Purgatory.

I’m stuck. Trapped in a big white room of nothing, staring into brightness. My head is filled with lack of substance, a pressure applied to clear the space – to prepare it for something more. I’m in this seemingly infinite void, waiting for something. I know what I’m waiting for. I think I know what I’m waiting for.

Do I know what I’m waiting for?

Am I waiting for my destiny, or the thing that will keep me from it? Doubt fills my head as I wander, going around in circles. The eye of my mind sees a picture, a picture of my potential future. I want to reach out and touch it, but every time I try, it moves further away. Getting smaller and smaller until there’s nothing but a small black dot of insignificance left. I realize that my impatience ruins the possibility, and stop trying to bring it to me. Instantly, the picture returns to its original state. Instead, I try to see what the picture depicts. I squint my eyes, trying to discern the motif, only being met by fog. It’s of no use. I can’t touch my dream, and I can’t see it, so how do I know that it’s real?

Faith is blind.

I’ll just have to hope, and try my best, even if I don’t know exactly what I’m working for. I’ll just have to focus on the feeling alone, and make sure that it’s enough. And this, this is the ultimate test. To see if I can actually do this, if I can keep myself focused and centered enough to get where I want. To be able to meet my fate.

This is purgatory.

(The combination of burnt sienna and cyan makes my knees go weak. And it’s incredibly intricate. I could spend hours looking at this.)

Letter to Heath.

Dear Heath,

is it okay if I call you Heath? Or do you prefer mr. Ledger? I guess it doesn’t matter now. It’s all semantics. And I really love your name, I always have. Well, at least ever since I read Wuthering Heights for the first time. So, Heath…this is extremely difficult. And obviously very odd, but for some reason, I felt like I have to do this. I have to write you, a complete stranger that I’ve never even been close to knowing, a stranger that isn’t even in this world anymore, a letter. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve seen all of your movies. I’m not going to act like your performances on the silver screen saved my life. No, it’s not like that. To you, I’m just another insignificant, little human on this planet with billions of people. One tiny human who happens to know who you are. I don’t matter at all, do I? Well, you do. For some reason, you have changed me. And I ask myself, why you? Why not one of the millions of other known people who exist? Granted, the change occurred after your…death. But still. You’re not the first person to die under similar circumstances, so why are you the one that stuck? I don’t know. There’s just something about you, a certain something that can’t be put into words. When you died, everything shifted. No no, don’t fret, this isn’t some lovesick fangirl letter. I’m not stupid enough to think that it all revolves around me. But there was a change in me. In fact, there was a change in everyone. The whole world altered. And now there’s a glitch, things are slightly off. I can feel it in the air. Like something’s missing, you know? The souls of the people who live here on the planet all flow together and form a unity, but when you died, a hole was formed. A Heath-shaped hole that left the unity a little empty, and even though the remaining souls bled out to fill that hole, there is still one soul missing, and the unity is a little less harmonious. Why did you have to go and leave us Heath? Why? I don’t know exactly how or why you died. Or, at least I didn’t. Now, after searching on Wikipedia, I see that you died of an overdose of prescription meds. That it was an accident, caused by your heavy addiction. By the way, it must be strange to still have your whole life written out on one page. Or at least your public life. I guess that your movies aren’t the only thing that helps you live on, huh? Anyways, back to the topic. Your addiction. Why the fuck didn’t you get help? I’m actually a little mad at you right now, Heath. For being so careless. But of course, that anger is mixed with guilt, because I know that addiction causes weakness. And I can’t really go around saying what you should and should not have done, because I really don’t have any idea how it is to be you. How it was to be you. So I’ll just ask why. A question that isn’t directed at you, me, or anyone else in particular. It’s a question I ask the universe. A pathetic whimper to the eerie quiet of the infinite darkness. An echo that is met with complete silence. And I know that it’s useless to ask, that there are times when we all just need to move along. But I’ve never been quite fond of that idea. To move along. I like to linger. To twist and turn the thoughts in my head until there is nothing left but dust. I’m still waiting for that to happen to the thoughts I have about you. Maybe this letter will help. Maybe not. Maybe I don’t want it to help. Maybe you’ll read this. But probably not. You never know though, right? You never know. So exactly why am I writing this? Even though your films will live on forever, you’ve clearly left us. And I can tell. I think about it all the time. I’m writing this so that you know that the planet misses you. I’m writing this to say that nothing will ever be the same without you. Ever. And most of all, I write this to tell you, Heath, named after one of my dearest Byronic heroes, that I truly do hope that you’ve found some peace over there. I write this to say farewell. Farewell, Heath.

Sincerely,

Me

Heath Andrew Ledger

★ 4 April 1979          ✝ 22 January 2008

Coming out of my cage, and I’ve been doing just fine.

Hi.

As you might have guessed, school’s over and I’m free. Finally, after all those, dark, seemingly endless hours of school, it’s done. So what have I been doing to celebrate my newfound freedom? Well, pretty much nothing. I’ve spent the past week, save for one day, doing nothing. Just moping around. It’s like a post-school depression. Except that can’t be right, can it? No, I think it’s the fact that I’ve been so used to having to do stuff that I just turned into brainless goo once I had the chance to do whatever I want. But I think I’m over that funk now. I’m bored, and I want to make the most of my summer break, because I know that I’ll regret it majorly if I don’t. Oh, and since I’ve (obviously) got the time, I’m going to get my shit together and update more often. Might give me something to look back on and reminisce about during the coming winter. Yeah, so anyways, I’m ready for the summer now. Woho. Or whatever.

Tune of the day what the fuck ever…alright, CXXXVII. Can’t be that stand-offish. It’s a classic, and it’s hella catchy. Kind of like I want my summer to be. But in a period of time, and not song, way. Yep.

Open up my eager eyes, ’cause I’m (in my case) Ms. Brightside.

Oxymoron.

Disappointment. It stings.

I saw you today, for the first time in over two years. I’d gotten glimpses of you a handful of times, but this was the first time we really met. During these two years, I had done everything that I could to get over you. To forget you. I tried my damnest to convince myself that nothing would happen. That I was too good for you. That there wasn’t anything I could do to change your mind. To change your feelings.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

And I managed pretty well. With time, the memory of you, of our times together, became less vivid. They faded, like most do, and I started to think that it was just a crush. That I was young and naive. That I had matured. Gotten over it. Whatever that means. And then things changed.

I started thinking about you again. Wondered how you were, how life was going, and what you were doing. I found it a little strange that I was suddenly so concerned for your well-being, but wrote it off as just caring about a childhood friend. How stupid I was.

I looked forward to seeing you today. I thought that maybe we could start over as friends. Because you really are a great person, and a wonderful friend to have. I was sure I’d grown enough in the past couple of years to be able to handle it. But then I got there and that familiar feeling came back. That special kind of anticipation that only you could excite.

When you entered that room, every ounce of strength and resolve I’d gathered during those two years crumbled. Your mere presence turned me back into the pathetic mess I once was. When you nonchalantly addressed me, pointing out how long it’s been, the butterflies spread a jolt of electricity through my body. And when you hugged me, I clenched my eyes shut and took a deep breath, savoring the short moment of warmth. Even though you’d changed, your voice now a deep baritone and your stature towering over me, you were exactly the same.

It was all exactly the same.

The night was spent in the utmost disappointing way. Like it’s always been. We played the same cat and mouse game where the winner was whoever cared less. And I felt like a fool, because I was the one pretending while you genuinely didn’t care. I think that’s what hurt the most. The fact that I was such a wreck, and you wasn’t. Like it’s always been. You stayed a couple of hours and snuck out without saying goodbye. Leaving me shocked and shaken. The same old routine. 

And what sucks the most is that I’ll do it again the next time we see each other. I’ll be so stupidly happy to see you, disappointed to see you leaving so soon, and hate myself for letting you get to me. Again. You were my first. And I’ll never have another you. So I hope you’re happy with yourself. Because I’ll always be here, whether I want to or not. Waiting.

Breathing.

As I drag my feet tiredly, further marking the path I’ve walked my whole life, I think of nothing – my mind not a blank sheet, open to the world, but a torn one, tattered and worn with all the erased thoughts. I walk with my head facing the ground, hanging heavy with the labor of living. I watch, but don’t see. Until something cuts through my vision. A sharp flash of light.

I stop and stare. Little water puddles reflecting the sky. Like little shards of heaven, fallen to the ground. Seeing the clouds down instead of up, such a bizarre sight. I reach down to touch them, to feel the soft smoke puffs of white ghost through my hand. Instead of dry, I am met with wet. Instead of pure, I am met with soil. The illusion shatters.

An invisible stone of reality hitting the mirror of possibilities. For a moment, I am sad. A light breeze runs through my hair, making the strands waltz around my face. I look up and smile, seeing the endless sky, intact and complete. It gives me hope. Hope that the summer is on its way, bringing the gift of breathing. Oh, how I miss breathing.

Note: This <- is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read.

Inadequacy.

It all came tumbling down. Everything that I had managed to surpress. Everything that I had finally smashed into that little, dark chamber in the back of my mind. Everything came crashing.

All because of one, stupid thing.

Not the entire world on my shoulders, but one thin, sharp needle pressing down on my heart. A pathetically weak hand that turned the knob and opened the door with hardly any effort at all. And that was it. Everything came flooding back to me and nearly knocked me off my feet. Every ounce of insecurity I’d had came back. The feeling of inadequacy made a bitter homecoming, ten times as strong as it has ever been. And anxiety, my old friend.

Oh, how I haven’t missed you.

I can’t afford to fuck this up. So why did I fuck it up? Why did I do so horribly one time? And most importantly, why should it matter? I try, with all my might, to close that chamber door. But it’s impossible. The thoughts are already too far away. Front and center. Why can’t I do anything right?

Will I never get to rest?

Will I never taste the fruit of my labor? I’m not sure I can take any more of this. I’m so tired. So incredibly tired. Of the pressure, the demands, the responsibility. I’m so tired of the expectations. I’m tired of feeling like nothing I do is enough.

Inadequate. My middle name.

Blade Runner.

Yo.

These past few weeks have been strange. They haven’t been bad and there’s some things that definitely have been good, but overall, it’s just been strange. It’s my head. Well, actually, my mind. It wanders places. Places I didn’t even know existed. Places I don’t know what to make of. Sometimes, I just catch myself and go – what the hell was that? I’m confused. Very confused. But in a good way. I think.

Anyways, to more concrete topics. Yesterday, I saw Blade Runner, featuring Harrison Ford. A crazy sci-fi future flick from the 80s. Cool story, cool settings, cool outfits. You know you got yourself a gem when, after the movie, you ask: “What happened to the unicorn?” Yeah, I never said it was a more normal topic. I really liked the film. It was cool. And Ford’s facial expressions alone were enough to make the movie get my approval. Very cool film indeed.

Daryl Hannah as Pris, in Blade Runner (1982).