Jordan Antonacci's Blog, page 68

What it’s like like this

We can’t walk in each other’s shoes. If you’re not that person, then you can never fully understand. With that being said, if you don’t suffer from depression (or any other mental illness), then you can never truly understand what it’s like. You can never understand what’s going on inside someone with a mental illness–how they feel, how they see the world, how they think… It’s hard to understand a world you don’t live in.

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For me, my world is pretty black and white. One moment everything seems okay. Great even. I can see the life ahead of me and that future seems brighter than ever. In those moments, I feel stable. But sometimes it’s like not a lot is required to bring me to the ledge. Suddenly my knees are weak, and nothing is stable. Everything begins to crumble and fall–like a veil dropping from my eyes, letting me see how everything really is; how it was before I let myself digest a lie that I’d been self-fed. From there, it only takes a gentle breeze to push me over that ledge.

What some people don’t understand is how hard it is to stop myself from falling. Sometimes they demand I flip like a switch and stop. “Stop feeling like that, stop acting like that, stop, be happy…” Otherwise, they may threaten to mirror my mood and tell me I’m bringing everyone down with me. It’s not fair. But what am I to do?

So…I put on my mask.

Like this.

They don’t know

what it’s like

like this

When I try and try

time after time

but can’t seem to

hide this

When I can’t seem to

fight this

She said

“All I want

is for you to be

upbeat and happy

Baby please

I know you bleed

but just keep laughing”

So I smile

and I sing

while the pain keeps

stabbing

I don’t want

to make them hurt

just because

my mind won’t work

But these feelings haunt

and they flirt

My thoughts they rape

until Jordan Trea is no more.

I understand that they don’t understand. Like I said, we can’t walk in each other’s shoes.

Thanks for reading! Follow me on here and on Twitter @misterhushhush

-Jordan Antonacci

Sunshine Blogger Award :)

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I fucking love being nominated for blogging awards. Writing blog posts is a huge passion of mine, and it’s so incredibly rewarding to be recognized by fellow bloggers. Right now I’m all hopped up on caffeine so I’m practically giddy. And I give all my thanks to Richard Peter! Thank you kindly, sir. Anyone who hasn’t already should definitely checkout his blog. Lots of very insightful and inspirational posts.

What is this Sunshine Blogger Award?

This award is given by bloggers to fellow bloggers who inspire positivity and creativity in the blogging community.

(Honestly, this is a bit of a shocker since at least 90% of my posts are rather dark… but I’m not complaining!) Following are the questions asked and my answers. Enjoy

Release Me

“Just make sure you tell my family it’s okay, I’m sorry. But it’s too late, I’m sorry. So much weighing on me. I don’t wanna live to see another day, I’m sorry. But I can’t stay, I’m sorry. So much weighing on me.”

-Joyner Lucas, I’m sorry

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I don’t miss you

To miss you,

I’d need to care

You would’ve needed to

be there

But you weren’t

All you did in life

was quit

A wife and kids,

you abandoned

A whole life you just

left

Why?

The only thing you could

commit to was,

suicide

So many things,

I just don’t know

So many more since you

left no note

Can you hear me?

You can, I hope

So many words

I never spoke

Now I can’t

cause you left

On those words,

I choke

Were we alike?

Did we share

the same mind?

I’ve felt so alone

through my whole life

Again I ask,

why?

Terrified I might

Grow to be like

you.

If so,

I’d probably choose

to end up

six feet deep too.

“Oh, dear Dad. Can you see my now? I am myself–like you somehow. I’ll wait up in the dark, for you to speak to me. I’ll hold the pain. Release me.”

-Pearl Jam, Release Me

Even if you don’t enjoy hip-hop, I still encourage you to watch this video and listen to the lyrics. Very poetic and powerful writing by Joyner Lucas.

 

Thanks for reading! Find me on Twitter @misterhushhush

-Jordan Antonacci

Dating Somebody With Extreme Anxiety

Hi people.

Please be nice and help this girl out.

Okay thanks

With You, I Feel Again

I never thought I’d say this, but it seems like love is what gives life meaning. In other posts, I said it was happiness, but it appears that happiness, amongst other things, can be found in love. I, for one, know that my life felt lacking in something essential before I found an understanding of this ‘L’ word–before I started using it myself. With that said, I’d like to tell you a story.

When was the last time you read a story that began with “Once upon a time”? Well then, allow me…

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Once upon a time, there was a young, lonely and foolish man by the name of–oh, we’ll call him MrHush (That’s discrete enough, right?). Now, the one constant thing on MrHush’s mind, was–surprise surprise–himself. He did what he wanted when he wanted and without a care as to who his decisions affected. He cut ties, burned bridges, carelessly threw away relationships…and because of that, because of his selfishness, he payed. Hard were his lonely days and cold were his lonely nights.

It was fine though. He didn’t need anybody. Anything he wanted, he’d get it himself. He’d do some schooling, get that job, then get that nice apartment he’d had his eye on for years. In the meantime, a few relationships came…but would always go…

Fast forward over a few years of the same bullshit. History has such a way of repeating itself–no?

MrHush would work, write, eat, sleep, repeat–all the while, stuffing himself full of lies that said he was happy and where he needed to be. At night before going to bed, he’d stare at his reflection in the mirror and say, “This is it. You got the job, the apartment, you’re chasing your dream. This is the life you wanted.” Then, with a blank face, he’d turn out the lights and lay in the quiet dark. Just his heartbeat, just his breath. Then one day while sitting alone in his new apartment, pretending his cold heart had a beat, MrHush got a message–a message from a pretty blonde that was like the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

But isn’t it just so crazy the way one moment–one, short hour–can change your entire life? Had someone told MrHush he’d fall for a girl so quick, he would’ve given them a snort of derision. “Bullshit,” he would’ve said with a chuckle. To him, such feelings were impossible for him to feel…that is until he felt them. This girl, she shed a light on MrHush and showed him pieces of himself he never knew existed. As they spent day and night together, she filled all of his empty spaces. With every touch, she made his heart beat again; with every kiss, it raced. Finally, at night when he turned out the lights, he laid down beside another’s heartbeat, and another’s breathing.

Sadly, love isn’t always perfect, as MrHush began to learn. Sometimes, there are some things, some situations, that are just beyond his ability to control. But he won’t give up. He won’t let go, not of something so rare and so pure. All he wants is to give this girl everything she deserves. All he wants is to take her away and make her as happy as she’s made him; to save her the way she’d saved him. She plucked him out of the dark, dusted him off and showed him what it was to truly be alive, to feel again. And he’s never felt for anyone like he has for her.

When she’s not around, he’ll grin at the sight of her loose hairs on his bed; his heart melts when reading her handwritten notes; he reminisces, and maybe a bit too much, but the memories drown him. Sometimes he just wants to cry, dying with hope that maybe one day everything will be as it used to be, everything will be as it should be. Because a life without her, isn’t a life at all.

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Thanks for reading.

-Jordan Antonacci

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A shoutout to a few Bloggers

There are too many bloggers–if you can call them that–out there that get so much credit for “blog posts” that could very well be confused with twitter updates. It’s ridiculous. A lot of people actually put their heart and soul into writing their posts, even though they don’t have to, and even though they already know not many will see what they’ve taken the time to sit and write.

Today’s world is just backwards like that. Kinda like how the guy who wrote “Gucci Gang” blows up to make millions while real artist have to scrape to get by.

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Sooo, I’ve taken it upon myself to try and lend a hand to the real artists out there with this blog post. I myself don’t have a huge following–though I’m proud of where I’m at–so I can’t reach out to many, but these bloggers deserve much more recognition than they are getting.

Please checkout these Bloggers!

I Will Never Forget You

“You will always be by my side. From the day that I met you, I knew that I would love you till the day I die. And I will never want much more. In my heart I will always be sure. I will never forget you.”

I called my grandma Nanny. Funny when I think about it, but I called her that even as an adult. This post is in dedication to her and all the love she gave to such a mean and hateful child. So please, settle into your seat and relax as I tell you about my one true love, my Nanny.

From as far back as I can remember, my grandma was a constant in my life. She was literally my everything, once upon a time. She was my grandma, my mother, my father, my best friend… I guess grandmas just have that way with them, huh? Not quite a love like theirs.

When I was young, my mother worked a lot. When my father was completely out of the picture, Mama worked a whole lot more. She was a bartender, often working double shifts and often working very late into the night. While she worked, me and my little brother would stay at Nanny’s. Sometimes we hated going, sometimes we loved it. She lived in these shitty little one bedroom apartments that couldn’t have been more than 500 square feet. It may not have been pretty to the eyes, but the real beauty was on the inside.

My grandma loved us more than life. Every time we got dropped off, she’d just light up. “Dear God, there’s my babies,” she’d shout with joy before showering us with hugs and kisses. No one ever loved us like her. But, like everyone else in this world, Nanny didn’t suffer from the tragedy of perfection. She was extremely agoraphobic, and couldn’t venture past the safety of her porch. Because of that, neither could we. We weren’t allowed to play with the other kids. If we tried, she’d have a breakdown and chase us around with a switch, cursing and threatening with the police. She’d flip tables, throw phones and ashtrays at us… but still, it was all out of love. She wanted to protect us from the mayhem and madness she saw in the world. So, we stayed in a closet roughly 4 x 5, playing with toys or watching local TV.

When I was 13, my adoptive father uprooted me, my mom and brothers, and moved us 800 miles away to Texas. I left friends, family, everything I’d known… but the most painful goodbye was to my beloved grandma. We were both so heartbroken. I have never had a goodbye so agonizing and heart-wrenching in my life. Letters in the mail and calls on the phone were all we had.

[image error]A pic of the sunrise from the exact spot where she’d watch it

Then something horrible began happening. After suffering the devastating loss of her son, my Nanny was diagnosed with cancer. I was in my senior year of high school when I heard the news. I remember feeling blindsided, with a feeling like the world had fallen from beneath my feet. There was no one back home taking care of her and she was getting so sick so quick. So… I dropped out of high school and drove home to take care of her.

For the time that I was there, to put it simply, it was amazing. I was back home, reunited with the most important and loving person in my life and everything was as it should’ve been. I’d go shopping for her, take her to her appointments, help her with her anxiety. She’d watch TV with me and read the bible to me at night… But then God did what he does best as he wrote yet another plot twist into my life: Grandma’s cancer got worse, but not before she suffered the early stages of dementia. She began forgetting places, names; she even forgot the death of her son. I guess that had something of a silver lining.

Later that year, on December 1st, I awoke that morning and began to cry. I wasn’t sure why, though. There was just this dull ache inside, and it was almost like I somehow knew. Then my mom came into my room, crying–and everything became a bit surreal. Nanny had died.

My grandma, my mother, my father, my best friend–she was gone.

“Would you know my name, if I saw you in Heaven? Would you be the same, if I saw you in Heaven? I must be strong, and carry on, cause I know I don’t belong here in Heaven.”

Eric Clapton, Tears in Heaven

Nanny was the only one who really saw me. She was the only one who gave me more love than this world could hold. She may have done it in her own special way, but it was still love. My most fond memory of her is when I’d awake in the early morning on the blowup mattress in the living room. I’d look over and see her sitting by the cracked front door, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. She’d looked to me and smile. “Go back to sleep my Little Angel,” she’d say.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her. And as times get rough, the ground beneath my feet gets shaky, and my knees get weak, I find myself needing something to lean on. Somehow, I always find myself leaning on her. Even though she’s not here, her presence alone is so strong inside me that she can still hold me up and keep me going. I need her, especially when my thoughts reach their darkest; she’s my light.

I miss you Nanny. I love you.

“Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees. Time can break your heart; have you begging please. Begging please.”

Eric Clapton, Tears in Heaven

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxPj3GAYYZ0

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Nostalgia Pt. 2

Life is how it is, and there’s no changing that. It comes, and it goes. Along with it, moments come, and moments pass. But these moments, they don’t ever truly die–not so long as someone is there to remember them. Through this graveyard of memories is our only real way to access our past. And sometimes, the past is all we have… So remember.

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I made a post not long ago called Nostalgia. If you haven’t read it, then feel free to check it out here

My Love for Fiction

When real life isn’t enough, I retreat to the world of fiction.

I grab a book.

My pad and pen.

Fingers in their fixed positions across the keyboard.

I close my eyes and drift.

I imagine. Create.

I type. Relentless.

This is all I have.

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I remember my first novel. It was a horror novel by R.L. Stine, called BAD DREAMS. I was maybe eight when I was sitting in my bedroom alone, reading through the book, and finding myself to be both terrified and amazed at the same time. The words–they initiated some sequence of images in my head that played just like a movie, only better, cause they were my own thoughts. I hadn’t ever experienced anything like that. It was like some kind of lucid dreaming. I recall being so mesmerized by the fact that it was simple words alone that were triggering such a response inside of me. I loved it–being so scared of letters on a page. From that moment on, I knew I needed that power. I knew I’d do whatever it takes, and work as long as I needed to refine and harness that ability.

So, here I am, fifteen years later, still refining…. Will I ever be as good as I dream of being? Doubtful. But I still don’t plan on ever stopping.

 

A book description for my mystery novel.

THE KILLED CONSCIENCE Novel description:

Having just recently landed her dream job as an investigative journalist, an ambitious Emilee Weathers is eager to prove she was what it takes to be successful in the career she’s chosen. All she needs is the right story. And with a single phone call from a detective in her hometown, Knoxville, Tennessee, the right story basically comes knocking at her door.

Detective Nichols asks if Emilee would be willing to help assist him with a case of his that’s about to be reopened. Five years back, a murderer known as the Valentine’s Day Killer was arrested and convicted for the murders of three young women, and maybe more. It all seemed to be over…until VDK was granted an appeal. Suddenly, there’s a possibility he’ll be set free, and Detective Nichols needs Emilee to help him find evidence to keep the serial killer locked away. Emilee is quick to agree, but not before acknowledging that there’s a few unanswered questions lurking behind her–like why her?

Taking advantage of being home, Emilee reconnects with some old friends during a couples retreat at a cabin in the Smoky Mountains. But their trip quickly falls apart when Emilee stumbles over a dead body in the woods not far from their cabin. With the body showing signatures of all previously-known VDK victims, Emilee puts it upon herself to address yet another unanswered question: Was this recent victim killed at the hands of a copycat? Or was the real VDK never even captured?

Everything will get a lot murkier before it clears.

 

I’m currently planning edits for a second draft; if you’d like to beta read, please email me at misterhushhush@gmail.com

Thanks!!!

-Jordan Antonacci

 

“I just like being alone.”

“I like to pretend I’m alone. Completely alone. Maybe post-apocalypse or plague… Whatever. No-one left to act normal for. No need to hide who I really am. It would be… freeing.”

Dexter Morgan

I like being alone. A lot, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I also enjoy the occasional warm presence of others, depending on who it is; in particular, I enjoy the loving company of my Destinee and her two girls, or my family. But if there’s one thing that I’ve learned to truly cherish in life, it’s being alone.

As a writer, it’s what I need. I need the quiet, and I need the calm, so I can hear and understand the chaos in my own head; so I can properly mirror it into a blank page and somehow make others feel it too. Being alone is the only time I can think. When I glance around and see that it’s just me, it’s like I can feel the straight jacket freely falling from my body. There’s no judgement, no condescension, no expectations but my own, and most importantly, no voice but my own. It’s the only time I can really get things done. It’s the only time I can board a train of thought that can actually take me somewhere, and I’m sure many of you can relate.

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Today, I ventured out from my apartment to enjoy the weather before it gets too crazy. I’ve found myself sitting on a rocky edge at the side of a creek. It’s so quiet. So serene. The sound of dry leaves rattling in the soft breeze that brushes across my skin; the sound of birds and squirrels in the naked branches above; the lacking sound of humanity–I love it.

Before coming over here, I was feeling a bit smothered beneath the pressures of personal bullshit. But as I rest here, alone in the quiet, everything suddenly seems okay. My problems still persist, yes, and I can see them clear… but yet everything seems manageable.

And even though things seem to be okay, I still know that I must tread carefully in this isolated place between my ears. Sometimes, I feel like sanity is but a thin ice, upon which I walk. Every so often, I can hear a crack. Should the ice break and I fall through, would I ever be able to get back out? Or would I stay beneath the surface, fighting to get back to the other side until I finally run out of breath, and drown?

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Great things come out of being alone. So many people don’t know that because so many people spend so much of their time simply trying to avoid even a moment of isolation. People are so afraid of being in the quiet dark, alone with their thoughts. It’s why they keep the TV on at night while they sleep. It’s why they sit on their phones when alone in lines. It’s why they stay in toxic relationships even when they know it’s time to move on.

But it’s in that dark where you can finally find yourself; it’s like turning on a lamp in a dark room you never knew was there.

It’s in the quiet when you can finally hear your own voice and everything going on inside you. Take it in. Embrace it, no matter how scary it may seem.

It’s when we plant ourselves in moments of isolation, that some of the most beautiful things sprout and grow. Water it. Nurture it. Bring it to life.

–Jordan Antonacci

 

The Killed Conscience

I’m currently looking for beta readers for mystery fiction novel, THE KILLED CONSCIENCE. You can checkout the prologue and first chapter in the link above. If you’d like to beta read, email me at misterhushhush@gmail.com 

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it. Feel free to tell me what you like most about being alone–if anything–in the comments