Music Is The Best Way To Soothe Your Soul

Hi. Cellophane here.

I took a trip to South Korea in April. I spent a month and a week there and I must say that it changed my life. Before I went there, I was going through a lot of personal issues. I booked a flight to South Korea with the intent that I would only go on vacation and go back to work, but my instinct told me to quit my job and start over. I couldn’t handle the stress I had, both professionally and personally.

The song featured in the video is one that I wrote a long time ago when I was about twenty years old. Even after all these years, I still carry a heavy weight on my shoulders. Being in South Korea revived my soul and the last line of the song may sound grim, “Today is my last day alive”, but the meaning I give it today is that I felt alive in South Korea. I was free for that month and a week and it was liberating on a spiritual, emotional, and psychological level.

Coming back home was so hard. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to come back to reality. It’s been three months since I left South Korea and I miss it to this day.

I hope you like the song and enjoy the compilation of images and videos I’ve put together to remind me of my trip.

P.S. Sorry about the random string I hit in the latter half of the song. I’m not a very talented guitar player.

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How One Question Destroyed My Faith In My Father

Hi. Cellophane here.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll realize that I have a difficult relationship with my father. In one of my recent posts, I included a poem that was called “I’m Sorry” which talked about how I feel like a failure in his eyes.

Last Wednesday, my father texted me and asked if my siblings and I would visit him during the three day weekend that was coming up. I told him that we couldn’t because I had already made plans with a friend. Her wedding is coming up and I’m the maid of honor, so we had to get some measurements done and we’d been trying to get together for two months already.

It was then that he asked me, “Who’s more important in your life?”

With that simple question, my heart sank and I wanted to shut down every single part of my body and stop breathing. I couldn’t understand why after everything that I’ve done for my family and my siblings he would ask me that question. It’s really fucked up. I had to shut down my phone for most of the day because I didn’t want to exist anywhere.

I never answered him because it was a question that shouldn’t have been asked. It broke my heart and destroyed the last bit of faith I had in my father.

He didn’t even bother to ask how I was and if I was okay on money to make a trip from Arizona to Las Vegas with two days notice. When he texted me, I had four dollars in my bank account. I was two days from getting paid, but all that money was going to leave to pay my bills. I’ve never asked my parents for money. In fact, I’m the one who’s let them borrow money when I can.

I don’t know if I’m in the wrong here, but being asked a question like that after sacrificing so much over my short lifetime breaks my heart and makes me want to cry because I don’t know what more I can give.

Thank you for reading and I hope you’re safe and happy wherever you are, my dear reader.

 

The Best Way To Heal Is To Write Your Feelings Down

Hi. Cellophane here. 

I’ve written my feelings down for many years now, ever since I was a middle school student with separated parents and a younger brother I wanted to shield from my parent’s crazy marital problems. It helped a lot and eased some of my pain.

Below is a poem/letter to my father. I’ve always felt as though I didn’t live up to his expectations and this is the result of that.

Title: I’m Sorry 

I’m sorry
I know it doesn’t matter
You won’t admit it
My mere existence is a symbol of your failure

I’m sorry
I know you thought I’d be an investment
So you pushed me to do well in school
And I did
Now I’m just coasting
Because being good at school was all I ever did

I’m sorry
If seeing me reminds you of my mother
That every time I speak you wish I were another
A more vibrant, happy kind of daughter
I know I’m not enough
And that’s okay

I’m sorry
For even saying sorry
Because it’s not what you want to hear
You thought I would be married by now
That I’d have kids and you’d have something bright
A light at the end of the tunnel
To balance the darkness and misery you claim is life

I’m sorry
For thinking differently than you
For being weak and insecure
But you made me this way
Still, I don’t blame you specifically
I only blame the environment you raised me in

I’m sorry
For all the things I haven’t done
For all the things I already did
For every single time, you look at me
And feel a pang of disappointment

I’m sorry

____________________________________________________________________________________________

It’s a bit grim, but truly expresses how I feel about my relationship with my father.

Thank you for reading.

 

The Biggest Reason We Can’t Move On Is Rooted In Our Childhood

Hi. Cellophane here.

We may not realize it, but every moment we live through, from being fetuses in the womb until the moment we grow old enough to embark on our own adventure of life, has an effect on the person we become as adults.

I know that everybody has different beliefs when it comes to regression therapy, but I tried it once with a YouTube video I once saw featuring Brian Weiss, an American psychiatrist who uses hypnotherapy to help patients delve into their past lives. Before I watched the video, I thought it might be impossible to actually experience anything. As I closed my eyes, followed Weiss’s instructions, and drifted off to several different stages of my past life, including a moment of myself in the womb, I came to realize that my time in the womb was turbulent.

What I remember the most about my time under hypnosis was the dread and isolation I felt while he made us go back to the womb. As I came back from that moment, tears fell from my eyes involuntarily. I had no control. I just felt so much sadness and the sense of being suffocated, like I wasn’t wanted.  It drove me to ask my mom if there were problems with my dad before I was born or if there was ever talk of me perhaps being aborted. She looked at me and didn’t answer, but deep down in my gut, I knew there was some truth to my question.

My whole life is not decided by that single experience, but it explains as I try to remember my childhood. A lot of bad things happened to me as a kid that I’ve created a wall to block out my memories to the point that I don’t remember years at a time. I remember some things because I’ve been told stories, but I only seem to remember the bad stuff. It’s weird. There are also moments where I feel as if I might have been molested or sexually abused in my youth because I don’t like people touching me. It bothers me a lot, but I truly don’t know.

After all of my experiences, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is quite difficult to move on when our childhoods are riddled with events that were out of our control because of the decisions our parents, guardians, or relatives made. It’s something we have to move forward with so we can embrace the past.

I may not have been wanted, but I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.  I might as well reduce my agony and try to overcome the demons of my past so I can enjoy the future.

Being positive is sure to bring good things. As much as my life brings me down, at least I’m still physically and mentally capable to change the course my life has taken.

Let me know your experience with past life regression and what your childhood was like in the comments or send me an email if you’d like. 

How To Remember The Good And Forget The Bad?

Hi. Cellophane here.

I should apologize for my last post. I was extremely aggravated with my home situation, but I will not delete it because that would be dishonest. I’m only human and I can’t hide the way I feel sometimes.

I’ve been better than that last time I was on here. The problems aren’t gone, but at least I’m still alive and physically able to change things. As I’ve said before, I have a lot of money problems.

My family is killing me slowly, but I can’t change the people in my life only my reaction to them. I’ve been trying to apply Mel Robbin’s 5-4-3-2-1 method, but sometimes I just think, “What now?”

So how do you remember the good and forget the bad?

You can’t forget the bad because it helps balance out the good. You have to embrace the bad to appreciate the good. Just like my last post, I have to embrace that those dark feelings exist within me. At the same time, I have to understand that the days that are good may be few and spread far apart, but they do come and I’ve had several over my lifetime.

Try not to get hung up on the bad vs good dichotomy of life. I’ll try to do the same and just live. Maybe coasting in the middle of these two extremes, but still living.

Thanks for reading!

How Do You Bounce Back After A Shitty Day?

Hi. Cellophane here.

I hate when my mother drinks. She’s not a drunk per se, but every time she drinks it drives me fucking insane. I’m sorry if I cuss more than normal, but I can’t take it anymore. My whole life I’ve tried to help my parents, my mom especially, but I can’t help someone who’s so far gone. It’s a fucking mess. It’s all a fucking mess.

My mom’s been through a lot of shit and I should be understanding, but how much shit do I have to shovel before I get through to her? How many times do I have to plead with her that drinking isn’t going to chase the fucking demons away?

I’m trying to make sense of my life, but I can’t take any more of her shit piled on top of my shit. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t know what to do anymore.

Who do I turn to? Who the fuck is supposed to help me in my time of need? God won’t hear my prayers because he lets her continue to fuck up her own self by letting her give in to her vices. A psychologist won’t do shit because it’s all talk and cost a shit ton of money.

The only thing I want to do these days is end my life, but I can’t. I fucking can’t because of my siblings. Who are they going to lean on? I’m so fucking tired.

I’m sorry for ranting like a lunatic, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who to ask for help.

If I was brought into this life for this shit, then fuck it all to hell.

Fuck it all.

 

 

How To Take Your Broken Heart And Make It Into Art

Hi. Cellophane here.

I’ve been trying to be more positive in my life and forget all the issues I have so that I can move forward and do better. I don’t know if I’m doing a good job, but I’m trying. There was a time in my youth where I used to cut myself. Nowadays, I just can’t bring myself to do it because it doesn’t relieve my stress anymore. Even if I bleed and get that rush of dopamine that I so desperately need to stay afloat, it won’t make my problems go away. I’ve had to learn the hard way that problems never leave so you have to embrace them.

People come and go every day and it makes me wonder what I will leave behind when I die. What will be my legacy or my one bit of history that will define future generations? It’s moments like these that remind me of Carrie Fisher’s quote, “Take your broken heart and make it into art.”

My heart has been broken since I was 9 years old when I witnessed things no child should have to see and have had to deal with the consequences of my parent’s failed marriage for the last 17 years of my life. How can you piece together your soul when it’s being ripped apart in so many directions without stopping?

I swear to you that I’m trying to be positive, but sometimes I just wonder how easy life would be if I had successfully killed myself when I was 12. My brother would’ve been an only child, maybe my parents would’ve recapacitated and solved their problems. My sister wouldn’t have been born and wouldn’t have to suffer the heartbreak of having two parents who can’t even be in the same room.

A lot of things would be different, but I can’t change the past. I can only change the way I perceive it and use it to fuel my desire to do better in the future.

We’ll see.

Chester Bennington Saved My Life Through Music

Hi. Cellophane here.

A couple of days ago, I woke up to the news that the lead singer of one of my favorite bands was dead. His name was Chester Bennington and he saved my life through music. Through the band Linkin Park, I was able to survive my teenage years as my home became a battleground between my constantly bickering parents.

Chester’s voice was my sanctuary. Every single song he sang was a way to escape my life. I could put on my headphones and numb myself to sleep with his music. His words reflected a lot of the feelings I had growing up in a dysfunctional family where drugs, alcohol, and infidelity ran rampant.

I have no words to describe how I feel except I’m sorry. I’m sorry he chose to end it because it means this life was unable to give him a sense of peace. I thank him for all of his music and the passion he gave to his fans in every single word he sang. I will never forget the immense help he provided me when I was younger and hope he’s in a better place.

RIP Chester Bennington. May your soul rest among the angels somewhere over the rainbow.

Thank you for everything.

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