let me in.
I'll admit: you're starting to grow on me too.
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Nostalgia for an Insomniac
I write letters, little notes, on my purple and blue stationary. And once I am finished, and the words look just the way they feel, I slide the letters into a matching envelope: I lick it slowly and seal it tightly. Once I have their names written neatly on the front, I burn them. Soaked in liter fluid the ink ignites so quickly.
They will never see those words. They will never see the things I feel. Not anymore.
Sometimes I wish I could still know the people I have lost in life. Then there are others I have lost so many times I have finally let go. That’s not true...
When I look out my window at night, I can count the people I trust on the rings of the moon. I guess I will never really let go of the hope that I can have someone back in my life exactly how they were before, when I still believed in them. But it’s too much, too soon and I can’t take it anymore.
I really did love you once.
Those are words they will never see, never read, never know. But that is honest. I don’t have to lie about that.
Not this time. Not now. They’re already gone. What would be the point?
It feels wrong to let go of so many people. To watch them disappear. I am a holder… You all know this. I will grasp at straws and clench my fists in the hope of capturing anything that looks remotely like hope; or the love I once knew to be true.
For now it seems we only have each other. So why do we keep looking back?
I guess we are still hoping to catch a glimpse of someone chasing…
It’s okay to fall. I will always catch you.
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Happiness for an Insomniac
Secrets for an Insomniac
Have you ever met someone and already knew their secrets?
Before you even get properly introduced you know if they prefer uppers or downers, what they drink, who they fuck, who they wish they hadn't fucked, and that time they ate nothing but a bottle of jack and vomited... all over the wall of a college dorm.
Nothing too life shattering; after all, they haven't killed anyone. You know the secrets they hadn't shared with many, and they don't even know your name. I keep it well hidden though. I would never let my hand show, but boy do I play my cards right.
I don't think I have ever met someone without at least some information they didn't know that I knew. I don't think I'd like it very much to walk in blind. It's not like I'm the only one. We have our ways of knowing and word gets around. There are things about you that I know. Yes, even you. Not to worry, my lips are, for all intents and purposes, sealed.
But my fingers are glued to these keys.
Happiness for an Insomniac
I need to do something, before I stick my head in the oven; which I'm pretty sure doesn't even work now-a-days, because oven companies made that impossible - you know, since Miss Plath pointed out the obvious flaw.
I may not be able to change, but I am able to be happy.
That is what I’ll do and I want everyone to be there along the way.
Honesty being the bitch that she is: I would be nowhere without some of you.
Honesty making me the bitch that I am: I've been nowhere because of some of you.
But this is about me letting go of the pain and the sadness and the eight year old girl that still lives inside of me trying to figure life out. This is about always being shown that it's not fair and friends, those people you know, will hurt you if you let them. I want to let that go. I need to move on.
Then, only then, will I become the strong woman that I know I can be.
So this is my Journey (streetlight people...) and this is the first step.
Let's get better acquainted:
In elementary school I convinced myself that my middle name had two z's because it was different.
I have always been happiest on the swing set.
I scream when playing pac man, because I am terrified of those ghosts.
When I grow up, I want to be a strong, pretty lady, just like my mommy.
And I'm pretty afraid of growing up.
Because what if I just don't make it?
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Love for an Insomniac
I was 11 when I understood what love meant. Not felt it for myself or truly grasped the concept as a whole. But I was 11 when I knew what it meant to love. I listened to a song, my favourite, to this day.
"If I could open up my chest, then maybe I could find a way to give you just a little piece of my heart."
I want someone who would open their chest for me I thought.
Funny story.
Not funny in the way that makes you laugh... funny in the way that makes you cry until you can't breath and it all hurts so much you just want it to disappear because the pain is too much.
Yeah, that kind of funny.
I was 17 when I saw a heart, a real live heart, shot and splattered.
There it was. A chest, cut open. A heart, no longer beating.
I found someone who would open their chest for me and the whole world.
Still, somehow, no one got the fucking message.
I heard it loud and clear.
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The regret has set in and the worry too. Anxious thoughts, "you're buried" my head screams, and "I hate this song". And that's that.
I will keep trying to make things out to be something they're not. I will keep finding lines I like in these songs, as if the song itself explains my life. But quotes and random snippets of a good idea don't get you far, no not far at all, just about here.. Like I haven't said that one before. You'd think I would learn.
But I guess that is as far as I need to make it because it is time to pass out. Not so much sleep, but, oh fuck I'm too tired to explain.
I don't care if you know me, or if you want to get to know me. Because for now, it's already too late. I don't even remember who I am.
I just sit here hoping I will end tonight still being who I was when I started this fucking side project three hours ago. Because this 'insomniac with a dream' can only hope, and fucking trust me I AM, that it won't become a blog about the insomniac with an endless nightmare chasing her into insanity. I wrote that story already, and I closed that book.
Here is to hoping it won't resurface. Still wanna know what haunts me? Fine. Come in this head and see it. Maybe if you see what's wrong with me, you can all save yourselves. Because for living life, this isn't much a life to live. But if the world is a stage, maybe I just need new directions.
Exit stage left.
