For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost. For want of a life, all fight was tossed. And now, here I stand, basking in the glow of a thousand burning memories. It is hard to discern reality from wishful thinking, hopefulness from what a ship lay sunk in the summers storm. A life of light from the winters cold, abrupt, ancient, and taking refuge in the winds of time, ever roaming from heart to heart.
Its like a skipping stone, heavy and light, atop the water having taken flight by the hand of a child, like a dream it skims the surface of the reflecting pool, only to sink into the eventuality of its own reality. Gravity. It pulls us, as the wind pushes, falling, flying, soaring, roaming... we're all coping. Thats all any of us can hope for.
I feel the life of my life, the breath of my breath, the reality of my reality inside of me, freeing the being of my inner being. A soul, it is our consciousness... It is the breath of our breath, the conversion of oxygen into life, and into death. We're all addicts.
I'm rambling now, off in a swirling torrent of thought, caught beneath the surface, and lost in the undertow. I can not make a cohesive declaration of my present state of mind. Ah... to be me.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
So scrooge me
This being the holiday season, now, by December 4th I have already had my fill of Xmas muzak. Fuck, I had my fill by the end of October... It seems that people are starting sooner every year. I couldn't believe it when I saw Xmas and Halloween decor right next to each other!
I'll take this opportunity to say that if the Xtain community screams any louder about taking the 'christ' out of 'CHRISTmas' (yes, they fucking annunciate it, and even spell it that way!) I may very well split my side laughing.
Do any of them know what the 25th of December is? It sure a hell isn't the date of the birth of baby Gee-Whiz (he was born in the autumn). It signifies the Rebirth Of The Sun God, when the days begin to lengthen after the Winter Solstice.
Now, I understand the claim that anything which they choose to celebrate in reference to their god is considered praise (by the way, what is their god's name? We know its a male deity, right? All I see are a collection of titles, but no actual name...hmm... have they forgotten his name?), which goes back to the "God in all things" claim... *sigh* And I clearly see how, and why the catholic church integrated the wonderfully significant pagan holidays (Don't even get me started on easter... omfg, that one may be the funniest of ALL), but that does not justify their claim to persecution when someone does not "respect" their Xtain holiday.
My brain almost explodes when I attempt to analyze their process of reasoning which leads to such an assumption...
Disagreement = persecution.
Differing religion having right to practice = persecution.
Being informed of the actual historical value of their holiday = persecution.
WTF? I don't follow... I couldn't even when I was living in their midst, I never could. I guess we're wired differently.
*sigh* Guess I'll be a scrooge again this year, and say "Happy Holidays", "Merry Yule", and "Kiss my ass you holiday stealing rat bastard... christianity really IS a bastard religion, just look how baby Gee-Whiz came into the world."
One last word to you, since I've been asked so very many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many times why an Atheist (you want me to capitalize your "c", you capitalize my "A", kk?) would celebrate an Xtian holiday... IT ISN'T ONE. But I guess that would take understanding your religion's history.
I'll take this opportunity to say that if the Xtain community screams any louder about taking the 'christ' out of 'CHRISTmas' (yes, they fucking annunciate it, and even spell it that way!) I may very well split my side laughing.
Do any of them know what the 25th of December is? It sure a hell isn't the date of the birth of baby Gee-Whiz (he was born in the autumn). It signifies the Rebirth Of The Sun God, when the days begin to lengthen after the Winter Solstice.
Now, I understand the claim that anything which they choose to celebrate in reference to their god is considered praise (by the way, what is their god's name? We know its a male deity, right? All I see are a collection of titles, but no actual name...hmm... have they forgotten his name?), which goes back to the "God in all things" claim... *sigh* And I clearly see how, and why the catholic church integrated the wonderfully significant pagan holidays (Don't even get me started on easter... omfg, that one may be the funniest of ALL), but that does not justify their claim to persecution when someone does not "respect" their Xtain holiday.
My brain almost explodes when I attempt to analyze their process of reasoning which leads to such an assumption...
Disagreement = persecution.
Differing religion having right to practice = persecution.
Being informed of the actual historical value of their holiday = persecution.
WTF? I don't follow... I couldn't even when I was living in their midst, I never could. I guess we're wired differently.
*sigh* Guess I'll be a scrooge again this year, and say "Happy Holidays", "Merry Yule", and "Kiss my ass you holiday stealing rat bastard... christianity really IS a bastard religion, just look how baby Gee-Whiz came into the world."
One last word to you, since I've been asked so very many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many times why an Atheist (you want me to capitalize your "c", you capitalize my "A", kk?) would celebrate an Xtian holiday... IT ISN'T ONE. But I guess that would take understanding your religion's history.
wtf
I'm a raving idiot. I just fucking erased an entire page. Fuck.
OK, I say fuck too much. And I like it. Get over it.
OK... Nuff of that.
Lets see, where am I at? Hmm... Take my temp here, see where the boiling point is, well, unless I have surpassed it. I'm in a slightly odd state of mind (for me, I know that I am inherently odd, that is aside from the point), after the last visit with my ex husband ( who shall from here forward be referred to as "Dumbass") several interesting things have occurred.
I did something incredibly stupid when he was here last. I let him out of ear shot with my kids, and he had a little session with them, in which he told my babies that they did not have to live with me... That they could come live with their daddy if they didn't like me, or if I was 'mean' to them. He told them that they did not have to obey my lovely because he is not their father (which backfired, in a huge way)- Troy is apparently confused, since his "dad" made it perfectly clear to him from the day he was born, that Damon was his favorite, and he meant nothing to him (dumbass avoided this child like the plague, and still claims that he is not his child). From Troy's perspective, Dumbass is "Damon's Daddy". Hmm... Interesting. Something I have gone out of my way to avoid, confusion, that is.
He took the opportunity to alienate me, to affirm in their minds that I am the villain of this story, and that they can do justice by simply not yielding to my (or my lovely's) authority. He took the opportunity to implant the idea that he is their knight in shining armor, and that he will rescue them from this tower I have placed them in... Yes, yes, let lord fuckwad 'rescue' them. Never mind that the police had to rescue Damon from the condemned, drug infested hell hole that Dumbass had him living in, and that DSS confirmed that he was in fact abused and neglected. Ugh... FUCK!!!
I'm angry, and I don't want to be vindictive. I refuse to be the bitch that he has painted me out to be... I won't let him have that, I simply can not, for my own integrity's sake allow that to become a reality. That man stripped me of all I was, of all I had to offer, including my dignity, self worth, and ability to trust- the one thing he couldn't take from me was my integrity.
Sorry sack of shit just called me, demanding to speak with his children. Fucker had better be prepare for EVERY conversation that he has with them to be recorded... maybe he will incriminate himself. Maybe, maybe I'll be that fortunate. He's so good at what he does, I have to credit him with being slippery as hell.
blah, blah, blah... I can't say anything else constructive. Fuck, fuck, FuCk, Fuck, fUck, fuCK ME running. (that should be my indian name)
OK, I say fuck too much. And I like it. Get over it.
OK... Nuff of that.
Lets see, where am I at? Hmm... Take my temp here, see where the boiling point is, well, unless I have surpassed it. I'm in a slightly odd state of mind (for me, I know that I am inherently odd, that is aside from the point), after the last visit with my ex husband ( who shall from here forward be referred to as "Dumbass") several interesting things have occurred.
I did something incredibly stupid when he was here last. I let him out of ear shot with my kids, and he had a little session with them, in which he told my babies that they did not have to live with me... That they could come live with their daddy if they didn't like me, or if I was 'mean' to them. He told them that they did not have to obey my lovely because he is not their father (which backfired, in a huge way)- Troy is apparently confused, since his "dad" made it perfectly clear to him from the day he was born, that Damon was his favorite, and he meant nothing to him (dumbass avoided this child like the plague, and still claims that he is not his child). From Troy's perspective, Dumbass is "Damon's Daddy". Hmm... Interesting. Something I have gone out of my way to avoid, confusion, that is.
He took the opportunity to alienate me, to affirm in their minds that I am the villain of this story, and that they can do justice by simply not yielding to my (or my lovely's) authority. He took the opportunity to implant the idea that he is their knight in shining armor, and that he will rescue them from this tower I have placed them in... Yes, yes, let lord fuckwad 'rescue' them. Never mind that the police had to rescue Damon from the condemned, drug infested hell hole that Dumbass had him living in, and that DSS confirmed that he was in fact abused and neglected. Ugh... FUCK!!!
I'm angry, and I don't want to be vindictive. I refuse to be the bitch that he has painted me out to be... I won't let him have that, I simply can not, for my own integrity's sake allow that to become a reality. That man stripped me of all I was, of all I had to offer, including my dignity, self worth, and ability to trust- the one thing he couldn't take from me was my integrity.
Sorry sack of shit just called me, demanding to speak with his children. Fucker had better be prepare for EVERY conversation that he has with them to be recorded... maybe he will incriminate himself. Maybe, maybe I'll be that fortunate. He's so good at what he does, I have to credit him with being slippery as hell.
blah, blah, blah... I can't say anything else constructive. Fuck, fuck, FuCk, Fuck, fUck, fuCK ME running. (that should be my indian name)
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Fuck The Underlings
I'm going to need another brain grenade before I can really get going... These fucking wisdom teeth are killing me, the jaw clenching, the pain. I deserve a drink- I swear if we went through teething as adults, like we do as infants, we would commit suicide.
Alright, stuffs on my mind. Lots of stuffs, and I'm actively working on a solution to help bring it to the forefront. On a way to get it out. Fuck. Take two?
I've decided to shove in the face of all of the fucktards who actually possess a lower IQ than I do, that I'm not a fucking country bumpkin who has no other aspirations in life but to shit out 3 kids and live a meager existence of servitude.
The days of being pitied for their perception of inferiority are god damned over. Bitch, you might have it on paper, but when you hit reality, it hits back- be ware. You're living in your cushy little world where the only thing that matters is how effectively you learn to memorize the material- not whether you're capable of comprehension.
This, my anger I mean, brings to question my motivation. Am I driven simply because they have dared to question my intelligence? Could I be so truly vain, or is it a knee jerk reaction when some lowly sullen pieces of society posture their selves as superior? Ah, I am lead to believe that it could really be that simple after all. It is entirely possible that I fear being placed in the same bracket of existence as these filthy underlings. That I need, for some undefined purpose, to be better, to be me, to thrive, to win, to own them all.
A good friend of mine once said (and I'll not mention who- she's a school teacher) that, "You can teach an idiot to read, and recite, and pass tests, but you can't teach them to be intelligent. You just can't put something in there that wasn't there to begin with". Maybe this is why I fear being one of them? Being perceived as one of them? She has a point, you know.
The anger that swells every time I have to think about what they did to me- about the fact that I was fucked out of a conventional education... From about 3rd grade on, I was my own instructor. Asking for help when absolutely necessary, reading, reading, and reading some more. Oh, I loved to read, I loved to learn- I could have thrived if given a proper education!!! Instead, I was left with no options, no legal path forward, no proof of my "education". Nothing. I am simply another illiterate HS drop out- statistically speaking.
So, my english sucks, but for one reason or another people enjoy reading my rather vulgar, excessively descript recount of my life's experiences. My borderline personality disorder seeps through the lines, and is (to quote an acquaintance) "Captivating". It is, after all, the thing I always enjoyed more than reading.
You know, I take that back. I retract the previous statement (though I could simply backspace). It is one of the few things I know, that makes sense. I simply choose to ignore the rules. What of expression? What would I sound like if I did not write as though I were speaking? Perhaps is the reason that people find me so readable. Perhaps.
No decisions made yet. As I stated in a previous post, I have yet to successfully regain the math that was lost when I OD'd. Fucking drugs iz bad. Ah, the pain. The pain of studying something that used to be common sense. Something which simply flowed from me. Reality is a bitch.
What I ultimately wind up doing, who knows. Least of all me. My rant is that I have been accused of being incapable, of being a simpleton, a fucking idiot (now, go wiki "Idiot' to see why I'm pissed).
I have not just fucking survived. I have survived intact- fucking underlings can't make it out of adolescence without contemplating suicide. You know, they should do it, just get over with it, quit being a drain. A fucking hole in which people pour their kindness.
Alright, stuffs on my mind. Lots of stuffs, and I'm actively working on a solution to help bring it to the forefront. On a way to get it out. Fuck. Take two?
I've decided to shove in the face of all of the fucktards who actually possess a lower IQ than I do, that I'm not a fucking country bumpkin who has no other aspirations in life but to shit out 3 kids and live a meager existence of servitude.
The days of being pitied for their perception of inferiority are god damned over. Bitch, you might have it on paper, but when you hit reality, it hits back- be ware. You're living in your cushy little world where the only thing that matters is how effectively you learn to memorize the material- not whether you're capable of comprehension.
This, my anger I mean, brings to question my motivation. Am I driven simply because they have dared to question my intelligence? Could I be so truly vain, or is it a knee jerk reaction when some lowly sullen pieces of society posture their selves as superior? Ah, I am lead to believe that it could really be that simple after all. It is entirely possible that I fear being placed in the same bracket of existence as these filthy underlings. That I need, for some undefined purpose, to be better, to be me, to thrive, to win, to own them all.
A good friend of mine once said (and I'll not mention who- she's a school teacher) that, "You can teach an idiot to read, and recite, and pass tests, but you can't teach them to be intelligent. You just can't put something in there that wasn't there to begin with". Maybe this is why I fear being one of them? Being perceived as one of them? She has a point, you know.
The anger that swells every time I have to think about what they did to me- about the fact that I was fucked out of a conventional education... From about 3rd grade on, I was my own instructor. Asking for help when absolutely necessary, reading, reading, and reading some more. Oh, I loved to read, I loved to learn- I could have thrived if given a proper education!!! Instead, I was left with no options, no legal path forward, no proof of my "education". Nothing. I am simply another illiterate HS drop out- statistically speaking.
So, my english sucks, but for one reason or another people enjoy reading my rather vulgar, excessively descript recount of my life's experiences. My borderline personality disorder seeps through the lines, and is (to quote an acquaintance) "Captivating". It is, after all, the thing I always enjoyed more than reading.
You know, I take that back. I retract the previous statement (though I could simply backspace). It is one of the few things I know, that makes sense. I simply choose to ignore the rules. What of expression? What would I sound like if I did not write as though I were speaking? Perhaps is the reason that people find me so readable. Perhaps.
No decisions made yet. As I stated in a previous post, I have yet to successfully regain the math that was lost when I OD'd. Fucking drugs iz bad. Ah, the pain. The pain of studying something that used to be common sense. Something which simply flowed from me. Reality is a bitch.
What I ultimately wind up doing, who knows. Least of all me. My rant is that I have been accused of being incapable, of being a simpleton, a fucking idiot (now, go wiki "Idiot' to see why I'm pissed).
I have not just fucking survived. I have survived intact- fucking underlings can't make it out of adolescence without contemplating suicide. You know, they should do it, just get over with it, quit being a drain. A fucking hole in which people pour their kindness.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Date Rape
In the spirit of admitting the reasons why I have cut myself off from everyone, from myself, and am hesitant to let anyone in.
When I was 13, going on 14 I met a young man. I was a little girl, he was growing into the man he would become. A HS Senior, star of the wrestling team, worked for his father as a mechanic, went to church, posed himself as a devout christian (don't they all?)... Little did I know, or even dream of what was in store for me.
We met at church, and he was immediately drawn to me, maybe he saw vulnerability, maybe he actually liked me... who knows anymore. I wasn't particularly interested, but he was persistent, and once I got to know him a bit, I found that we got along pretty well. So, we began dating.
A few months later, he had become fairly comfortable with me and we went out regularly, usually alone, to some place quiet. I actually trusted him based on the fact that he was generally respectful, never tried to cross any of my personal boundaries. I wish I had known then, what I know now. He was carefully testing my boundaries, and posturing himself in the least threatening way, so as to gain my trust. Looking back, there were red flags, but I was helpless to even recognize them.
It was a Wednesday, spring break 1999, beautiful day. I had gone out running, when I came home I had a message so I called him back and he was on his way over. I didn't even bother changing out of my sweaty sports bra and running shoes. He said we'd go do something fun (we spent a lot of time out doors).
When I got in the truck with him he flashed me his famous smile, and we were off on an adventure. Ah, but before the day was out it would end in tragedy, for me... We headed out of the city limits, and I asked where we were going, he said it was a surprise. But I wasn't too surprised when we pulled up to his house in Mint Hill. I had been there many times before.
We went inside, and the house was still, I expected his mother to be home, or a few of his friends over (they all liked me, and we got along well). No one was there. I still felt safe, I shouldn't have, but I was naive. He flipped on the tv, and playfully tossed me on the sofa, I was like a rag doll compared to him. He outweighed me by over 100lbs, and was over a foot taller.
After a few minutes of talking and joking he scooped me up and started carrying me into the other room, and threw me on his mothers water bed. When I told him not to be so rough with me, he laughed and told me that I had not idea what I was in for, that I deserved it for teasing him, that he knew I wanted it... Finally, I was afraid. And rightfully so.
Before I could react he had already ripped my pants off, I remember telling him to stop, telling him no, begging him not to hurt me. It was useless, I couldn't have forced him off of me if my life had depended on it. Next thing I knew I was laying naked on the bed as he pinned me down, fumbling with a condom... he said "Don't need any little brats running around, now do we?". My this point I was helpless to react, I was in shock that this was even happening. And, oh how it hurt, unlubricated latex, let me tell you-I would have been less traumatized if he hadn't used a condom.
I still hear him breathing in my ear how good I was, how tight I was, that this was what I needed- what I deserved for teasing him, how lucky I was to have him.
I tried so hard not to cry, I was silent. What could I have done? No one could have heard me scream, no one was there to help. I knew I didn't want to piss him off, I'd seen him angry before. Not at me, no, but angry. He was not someone to be trifled with.
The worst was when he finished (which fortunately didn't take long) he said "Get dressed, I've got to get a shower and clean up for church. Then I'll take you home so you can get a shower so we won't be late."
Sure enough, that was what happened. I laid there on that bed for a while, trying to regain my composure. Then I got dressed, tried my damnedest to make myself presentable, and we got in his old beat up red ford pickup and headed home... When I got home he sat down and turned on the TV while I showered, and then we left for church.
That night at youth group we sat next to one another like we had been for weeks, I think now, so he could keep an eye on me. I was humiliated, and withdrawn from everyone- not that I was particularly close anyway, religion was not my cup of tea. Wasn't then, isn't now.
We went on like that for a couple more months. There were many more encounters after that one, and I simply did not feel that I could say no. I knew if I did he would take what he wanted anyway, and had the power to do so.
I finally confronted him, and told him that I had been a virgin, and he laughed... He said that no one would believe me over him, that I had willingly had sex with him after the fact, so there wasn't anything I could do. I didn't believe him, I knew better, but I wasn't ready or willing to make my mistake known... I wasn't willing to be blamed for what he had done to me, which is probably the hardest part of being raped. More often then not, the victim gets blamed, not the attacker. It's truly sick.
He got pissed, and that was the last of him I saw for years. He graduated HS, moved on... Now, he is a youth minister, married, and has a son. I find myself tempted to tell his wife what he is truly like, but chances are that she already knows. What good would it do?
I've accepted that what happened to me can not be changed, that bad shit happens to good people every day, usually because they are good people- that makes us vulnerable.
The most important part of this experience is that I learned how to trust my intuition, something I ignored the entire time "A" and I dated... Somewhere within myself I knew what was coming, but was too naive to believe that it could or would happen to me... I've learned to trust myself.
Now, I admit that it was a traumatic experience, Dog only knows- but I've chosen not to dwell on it. What good does it do to play the victim? What good does it do to live in fear? None. None at all.
Every day I make the decision not to be affected negatively, to take my lesson for what is was, one of the most important life lessons I have had to apply... I don't tell people what happened to me that long 11years ago- I don't want their pity. That is a slap in the face.
I want them to understand that no matter what happens, there is a lesson to be learned, and applied. Unless you take it in stride, it'll eat you alive.
There is more to be said, but for another day... For another day.
When I was 13, going on 14 I met a young man. I was a little girl, he was growing into the man he would become. A HS Senior, star of the wrestling team, worked for his father as a mechanic, went to church, posed himself as a devout christian (don't they all?)... Little did I know, or even dream of what was in store for me.
We met at church, and he was immediately drawn to me, maybe he saw vulnerability, maybe he actually liked me... who knows anymore. I wasn't particularly interested, but he was persistent, and once I got to know him a bit, I found that we got along pretty well. So, we began dating.
A few months later, he had become fairly comfortable with me and we went out regularly, usually alone, to some place quiet. I actually trusted him based on the fact that he was generally respectful, never tried to cross any of my personal boundaries. I wish I had known then, what I know now. He was carefully testing my boundaries, and posturing himself in the least threatening way, so as to gain my trust. Looking back, there were red flags, but I was helpless to even recognize them.
It was a Wednesday, spring break 1999, beautiful day. I had gone out running, when I came home I had a message so I called him back and he was on his way over. I didn't even bother changing out of my sweaty sports bra and running shoes. He said we'd go do something fun (we spent a lot of time out doors).
When I got in the truck with him he flashed me his famous smile, and we were off on an adventure. Ah, but before the day was out it would end in tragedy, for me... We headed out of the city limits, and I asked where we were going, he said it was a surprise. But I wasn't too surprised when we pulled up to his house in Mint Hill. I had been there many times before.
We went inside, and the house was still, I expected his mother to be home, or a few of his friends over (they all liked me, and we got along well). No one was there. I still felt safe, I shouldn't have, but I was naive. He flipped on the tv, and playfully tossed me on the sofa, I was like a rag doll compared to him. He outweighed me by over 100lbs, and was over a foot taller.
After a few minutes of talking and joking he scooped me up and started carrying me into the other room, and threw me on his mothers water bed. When I told him not to be so rough with me, he laughed and told me that I had not idea what I was in for, that I deserved it for teasing him, that he knew I wanted it... Finally, I was afraid. And rightfully so.
Before I could react he had already ripped my pants off, I remember telling him to stop, telling him no, begging him not to hurt me. It was useless, I couldn't have forced him off of me if my life had depended on it. Next thing I knew I was laying naked on the bed as he pinned me down, fumbling with a condom... he said "Don't need any little brats running around, now do we?". My this point I was helpless to react, I was in shock that this was even happening. And, oh how it hurt, unlubricated latex, let me tell you-I would have been less traumatized if he hadn't used a condom.
I still hear him breathing in my ear how good I was, how tight I was, that this was what I needed- what I deserved for teasing him, how lucky I was to have him.
I tried so hard not to cry, I was silent. What could I have done? No one could have heard me scream, no one was there to help. I knew I didn't want to piss him off, I'd seen him angry before. Not at me, no, but angry. He was not someone to be trifled with.
The worst was when he finished (which fortunately didn't take long) he said "Get dressed, I've got to get a shower and clean up for church. Then I'll take you home so you can get a shower so we won't be late."
Sure enough, that was what happened. I laid there on that bed for a while, trying to regain my composure. Then I got dressed, tried my damnedest to make myself presentable, and we got in his old beat up red ford pickup and headed home... When I got home he sat down and turned on the TV while I showered, and then we left for church.
That night at youth group we sat next to one another like we had been for weeks, I think now, so he could keep an eye on me. I was humiliated, and withdrawn from everyone- not that I was particularly close anyway, religion was not my cup of tea. Wasn't then, isn't now.
We went on like that for a couple more months. There were many more encounters after that one, and I simply did not feel that I could say no. I knew if I did he would take what he wanted anyway, and had the power to do so.
I finally confronted him, and told him that I had been a virgin, and he laughed... He said that no one would believe me over him, that I had willingly had sex with him after the fact, so there wasn't anything I could do. I didn't believe him, I knew better, but I wasn't ready or willing to make my mistake known... I wasn't willing to be blamed for what he had done to me, which is probably the hardest part of being raped. More often then not, the victim gets blamed, not the attacker. It's truly sick.
He got pissed, and that was the last of him I saw for years. He graduated HS, moved on... Now, he is a youth minister, married, and has a son. I find myself tempted to tell his wife what he is truly like, but chances are that she already knows. What good would it do?
I've accepted that what happened to me can not be changed, that bad shit happens to good people every day, usually because they are good people- that makes us vulnerable.
The most important part of this experience is that I learned how to trust my intuition, something I ignored the entire time "A" and I dated... Somewhere within myself I knew what was coming, but was too naive to believe that it could or would happen to me... I've learned to trust myself.
Now, I admit that it was a traumatic experience, Dog only knows- but I've chosen not to dwell on it. What good does it do to play the victim? What good does it do to live in fear? None. None at all.
Every day I make the decision not to be affected negatively, to take my lesson for what is was, one of the most important life lessons I have had to apply... I don't tell people what happened to me that long 11years ago- I don't want their pity. That is a slap in the face.
I want them to understand that no matter what happens, there is a lesson to be learned, and applied. Unless you take it in stride, it'll eat you alive.
There is more to be said, but for another day... For another day.
The OD
Admitting to myself what has happened is one of the hardest things I must do, and this is a step forward. My life experiences have colored me to the rest of the world, and without explanation will continue to do so. Though this will only reach a select few, likely the ones that mean the most to me in the grand picture of life connections, it should explain much surrounding the question "Why?".
In 2002 I had a significant drug over dose. It was accidental. I was not depressed or suicidal, I was simply in a bad place, falling into a lifestyle that I knew little to nothing about... Being dragged down a hole (not entirely willingly) by my now ex-husband.
The story goes something like this... (Some details omitted... I'm not ready to spill all of the beans, just enough to see if they're still viable seed and can grow into understanding.)
I was 17. The semi-serious boyfriend with whom I had created a new life, and had been abandoned by for a newer model had only recently left the picture on a permanent basis. This was when I met my now ex-husband. A charismatic 27 year old man, who I willingly trusted (though even then I knew better). I was heartbroken by the reality which I had hoped for, having been heaped onto the fire. That reality, I knew, was not what I truly wanted, no. That which I truly wanted was out of my grasp, and it would be many years until the picture began to come back into focus. It is only now beginning to do so.
He was a "Bad Boy" type, and after the previous experience I was willing to fall into his arms, simply to have a place to feel welcomed. Otherwise, I would never have given him a second glance. As it would be, it took me 6 years to snap to my senses and leave. Amazing how strong that particular trap was, and even now I still see the scars from how deeply it had bitten into me.
It was a long night, and I was offered a roll (ecstasy- or MDMA), and semi-willingly accepted it. After all, I had taken it before with positive results in breaking through some of the barriers which existed as a result of my previous relationship... Little did I know that it wasn't "E".
The drug in question turned out to be a combination of what I later found out was Heroin and LSD. It was accidentally given to me, and the mix up was only later realized after I lost consciousness, went into respiratory failure, and then cardiac arrest.
I recall sitting, staring at a digital clock, realizing that I was not breathing. From the time that I lost consciousness (which I oddly still remember) to when I was brought back was nearly four and a half minutes. In short, I should not even be capable of typing this. I will say, that if you are going to associate with addicts, at least make sure that they are of the boyscout variety- always prepared. I owe them my life.
It was an interesting experience, death. I was perfectly calm, probably because of the Heroin, but I would like to believe because I could see it coming, and was at peace with the reality I was experiencing. I sat listening to the others, as they were unaware of what was happening, it's been stamped into my mind. Then the light began growing darker, the room looked bigger, I felt smaller, almost like I was in a cavern looking out onto open space, all the while staring at the clock. By this point I was aware that I was no longer breathing, but I was unable to speak, or to move. There I sat, silent, motionless. Dieing.
Never did I receive medical care. I should have, but I was more afraid of those who were present being found out and seeking their revenge, then I was of long term affects. I did undergo several years of HIV testing to ensure that I had not been infected when they brought me back to life. Oh, how I loathe needles.
The affects were immediate. The stutter I had long since left behind in early childhood came back with a vengeance, exacerbated by the damage done to my gray matter. It was terrifying. Worse was the memory loss, but fortunately it was selective, and not widespread.
In the short term I was not terribly worried about the memory loss. But I should have been, it has proven to be more problematic than any stutter I could have imagined because I have been unsuccessful at regain the majority of what was lost.
In a long ago time I once typed like the wind... Lost that. Slowly regained and no longer hen peck, but still have to periodically look at the keyboard. Math that once made perfect, clear sense to me no longer does, even on a basic level. I've spent several years in study, to no avail, attempting to relearn what was lost. Oh, the cost of my mistake!
The stutter killed any social inclination I may have had. I simply could not communicate, my brain was scrambled. I would think "Where is the vacuum?" and then ask "Can I have a Valium?"... Word association became a game I played with myself when I was alone, learning to reverse the damage. I realized that if I couldn't find the word I was trying to say, and came up with a completely garbled sentence, I could think the garbled sentence and would say what my actual thought was- It is freakish how the brain works.
For a couple of years I avoided people, or having a conversation with anyone I used to be close to. I spoke to myself aloud when I was alone, almost constantly, and slowly the stutter went away. As a result though, I had a hard time distinguishing between speaking aloud, and thinking silently. So I was prone to say things and not even realize that I had- Strike two for my social skills. I still have a hard time with my words, though I have no problem expressing myself in text, spoken word is often a daunting task. I find myself making a joke about "That big hard word I can't remember", when I find myself lost... usually over high frequency words at that.
So, I became completely introverted, reclusive, bordering on hermit-ish. I'm sure my neighbors thought I was an Agoraphobic because I seldom came out outside, and never interacted.
Now, here I am. Damaged, but slowly regenerating. I still feel like a freak sometimes, and at least in that sense I know I am not alone... I long for the days when I was well spoken, articulate, and made my stance on any given issue known with ease. Not anymore. I am awkward at best.
Those who know me well understand, and some of them even forgive me for my shortcomings which is more than I deserve. I made my bed, and I must lie in it. I must credit my lovely for his patience over the past couple of years, though now grown so frailly thin, it helped me to for the most part overcome what I would consider an handicap. Now, the rest is up to me.
I have mixed feelings about what happened, and still have not come to terms with all of it. It's a mixed pot. I feel a sadness, a sense of loss for what is irreplaceable, and at the same time relief and even gratitude for the learning experience this has been, and the knowledge I have gained from it in a much more timely fashion that I would have if my life had run its course uninterrupted.
Some of the most important lessons learned, when taken in a crash course can be devastating unless you can pick up the pieces and create something new from them... It's like fine china, if you drop it and it breaks, there is still a mosaic in it's future, where it has the ability to take any form, but at it's core, still remains that priceless piece.
In 2002 I had a significant drug over dose. It was accidental. I was not depressed or suicidal, I was simply in a bad place, falling into a lifestyle that I knew little to nothing about... Being dragged down a hole (not entirely willingly) by my now ex-husband.
The story goes something like this... (Some details omitted... I'm not ready to spill all of the beans, just enough to see if they're still viable seed and can grow into understanding.)
I was 17. The semi-serious boyfriend with whom I had created a new life, and had been abandoned by for a newer model had only recently left the picture on a permanent basis. This was when I met my now ex-husband. A charismatic 27 year old man, who I willingly trusted (though even then I knew better). I was heartbroken by the reality which I had hoped for, having been heaped onto the fire. That reality, I knew, was not what I truly wanted, no. That which I truly wanted was out of my grasp, and it would be many years until the picture began to come back into focus. It is only now beginning to do so.
He was a "Bad Boy" type, and after the previous experience I was willing to fall into his arms, simply to have a place to feel welcomed. Otherwise, I would never have given him a second glance. As it would be, it took me 6 years to snap to my senses and leave. Amazing how strong that particular trap was, and even now I still see the scars from how deeply it had bitten into me.
It was a long night, and I was offered a roll (ecstasy- or MDMA), and semi-willingly accepted it. After all, I had taken it before with positive results in breaking through some of the barriers which existed as a result of my previous relationship... Little did I know that it wasn't "E".
The drug in question turned out to be a combination of what I later found out was Heroin and LSD. It was accidentally given to me, and the mix up was only later realized after I lost consciousness, went into respiratory failure, and then cardiac arrest.
I recall sitting, staring at a digital clock, realizing that I was not breathing. From the time that I lost consciousness (which I oddly still remember) to when I was brought back was nearly four and a half minutes. In short, I should not even be capable of typing this. I will say, that if you are going to associate with addicts, at least make sure that they are of the boyscout variety- always prepared. I owe them my life.
It was an interesting experience, death. I was perfectly calm, probably because of the Heroin, but I would like to believe because I could see it coming, and was at peace with the reality I was experiencing. I sat listening to the others, as they were unaware of what was happening, it's been stamped into my mind. Then the light began growing darker, the room looked bigger, I felt smaller, almost like I was in a cavern looking out onto open space, all the while staring at the clock. By this point I was aware that I was no longer breathing, but I was unable to speak, or to move. There I sat, silent, motionless. Dieing.
Never did I receive medical care. I should have, but I was more afraid of those who were present being found out and seeking their revenge, then I was of long term affects. I did undergo several years of HIV testing to ensure that I had not been infected when they brought me back to life. Oh, how I loathe needles.
The affects were immediate. The stutter I had long since left behind in early childhood came back with a vengeance, exacerbated by the damage done to my gray matter. It was terrifying. Worse was the memory loss, but fortunately it was selective, and not widespread.
In the short term I was not terribly worried about the memory loss. But I should have been, it has proven to be more problematic than any stutter I could have imagined because I have been unsuccessful at regain the majority of what was lost.
In a long ago time I once typed like the wind... Lost that. Slowly regained and no longer hen peck, but still have to periodically look at the keyboard. Math that once made perfect, clear sense to me no longer does, even on a basic level. I've spent several years in study, to no avail, attempting to relearn what was lost. Oh, the cost of my mistake!
The stutter killed any social inclination I may have had. I simply could not communicate, my brain was scrambled. I would think "Where is the vacuum?" and then ask "Can I have a Valium?"... Word association became a game I played with myself when I was alone, learning to reverse the damage. I realized that if I couldn't find the word I was trying to say, and came up with a completely garbled sentence, I could think the garbled sentence and would say what my actual thought was- It is freakish how the brain works.
For a couple of years I avoided people, or having a conversation with anyone I used to be close to. I spoke to myself aloud when I was alone, almost constantly, and slowly the stutter went away. As a result though, I had a hard time distinguishing between speaking aloud, and thinking silently. So I was prone to say things and not even realize that I had- Strike two for my social skills. I still have a hard time with my words, though I have no problem expressing myself in text, spoken word is often a daunting task. I find myself making a joke about "That big hard word I can't remember", when I find myself lost... usually over high frequency words at that.
So, I became completely introverted, reclusive, bordering on hermit-ish. I'm sure my neighbors thought I was an Agoraphobic because I seldom came out outside, and never interacted.
Now, here I am. Damaged, but slowly regenerating. I still feel like a freak sometimes, and at least in that sense I know I am not alone... I long for the days when I was well spoken, articulate, and made my stance on any given issue known with ease. Not anymore. I am awkward at best.
Those who know me well understand, and some of them even forgive me for my shortcomings which is more than I deserve. I made my bed, and I must lie in it. I must credit my lovely for his patience over the past couple of years, though now grown so frailly thin, it helped me to for the most part overcome what I would consider an handicap. Now, the rest is up to me.
I have mixed feelings about what happened, and still have not come to terms with all of it. It's a mixed pot. I feel a sadness, a sense of loss for what is irreplaceable, and at the same time relief and even gratitude for the learning experience this has been, and the knowledge I have gained from it in a much more timely fashion that I would have if my life had run its course uninterrupted.
Some of the most important lessons learned, when taken in a crash course can be devastating unless you can pick up the pieces and create something new from them... It's like fine china, if you drop it and it breaks, there is still a mosaic in it's future, where it has the ability to take any form, but at it's core, still remains that priceless piece.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I'm revisiting "Me" tonight. The me that was left behind in the wake of tragedy... In the wake of destruction, out of the burning ashes, like a Phoenix my former self rises.
So clichéd are the descriptions I use, I know.. I know... Pathetic. Ah, but it is what it is, from a simple mind springs forth simple, discombobulated thoughts. Always rambling on, and on, and on. Double backing, crossing over one another, and coming round again. Meh... I'm a HS drop out, what else would one expect from such an uneducated woman as my self?
OK, enough of that.
My reality is ever changing, is not secure, feels stable in the moment, yet at the next pass, the carpet may decide to bank left, and straight into the night it will fly without its passenger.
Adrift, always afloat though, my sharded hopes survive as the raft that prevents my suffocating descent into the abyss... Hopefully these storms prove to pull me into the warm current, leaving me beached on my own life again... Oh, the lessons we learn.
I'm not making sense. I can't, because it doesn't even make sense to me. In all that I have done, seen, experienced, and the fucking mess that I have made... Man, so many others have said it in music... and in much better ways than my pathetic ramblings ever could. Or, maybe not..
So clichéd are the descriptions I use, I know.. I know... Pathetic. Ah, but it is what it is, from a simple mind springs forth simple, discombobulated thoughts. Always rambling on, and on, and on. Double backing, crossing over one another, and coming round again. Meh... I'm a HS drop out, what else would one expect from such an uneducated woman as my self?
OK, enough of that.
My reality is ever changing, is not secure, feels stable in the moment, yet at the next pass, the carpet may decide to bank left, and straight into the night it will fly without its passenger.
Adrift, always afloat though, my sharded hopes survive as the raft that prevents my suffocating descent into the abyss... Hopefully these storms prove to pull me into the warm current, leaving me beached on my own life again... Oh, the lessons we learn.
I'm not making sense. I can't, because it doesn't even make sense to me. In all that I have done, seen, experienced, and the fucking mess that I have made... Man, so many others have said it in music... and in much better ways than my pathetic ramblings ever could. Or, maybe not..
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Snark is all I got
Apparently, when you are over stressed, have no one to talk to, are experiencing a wide range of emotions (everything from fear, sorrow, content, joy, dread, anxiety... and back again), and stressed with the presence of people who (historically) find your presence less than desirable- You are perceived as awkward, bitchy, antisocial... The list goes on... (wow, running sentence much?)
Not only do I have to keep out of the way, I must perform for people who have (time and again) made it clear that my presence is undesired.
Apparently putting on a smile, being generally kind, and staying out of the way is not enough... Where have I gone so incredibly wrong that I am awake @ 0331 doing dishes, laundry, and cleaning up after the guests instead of sleeping next to my lovely.
My mind is hell bent on working instead of letting me rest, and yet I am coming no closer to any conclusions, only more questions. I want to talk, to feel free to do so, to be me... But apparently being me means that I come across as bitchy, antisocial, and awkward.
Maybe I am. Or, maybe... Just maybe I am none of those things, and the stress of life, of being completely alone with my thoughts, bottling up my every emotion, coping with the children, and topping it off with the presence of people who have no intention of being kind to me, who have already made their judgment of me based on my beliefs has simply pissed me off. And maybe, just maybe... I really don't give a fucking shit how they feel. Maybe I should and this makes me a bad person. Maybe it is subjective, who fucking cares.
My heart hurts, my brain feels like it is going to explode, and if I hear one more reference to jesus/god/church/spirituality/the bible/etfuckingcetera- it may actually do so.
My day goes something like this...
I am sleep deprived, as my best friend insomnia seems to want to pay me regular visits. I've spent 3 days in a desperate scramble against time as I attempt to give the living room and kitchen a face life. I'm an explosion of mixed emotions waiting to happen, with no release valve, no one to talk to, to explain the mess as it is now. The days have dragged on, and on, and one more has passed leaving me in a lurch... an unexpected lurch.
I have company who is not fond of me, and that I have been asked (indirectly) to avoid. I feel pushed out of 'my' space, which isn't even mine to begin with... I have no space, I have no claim, I have no certainty, I have nothing. I have nothing. Whats mine isn't mine, what little I can claim isn't worth mention. I want to belong, I want to be useful, I want to be good. I am useful, I am good... No one perceives me this way.
My ex husband is up my ass, wanting to visit, threatening to drive down and cause trouble if I do not make time for him. It's more me he wants to see than the children, and my stomach curdles thinking about him.
I cleaned, and cleaned because I let everything slide while I painted... And now I'm playing maid to the guests as well. Is that all they see me as? Is that what I am? Just the maid... I couldn't possibly be any more than that, or mean any more than that to him. How could someone like me fit into this picture?
I am terrified of what I have no power to change, am not at liberty to talk about openly, and could completely alter our lives. I feel sick, I am fighting depression (quite successfully) without meds, doing everything I know how to prevent myself from falling down a hole. I have no emotional support, no people, no network. No fall back. I am the support, I am the fall back, I am the safety net. Fuck me running.
My day has sucked, my week has been hell, these past couple of months have been extremely frightening, and i have no release. Now it is scarier than ever.
This is me, being genuine. I'm afraid. I'm in love. I'm lost. Everything is changing, and I have no power to influence how it happens. I dread what might happen tomorrow, not knowing is killing me. I want to scream. I want to believe that this is nothing but a bad dream, which I can't wake from.
If this makes me awkward, uneasy, bitchy, antisocial, snarky, or in the opinion of the jesus freaks, in any way unpleasant... well, that just fucking sucks. Because I am trying as hard as I fucking can to shove all of these god damned emotions to the pit of my stomach, just so I can get through the day.
I try to be friendly... where does it get me? Reprimanded by my beloved, for saying the stupidest little thing... for reacting to stimuli that I couldn't control... for trying not to break down in front of everyone.
My snark is the only thing I am in control of right now... Compartmentalize as I can, and must, and do, it's imfuckingpossible to shut some of those lids.
Not only do I have to keep out of the way, I must perform for people who have (time and again) made it clear that my presence is undesired.
Apparently putting on a smile, being generally kind, and staying out of the way is not enough... Where have I gone so incredibly wrong that I am awake @ 0331 doing dishes, laundry, and cleaning up after the guests instead of sleeping next to my lovely.
My mind is hell bent on working instead of letting me rest, and yet I am coming no closer to any conclusions, only more questions. I want to talk, to feel free to do so, to be me... But apparently being me means that I come across as bitchy, antisocial, and awkward.
Maybe I am. Or, maybe... Just maybe I am none of those things, and the stress of life, of being completely alone with my thoughts, bottling up my every emotion, coping with the children, and topping it off with the presence of people who have no intention of being kind to me, who have already made their judgment of me based on my beliefs has simply pissed me off. And maybe, just maybe... I really don't give a fucking shit how they feel. Maybe I should and this makes me a bad person. Maybe it is subjective, who fucking cares.
My heart hurts, my brain feels like it is going to explode, and if I hear one more reference to jesus/god/church/spirituality/the bible/etfuckingcetera- it may actually do so.
My day goes something like this...
I am sleep deprived, as my best friend insomnia seems to want to pay me regular visits. I've spent 3 days in a desperate scramble against time as I attempt to give the living room and kitchen a face life. I'm an explosion of mixed emotions waiting to happen, with no release valve, no one to talk to, to explain the mess as it is now. The days have dragged on, and on, and one more has passed leaving me in a lurch... an unexpected lurch.
I have company who is not fond of me, and that I have been asked (indirectly) to avoid. I feel pushed out of 'my' space, which isn't even mine to begin with... I have no space, I have no claim, I have no certainty, I have nothing. I have nothing. Whats mine isn't mine, what little I can claim isn't worth mention. I want to belong, I want to be useful, I want to be good. I am useful, I am good... No one perceives me this way.
My ex husband is up my ass, wanting to visit, threatening to drive down and cause trouble if I do not make time for him. It's more me he wants to see than the children, and my stomach curdles thinking about him.
I cleaned, and cleaned because I let everything slide while I painted... And now I'm playing maid to the guests as well. Is that all they see me as? Is that what I am? Just the maid... I couldn't possibly be any more than that, or mean any more than that to him. How could someone like me fit into this picture?
I am terrified of what I have no power to change, am not at liberty to talk about openly, and could completely alter our lives. I feel sick, I am fighting depression (quite successfully) without meds, doing everything I know how to prevent myself from falling down a hole. I have no emotional support, no people, no network. No fall back. I am the support, I am the fall back, I am the safety net. Fuck me running.
My day has sucked, my week has been hell, these past couple of months have been extremely frightening, and i have no release. Now it is scarier than ever.
This is me, being genuine. I'm afraid. I'm in love. I'm lost. Everything is changing, and I have no power to influence how it happens. I dread what might happen tomorrow, not knowing is killing me. I want to scream. I want to believe that this is nothing but a bad dream, which I can't wake from.
If this makes me awkward, uneasy, bitchy, antisocial, snarky, or in the opinion of the jesus freaks, in any way unpleasant... well, that just fucking sucks. Because I am trying as hard as I fucking can to shove all of these god damned emotions to the pit of my stomach, just so I can get through the day.
I try to be friendly... where does it get me? Reprimanded by my beloved, for saying the stupidest little thing... for reacting to stimuli that I couldn't control... for trying not to break down in front of everyone.
My snark is the only thing I am in control of right now... Compartmentalize as I can, and must, and do, it's imfuckingpossible to shut some of those lids.
WTF!?
Under duress, I have discovered that I am capable of a level of detachment that I was previously unaware of. That I compartmentalize in some of the most important and productive ways possible... I extricate my emotions from the equation, and simply exist as a voice of reason in that moment.
In the weeks to come, my life could change for better or worse, for the matter of how the cards fall. I know what is left in the deck but the reality is that I can only count them for so long before they become lost in the jumble, and it's a toss.
Recently the reality of my (our) circumstances which are completely out of my (our) control, and with a delusional, ill, sadist at the helm, have come crashing through my bubble of safety. There exists no small margin of error here, there exists no room for mistakes, there is only the truth, and a lie.
What of a lie? What of people who believe in it wholeheartedly? It equates to the same person who can believe in religion, in a god, in having been "created"... The people who truly believe frighten me more than anything else in this life.
A person who is dangerous usually does not present them self as such in the initial interaction. Though, red flags, markers, intuition, that 'gut feeling' generally kicks in, lending us the momentary clarity to conclude that danger is near, gifting us the chance to seek safety.... it is even harder when the person is religiously affiliated, for that, in and of its self is supposed to present to society the beauteous face of light, happiness, honesty, forgiveness. It gives them a place to successfully hide.
My mind is spinning, and my thoughts are muddled. My brain wants to vomit onto a piece of paper, but the words simply can not flow, for the fact of sharing information which I am not at liberty to do so with.
It seems that, every time I am able to take a breath. Every time that the stresses seem to become bearable, every time that the sun shines through it is immediately muted by a threatening storm. The rain is only beginning to fall, but the winds are kicking up, the sky is black, and thunder is rolling in waves.
I want blue skies. I want the sun. I want predictable weather in my life, for the sake of life, for the sake of reality, of sanity, of gripping what the fuck is going to happen and wringing it by the neck!! I need for the insanity bus to stop and let us off.
"WTF!" does not even begin to express the shock, amazement, despair, the loss, the cost, all has been tossed... The bitch that drives the bus has got her fucking brain on inside out.
In the weeks to come, my life could change for better or worse, for the matter of how the cards fall. I know what is left in the deck but the reality is that I can only count them for so long before they become lost in the jumble, and it's a toss.
Recently the reality of my (our) circumstances which are completely out of my (our) control, and with a delusional, ill, sadist at the helm, have come crashing through my bubble of safety. There exists no small margin of error here, there exists no room for mistakes, there is only the truth, and a lie.
What of a lie? What of people who believe in it wholeheartedly? It equates to the same person who can believe in religion, in a god, in having been "created"... The people who truly believe frighten me more than anything else in this life.
A person who is dangerous usually does not present them self as such in the initial interaction. Though, red flags, markers, intuition, that 'gut feeling' generally kicks in, lending us the momentary clarity to conclude that danger is near, gifting us the chance to seek safety.... it is even harder when the person is religiously affiliated, for that, in and of its self is supposed to present to society the beauteous face of light, happiness, honesty, forgiveness. It gives them a place to successfully hide.
My mind is spinning, and my thoughts are muddled. My brain wants to vomit onto a piece of paper, but the words simply can not flow, for the fact of sharing information which I am not at liberty to do so with.
It seems that, every time I am able to take a breath. Every time that the stresses seem to become bearable, every time that the sun shines through it is immediately muted by a threatening storm. The rain is only beginning to fall, but the winds are kicking up, the sky is black, and thunder is rolling in waves.
I want blue skies. I want the sun. I want predictable weather in my life, for the sake of life, for the sake of reality, of sanity, of gripping what the fuck is going to happen and wringing it by the neck!! I need for the insanity bus to stop and let us off.
"WTF!" does not even begin to express the shock, amazement, despair, the loss, the cost, all has been tossed... The bitch that drives the bus has got her fucking brain on inside out.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Perceived Happiness
The reality of danger is one that most people overlook in the pursuit of perceived happiness.
Or, better explained- Some are simply incapable of compound thought that leads to the discovery that happiness is in fact perceived. So the real danger that is overwhelmingly prolific, simply never strikes them as such.
Happiness is conjured or wiped clean like so many sticky fingerprints in the width and breadth of a moment... All it takes is one moment to irrevocably change the course of our lives. Yet, as I look around, all I see is people trapped in the confines of their misconceived safety, which in no way leads to long term happiness.
The path to discontent is generally well maintained, holes filled and smoothed over, but ends in an unexpected, quite tragic drop. One moment you are strolling along with ease, the next you find yourself falling into an unknown chasm. It surely was a pleasant road to get there too, but of course there were signs, and you ignored them for they were contradictory to the path.
Happiness, that mythical creature, you see it in every cloud, every leaf caught on the wind, the laughter of a child, colors seem brighter, coffee smoother, and everything tastes sweeter... It is all perceived as such. It is how the mind (heart) processes various stimuli, then deciphers the code into usable snippets of emotion.
Problem is, that when perceived happiness is categorized as absolute safety, averting the inevitable disaster that follows is not only improbable, but impossible. The only option left, is to save face.
Upon this discovery of what happiness is, I have begun a metamorphosis, though my wings are nowhere near ready to unfurl, taking flight in my new form seems the next step in exploration of this form, and in furthering the transcendence into the realization that again I will change, and again, and again to forms unknown.
Understanding my perception of happiness, outside of the boxes that societal normality has demanded it be placed in, is equipping me for the winding, craggy path to it's peak. I may never reach that peak. Maybe it doesn't exist above the cover of clouds which obscure any possible view of the summit. Maybe I perceive something so vast that there is no peak, only the continual climb into endless immeasurable space. The views from up there are beautiful.
Maybe, happiness is the climb, not the destination... that was the thought which began the transformation.
In what context you choose to perceive (for it is a choice, your choice) happiness, and whatever it looks like from your spot along the path, keeping in mind that taking two steps forward, or one back will change that perspective, happiness can not be contained in any one box.
A lesson hard learned through the past 10 years worth of heartache, now applied with the slightest twinge of bitterness, remorse, and loathsome regret that so much of my youth was lost to a perception only I was at liberty to change.
To the people who see only my cynical side, this is no surprise, they wish to only see the bitterness in me, when in fact, it is that bitterness in so many other things which permits for appreciation of all that is sweet. Without bitterness, chocolate would have no appeal...
To those of you who see only the ill in me, and wish to begrudge me my learning experiences (which is precisely what you do, when expressing that one should only see the "happy" side of things) because of how it colors their own perception- I say this;
If you are so affected by the thoughts, ideals, moods, and motives of others that you feel the need to voice your discomfort, perhaps it is time you step back from yourself long enough to evaluate why that particular perspective is so hard to wrap your mind around. Understanding the why should not affect your own perception, unless it is as yet un-solidified. In which case, new information can not harm, it benefits the mind/body/spirit to expand. Life is not all unicorns shitting rainbows, and it should not be treated with an air of whimsy which would imply that it is.
I refuse to look at the ill, and become disillusioned enough to will myself into believing that it could be worse- which is to say, it is not that bad. Some things simply can become no more intense than they presently are, without involving wiping clean your existence from this chunk of rock. They should be acknowledged, accepted, and then (when possible) ignored so that the here and now can still be lived in.
Happiness is not a goal to be reached, it is in every moment, you simply have to decide to experience it. However, without the presence of discontent in one form or another, it truly can not ever be appreciated- People live stereotypical "Happy" lives, and never experience happiness, for the frame of reference which it takes to appreciate what they take as granted, simply does not exist without having been forged in the fires of tragedy.
Or, better explained- Some are simply incapable of compound thought that leads to the discovery that happiness is in fact perceived. So the real danger that is overwhelmingly prolific, simply never strikes them as such.
Happiness is conjured or wiped clean like so many sticky fingerprints in the width and breadth of a moment... All it takes is one moment to irrevocably change the course of our lives. Yet, as I look around, all I see is people trapped in the confines of their misconceived safety, which in no way leads to long term happiness.
The path to discontent is generally well maintained, holes filled and smoothed over, but ends in an unexpected, quite tragic drop. One moment you are strolling along with ease, the next you find yourself falling into an unknown chasm. It surely was a pleasant road to get there too, but of course there were signs, and you ignored them for they were contradictory to the path.
Happiness, that mythical creature, you see it in every cloud, every leaf caught on the wind, the laughter of a child, colors seem brighter, coffee smoother, and everything tastes sweeter... It is all perceived as such. It is how the mind (heart) processes various stimuli, then deciphers the code into usable snippets of emotion.
Problem is, that when perceived happiness is categorized as absolute safety, averting the inevitable disaster that follows is not only improbable, but impossible. The only option left, is to save face.
Upon this discovery of what happiness is, I have begun a metamorphosis, though my wings are nowhere near ready to unfurl, taking flight in my new form seems the next step in exploration of this form, and in furthering the transcendence into the realization that again I will change, and again, and again to forms unknown.
Understanding my perception of happiness, outside of the boxes that societal normality has demanded it be placed in, is equipping me for the winding, craggy path to it's peak. I may never reach that peak. Maybe it doesn't exist above the cover of clouds which obscure any possible view of the summit. Maybe I perceive something so vast that there is no peak, only the continual climb into endless immeasurable space. The views from up there are beautiful.
Maybe, happiness is the climb, not the destination... that was the thought which began the transformation.
In what context you choose to perceive (for it is a choice, your choice) happiness, and whatever it looks like from your spot along the path, keeping in mind that taking two steps forward, or one back will change that perspective, happiness can not be contained in any one box.
A lesson hard learned through the past 10 years worth of heartache, now applied with the slightest twinge of bitterness, remorse, and loathsome regret that so much of my youth was lost to a perception only I was at liberty to change.
To the people who see only my cynical side, this is no surprise, they wish to only see the bitterness in me, when in fact, it is that bitterness in so many other things which permits for appreciation of all that is sweet. Without bitterness, chocolate would have no appeal...
To those of you who see only the ill in me, and wish to begrudge me my learning experiences (which is precisely what you do, when expressing that one should only see the "happy" side of things) because of how it colors their own perception- I say this;
If you are so affected by the thoughts, ideals, moods, and motives of others that you feel the need to voice your discomfort, perhaps it is time you step back from yourself long enough to evaluate why that particular perspective is so hard to wrap your mind around. Understanding the why should not affect your own perception, unless it is as yet un-solidified. In which case, new information can not harm, it benefits the mind/body/spirit to expand. Life is not all unicorns shitting rainbows, and it should not be treated with an air of whimsy which would imply that it is.
I refuse to look at the ill, and become disillusioned enough to will myself into believing that it could be worse- which is to say, it is not that bad. Some things simply can become no more intense than they presently are, without involving wiping clean your existence from this chunk of rock. They should be acknowledged, accepted, and then (when possible) ignored so that the here and now can still be lived in.
Happiness is not a goal to be reached, it is in every moment, you simply have to decide to experience it. However, without the presence of discontent in one form or another, it truly can not ever be appreciated- People live stereotypical "Happy" lives, and never experience happiness, for the frame of reference which it takes to appreciate what they take as granted, simply does not exist without having been forged in the fires of tragedy.
Mulligan
Mulligans are a funny thing... A funny word actually, comical as it rolls off tongue.
I had to, just this evening, explain what a mulligan was. Because, apparently, it is not commonly used in the average american vocabulary? I dunno. I like to give people more credit than that, and ASSume that they understand the simple world I speak (or in this case, type). Guess I do put too much faith in the public education system, seems it's lacking, and as adults, these women, these mothers do not feel the need/desire/motivation to educate their self any further. Never mind that they will be educating the next generation.
Got off track, as per my usual derailing. Can't stay on track to save my life, or so it would seem.
Where do I begin again? Ha! Mulligans... Mulligans... Have you ever wished for a mulligan, just one more chance to do over, without any strings, without any questions or regrets? I did. Until this evening.
It dawned upon me, finally, and like a burning bale of hay falling atop me, pinning me, that if I had the opportunity to "fix" whatever may have gone awry, I would be pulling the thread on a close knit garment, unraveling everything that is of significance. And for what? The chance to knit it back together in a new form? One that is potentially even more likely not to fit the picture included with the instructions.
Last night I had the opportunity to speak my piece (to my own peace), to let my mind go, and where it went was murky.
Though, with mornings light, clarity dawned anew as well, and the unexpected continued to occur... Ah, and if I had used a mulligan, it never would have. I would not be at this place in my life, it would be incomprehensible to me, the ocean of emotions before me, and how I am to sail across it without being drawn under. My vessel is weathered, sails are in desperate need of repair. Yet afloat I stay, because I have my own history, which has been writ on my heart, and is an open book to read, a lesson to be drawn from. With a mulligan, all is lost.
Emotions are a funny thing. Not so funny as "mulligan". No. But funny, queer, odd, strange, unsettling. Peering at the multifaceted face of emotion, holding it to the light, one moment a rainbow of incomparable beauty appears, the next you are face to face with a cut that should never have been made. It is awkward, strange, doesn't quite fit. But when you set the stone, you never see it. It is hidden in a golden rimmed setting.
I am attempting to say, in so many words, that every emotion has a counter, ever beautiful thing has an ugly side as well. Most of the time it remains hidden by the facade, but in actuality, still exists. Only the maker sees it, knows of it, but it is there. In a finished work, the beauty is evaluated as flawless, but only the creator knows what it took to achieve it- and only the creator can truly appreciate it. With all of its flaws, for the masterful work that it appears to everyone else.
I do not believe that the master would appreciate his creation were it not for the mistakes that were made in the process of perfection. Life, emotion, it all equates to the same... More of the same. Without the failures, we can not appreciate the successes.
Call it irrational, call it infatuation, call it what you will. Love is a verb. Love is constantly moving, in action, ever changing, moving, moving, flowing fluidly through the mind, body, soul. Love is nothing, and everything, and something that can not be readily defined beyond the websters- It stands for so much, and for some, so little. Love can be redefined, and it has, and it will, and in the end it is never the same as it started out, and it is better for it.
I'm permanently bruised, have been bludgeoned, beaten, but am better for the beating, for the knowing, for understanding what it is that keeps us moving. What it is that gifts us with the very precarious thing called trust, with the not so simple capability to gift someone with this, and likewise be gifted with the assurances that are part and parcel to it. For everything implied, even if never clearly defined, for the very welcomed peace of mind.
It is irrational, to those who have never been there. Sadly, some people never get to take this trip. They never venture to cross the boarders, to let go of the perception of safety- better, the misconception of safety, the delusions that lead us to this misconception.
It is even more irrational to those who went there, and were absorbed into the delusion of safety. Love is anything but safe. It is volatile. It is dangerous, it strips us down to the bare minimum of who we are, our naked hearts exposed, broken, bloodied, torn, stitched together, and bandaged over. It makes us completely vulnerable. In the best, and the worst possible ways.
When I was a wee one, not so many years ago, and believing I was mature, all grown, my own woman, who I was, solidified in my perception of self in such a way as only the very young are capable of... I loved.
Little did I know then, that the self assured concepts of life, relationships, the way things ought to be, were more on point than I could have accredited myself with now. It was simple. It was pure. And it was real.
Only upon loosing myself from the tiny box in which I have so long resided, have I begun to re-explore the fact of love. Of the ties that we make with people. Of my ideals regarding family, and what that looks like... Now I am bursting at the seams with the reality that it is in fact possible to see any or all of these things come to life, even when the conditions are not conducive. Dreams really do come true- I woke to one today.
No fairytale is all unicorns shitting rainbows... There is always a wicked stepmother, an old witch, troll (surplus of those about the interwebs), a king with a superiority complex, a horrible beast. My story contains them all. Some of them are the same entity, others are imagined into that role, now that I am capable of processing the reality of what happened to me, and can compartmentalize it- Boxes are awesome!
The incredible thing about fairy tales, is that you get to spin your own. Just takes a little fiber with which to use the wheel, and bind into thread...
I lost myself again, I'm venting, is it evident?
Another glass of chardonnay, and back to the redefinition of love... Here we go again, spinning, spinning, spinning. I pricked my finger, and now I sleep, and here he is to wake me. Could never happen. It's just a story. Or is it?
In my case, it's the reality of what the years have dealt me. I forced myself into emotional slumber, for the day that maybe, just maybe, one chance, one shot, one moment in which I could live out the reality I so desired would be granted me. Unbelievably, it was.
Irrational would not be the definition that I would give to a love that has run deeper than the deposits of self loathing regret which was spawned in the moments after catastrophic trauma. Irrational was the idea which maintained what little of me there was left to function in those conditions. Irrational was the justification I used not to run for my life after what I knew was good, was worthy, was wholesome, what was what I have so longed for all of these years...
Perhaps in the simple purity of my youth I discovered what some are left to flounder on the deck in hopes of being scooped up into- Love. Actual. Simple. Active. Moving. Changing. Redefined.
In reality, my analytical mind will not let it be so simple, I must dissect what it homogeneous.
How can I rationalize the absolute fact that I am now experiencing the reality of love. The act of loving. The willingness of being in love with another individual?
This is not easy for me to grasp, to label, to understand.
In order for love to grow it must be given a wide birth, and in the same moment, it is the immersible vehicle you dive within, and are taken down, down, down into the belly of the beast. How can I possibly rationalize this.
Maybe it is irrational. Perhaps I am delusional. Maybe I simply refuse to see the dangers that are before me.
What I like to believe more likely, is that I have in fact found the most precious of gems, and that it is being set. Though, as any precious gem... Does not necessarily remain in its setting.
Fluidity is not conducive to a setting, which, in it's self defies any sense of traditional definition... It, simply is, what it is.
Now, to go 'shag and crash'....
I had to, just this evening, explain what a mulligan was. Because, apparently, it is not commonly used in the average american vocabulary? I dunno. I like to give people more credit than that, and ASSume that they understand the simple world I speak (or in this case, type). Guess I do put too much faith in the public education system, seems it's lacking, and as adults, these women, these mothers do not feel the need/desire/motivation to educate their self any further. Never mind that they will be educating the next generation.
Got off track, as per my usual derailing. Can't stay on track to save my life, or so it would seem.
Where do I begin again? Ha! Mulligans... Mulligans... Have you ever wished for a mulligan, just one more chance to do over, without any strings, without any questions or regrets? I did. Until this evening.
It dawned upon me, finally, and like a burning bale of hay falling atop me, pinning me, that if I had the opportunity to "fix" whatever may have gone awry, I would be pulling the thread on a close knit garment, unraveling everything that is of significance. And for what? The chance to knit it back together in a new form? One that is potentially even more likely not to fit the picture included with the instructions.
Last night I had the opportunity to speak my piece (to my own peace), to let my mind go, and where it went was murky.
Though, with mornings light, clarity dawned anew as well, and the unexpected continued to occur... Ah, and if I had used a mulligan, it never would have. I would not be at this place in my life, it would be incomprehensible to me, the ocean of emotions before me, and how I am to sail across it without being drawn under. My vessel is weathered, sails are in desperate need of repair. Yet afloat I stay, because I have my own history, which has been writ on my heart, and is an open book to read, a lesson to be drawn from. With a mulligan, all is lost.
Emotions are a funny thing. Not so funny as "mulligan". No. But funny, queer, odd, strange, unsettling. Peering at the multifaceted face of emotion, holding it to the light, one moment a rainbow of incomparable beauty appears, the next you are face to face with a cut that should never have been made. It is awkward, strange, doesn't quite fit. But when you set the stone, you never see it. It is hidden in a golden rimmed setting.
I am attempting to say, in so many words, that every emotion has a counter, ever beautiful thing has an ugly side as well. Most of the time it remains hidden by the facade, but in actuality, still exists. Only the maker sees it, knows of it, but it is there. In a finished work, the beauty is evaluated as flawless, but only the creator knows what it took to achieve it- and only the creator can truly appreciate it. With all of its flaws, for the masterful work that it appears to everyone else.
I do not believe that the master would appreciate his creation were it not for the mistakes that were made in the process of perfection. Life, emotion, it all equates to the same... More of the same. Without the failures, we can not appreciate the successes.
Call it irrational, call it infatuation, call it what you will. Love is a verb. Love is constantly moving, in action, ever changing, moving, moving, flowing fluidly through the mind, body, soul. Love is nothing, and everything, and something that can not be readily defined beyond the websters- It stands for so much, and for some, so little. Love can be redefined, and it has, and it will, and in the end it is never the same as it started out, and it is better for it.
I'm permanently bruised, have been bludgeoned, beaten, but am better for the beating, for the knowing, for understanding what it is that keeps us moving. What it is that gifts us with the very precarious thing called trust, with the not so simple capability to gift someone with this, and likewise be gifted with the assurances that are part and parcel to it. For everything implied, even if never clearly defined, for the very welcomed peace of mind.
It is irrational, to those who have never been there. Sadly, some people never get to take this trip. They never venture to cross the boarders, to let go of the perception of safety- better, the misconception of safety, the delusions that lead us to this misconception.
It is even more irrational to those who went there, and were absorbed into the delusion of safety. Love is anything but safe. It is volatile. It is dangerous, it strips us down to the bare minimum of who we are, our naked hearts exposed, broken, bloodied, torn, stitched together, and bandaged over. It makes us completely vulnerable. In the best, and the worst possible ways.
When I was a wee one, not so many years ago, and believing I was mature, all grown, my own woman, who I was, solidified in my perception of self in such a way as only the very young are capable of... I loved.
Little did I know then, that the self assured concepts of life, relationships, the way things ought to be, were more on point than I could have accredited myself with now. It was simple. It was pure. And it was real.
Only upon loosing myself from the tiny box in which I have so long resided, have I begun to re-explore the fact of love. Of the ties that we make with people. Of my ideals regarding family, and what that looks like... Now I am bursting at the seams with the reality that it is in fact possible to see any or all of these things come to life, even when the conditions are not conducive. Dreams really do come true- I woke to one today.
No fairytale is all unicorns shitting rainbows... There is always a wicked stepmother, an old witch, troll (surplus of those about the interwebs), a king with a superiority complex, a horrible beast. My story contains them all. Some of them are the same entity, others are imagined into that role, now that I am capable of processing the reality of what happened to me, and can compartmentalize it- Boxes are awesome!
The incredible thing about fairy tales, is that you get to spin your own. Just takes a little fiber with which to use the wheel, and bind into thread...
I lost myself again, I'm venting, is it evident?
Another glass of chardonnay, and back to the redefinition of love... Here we go again, spinning, spinning, spinning. I pricked my finger, and now I sleep, and here he is to wake me. Could never happen. It's just a story. Or is it?
In my case, it's the reality of what the years have dealt me. I forced myself into emotional slumber, for the day that maybe, just maybe, one chance, one shot, one moment in which I could live out the reality I so desired would be granted me. Unbelievably, it was.
Irrational would not be the definition that I would give to a love that has run deeper than the deposits of self loathing regret which was spawned in the moments after catastrophic trauma. Irrational was the idea which maintained what little of me there was left to function in those conditions. Irrational was the justification I used not to run for my life after what I knew was good, was worthy, was wholesome, what was what I have so longed for all of these years...
Perhaps in the simple purity of my youth I discovered what some are left to flounder on the deck in hopes of being scooped up into- Love. Actual. Simple. Active. Moving. Changing. Redefined.
In reality, my analytical mind will not let it be so simple, I must dissect what it homogeneous.
How can I rationalize the absolute fact that I am now experiencing the reality of love. The act of loving. The willingness of being in love with another individual?
This is not easy for me to grasp, to label, to understand.
In order for love to grow it must be given a wide birth, and in the same moment, it is the immersible vehicle you dive within, and are taken down, down, down into the belly of the beast. How can I possibly rationalize this.
Maybe it is irrational. Perhaps I am delusional. Maybe I simply refuse to see the dangers that are before me.
What I like to believe more likely, is that I have in fact found the most precious of gems, and that it is being set. Though, as any precious gem... Does not necessarily remain in its setting.
Fluidity is not conducive to a setting, which, in it's self defies any sense of traditional definition... It, simply is, what it is.
Now, to go 'shag and crash'....
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Blast From The Past
Lest we rest, Triumphant
In silence
In silence
With our defiance displayed in an array of violence
By the tyrants, who's confidence in gods and monuments
Outweigh the judgements, laid by our government
an institution of confusion, the result of a cranial contusion
It;s just an illusion
Created for the usual, delusional masses
Those crazy bastards
When I was a mere bud of the woman I am only beginning to blossom as, I wrote that. 13 years ago, as a young pup I had more of a sense of self than I do now. It's time to get back to my roots.
This weekend has been a blast from the past, and has brought the realization that I know who I am, I simply learned to forget. Now, I remember.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Delving in
What, why, when, how, who, if, maybe, could it, am I?
So many, many, many questions that I do not as of yet have answers to, not that I have a desire to have all of the answers, but reality being what it is, and how it is, and knowing that I am in my own little world most of the time, it needs to be, to exist, somewhere outside of my own little internalization. I must be, It must be a reality close to me to survive, to exist, to allow. To be perceived by the knowing, the intimacy of dreams.
I want for tomorrow to come without incident, to be a new day, a new life, and new desire, a new enemy to chase. I want, I want, and I know that in wanting I will eventually perceive the world in terms that are beyond desire, and roll in the reality in which I must certainly live.
If in the living, the lusting, the chasing, the fighting, the flight from all of the previously stated, I am able to passionately latch onto some sort of outward persona, to "Become" whatever, whoever, and whenever I am supposed to be, yet also maintain myself,to some smallish degree, at least in the little box- the one in which I so long lived... I will have succeeded at life.
Looking around me, seeing through their eyes, it is so frightening to see myself as they see me. I seem to be so out of place, such a candidate for the isle of misfit toys, I am, I was broken. A rag doll without her rags, not limp, but empty, devoid of fluff, of happy stuff, the stuff that matters.
For the answers, the ones that lie beneath, the ones that matter, beyond the scratched lens on the surface of the water, what lies deeper, buoyant, bobbing gently below the surface, perfectly balanced, I must weigh myself down to reach.
So many, many, many questions that I do not as of yet have answers to, not that I have a desire to have all of the answers, but reality being what it is, and how it is, and knowing that I am in my own little world most of the time, it needs to be, to exist, somewhere outside of my own little internalization. I must be, It must be a reality close to me to survive, to exist, to allow. To be perceived by the knowing, the intimacy of dreams.
I want for tomorrow to come without incident, to be a new day, a new life, and new desire, a new enemy to chase. I want, I want, and I know that in wanting I will eventually perceive the world in terms that are beyond desire, and roll in the reality in which I must certainly live.
If in the living, the lusting, the chasing, the fighting, the flight from all of the previously stated, I am able to passionately latch onto some sort of outward persona, to "Become" whatever, whoever, and whenever I am supposed to be, yet also maintain myself,to some smallish degree, at least in the little box- the one in which I so long lived... I will have succeeded at life.
Looking around me, seeing through their eyes, it is so frightening to see myself as they see me. I seem to be so out of place, such a candidate for the isle of misfit toys, I am, I was broken. A rag doll without her rags, not limp, but empty, devoid of fluff, of happy stuff, the stuff that matters.
For the answers, the ones that lie beneath, the ones that matter, beyond the scratched lens on the surface of the water, what lies deeper, buoyant, bobbing gently below the surface, perfectly balanced, I must weigh myself down to reach.
Roiling in the eye
The sky is overcast, the air moistly heavy with rain that is beginning to fall. All around me the nesting birds call for their mates to flutter home, as a large military aircraft that I can not identify rumbles over head, and on its tail thunder comes rolling in.
Like a wave crashing to shore, gentle salty breezes wash over me, raising goose flesh on my arms. Another plane soars above us, somewhere above the clouds, again trailed by rolling, crashing waves of thunder, as another late spring storm makes its way up the coast.
The air around me is peaceful, and yet somehow charged, it is the calm before the storm. Now the sky behind me darkens to a green, surrounded by dusky gray, like being in the eye of an ostrich feather. Thunder crashes again, rumbling and rolling, like the roiling surf. The storm brewing is not unlike that which is in my own mind. The fury which is encapsulated in the eye of memory.
Local wildlife feels it too, so I sit and gawk as they scurry about, seeking shelter from the storm. As I too, seek refuge, and begin internalizing, the eye of the storm, and its beauteous calm will soon be upon me.
Like a wave crashing to shore, gentle salty breezes wash over me, raising goose flesh on my arms. Another plane soars above us, somewhere above the clouds, again trailed by rolling, crashing waves of thunder, as another late spring storm makes its way up the coast.
The air around me is peaceful, and yet somehow charged, it is the calm before the storm. Now the sky behind me darkens to a green, surrounded by dusky gray, like being in the eye of an ostrich feather. Thunder crashes again, rumbling and rolling, like the roiling surf. The storm brewing is not unlike that which is in my own mind. The fury which is encapsulated in the eye of memory.
Local wildlife feels it too, so I sit and gawk as they scurry about, seeking shelter from the storm. As I too, seek refuge, and begin internalizing, the eye of the storm, and its beauteous calm will soon be upon me.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Today my sewing machine bit the dust. I feel like I want to cry, as I look in the mirror at my tattered, ill fitting jeans, and typical T-shirt... I was in the middle of some new clothes. Yeah, I want to cry. Not just because of the damned machine either.
Some days, like today, I feel so lonesome. I love my babies, and I really don't get all that much out of superficial interaction, but I also feel trapped in the realm of motherhood, and can not escape. I want conversations that stimulate more than my gag reflex as someone discusses their latest diaper blow out, or which formula they finally chose after their baby reacted badly to the first 3- because "I couldn't breastfeed"... If I had just a nickel every time I heard that, I would be a rich woman. I want to mean something to someone, anyone, other than just mom.
Today I looked in the mirror, and I saw everything I told myself I would never become, and it frightened me to no end... Realizing that I am losing my grip on who I am as a person, after fighting so hard to preserve it for so long- It's as though I looked up at the dangling baby grand hanging by a thread above my head, and couldn't shake the enormity of it's shadow, even when I stepped aside.
Is it wrong of me to suddenly take an interest in "girly" things? Is it even for me, or am I just willing to put on an act so that I can get as far as a hello? I am not sure. Furthermore, would it even work? I'm not exactly fitting the profile of beauty, even on my most attractive of days.
It sickens me to see someone who has nothing to offer, be offered everything, because they fit the profile- they are fun to look at, even though they are as empty as a whiskey bottle in an alcoholics rubbish bin. Yet they are considered an asset because they are empty- Just look @ women who are in sales and you'll see what I mean... They thrive in that position because there is nothing else for them, they are nothing more than a showpiece. Yet they succeed when someone who is qualified is left to the wayside- Am I the only one who is sickened by this?
Some days, like today, I feel so lonesome. I love my babies, and I really don't get all that much out of superficial interaction, but I also feel trapped in the realm of motherhood, and can not escape. I want conversations that stimulate more than my gag reflex as someone discusses their latest diaper blow out, or which formula they finally chose after their baby reacted badly to the first 3- because "I couldn't breastfeed"... If I had just a nickel every time I heard that, I would be a rich woman. I want to mean something to someone, anyone, other than just mom.
Today I looked in the mirror, and I saw everything I told myself I would never become, and it frightened me to no end... Realizing that I am losing my grip on who I am as a person, after fighting so hard to preserve it for so long- It's as though I looked up at the dangling baby grand hanging by a thread above my head, and couldn't shake the enormity of it's shadow, even when I stepped aside.
Is it wrong of me to suddenly take an interest in "girly" things? Is it even for me, or am I just willing to put on an act so that I can get as far as a hello? I am not sure. Furthermore, would it even work? I'm not exactly fitting the profile of beauty, even on my most attractive of days.
It sickens me to see someone who has nothing to offer, be offered everything, because they fit the profile- they are fun to look at, even though they are as empty as a whiskey bottle in an alcoholics rubbish bin. Yet they are considered an asset because they are empty- Just look @ women who are in sales and you'll see what I mean... They thrive in that position because there is nothing else for them, they are nothing more than a showpiece. Yet they succeed when someone who is qualified is left to the wayside- Am I the only one who is sickened by this?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
K, so here goes... I quit writing again, not just this, but everything. I am in a uncommunicative state at present, and there are some (though very few, as I am a bit of a recluse these days) who are wondering where I am. Or maybe I give myself too much credit, and the fact of the matter is that no one is wondering anything, because I am an open person, and it is obvious that I have regressed back into my plastic bubble. Contradiction in terms- Recluse being an open person! LOL @ myself! Truth is stranger than fiction.
After an interesting convo with the manimal on Sunday, I was heavily struck with the realization that I can not do what i desire, for there is no path forward. I have to market what I am good at, what meager skills I possess... I would love to be a Doula, but the fact of the matter is that it will put me in contact with too diverse a group, and I doubt my personal ability to remain neutral, which is absolutely necessary to be helpful, rather than harmful... A lot of people disagreed with my birth choices, but the simple outcome was the same with all three- uneventful, uncomplicated, unmedicated, unintervened, natural child birth. That is what I preach, and I know that I can not support someone who decides to risk it all by going the procedural route that most MDs preach. That is where I would be doing harm, although for the greater good.
Next task: Figure out how to be social, and integrate myself into some form of society in which I am likely to find solace, and perhaps, even succeed at becoming a productive participant in what lies beyond the safety of my plastic bubble of sanity.
The question that follows: Can it be done? (or am I too far gone, recessed into the crack in reality which allows me to function without any physical social connections, and very few interpersonal relationships.) What I fear is that I am so offended by the shallow ones- the one who have NOTHING to offer, and are a leach, a likable leach that people keep around for amusement- that I may never find my niche.
The resentment that I harbor for my parents, and particularly my mother is almost deafening- it is a constant ringing in my mind, not at the back, like a gnat flying about, buzzing in and out of my thoughts, but a damn relentless blood sucking mosquito, eating me alive.
She now admits that it was wrong, what they did, isolating me, especially when I plead with them to let me free- let me go to school! Not realizing at the time that what they had done was illegal, and they would have to answer for it sooner or later. Now I belong on the Island of misfit toys... No matter how hard I try, something is broken.
I feel so awkward with my peer group, especially when they learn that I have a child who is anywhere from 4-8 years older than theirs... Seems the stigma of being a Teen Mom never wears off, they just find new ways to judge you, and your over achieving public school attending, vegetarian child. No matter what I do, she will always have to live with it too. Even though she is a high functioning child, the label is still there- she must be illiterate, poor, white trash. OK, they have me on the poor part, sure are. It's life, you make due with what you have, not what you don't.
AAAHHHHH!!!! I am just so fucking frustrated, I want to be "fixed", and for the sake of survival, just fit in! OMG, I can't believe I just said that... No, I don't want to fit in, I do not want to be a sheeple, I just want to look like one during daylight hours so that they'll accept me into their money making world.
After an interesting convo with the manimal on Sunday, I was heavily struck with the realization that I can not do what i desire, for there is no path forward. I have to market what I am good at, what meager skills I possess... I would love to be a Doula, but the fact of the matter is that it will put me in contact with too diverse a group, and I doubt my personal ability to remain neutral, which is absolutely necessary to be helpful, rather than harmful... A lot of people disagreed with my birth choices, but the simple outcome was the same with all three- uneventful, uncomplicated, unmedicated, unintervened, natural child birth. That is what I preach, and I know that I can not support someone who decides to risk it all by going the procedural route that most MDs preach. That is where I would be doing harm, although for the greater good.
Next task: Figure out how to be social, and integrate myself into some form of society in which I am likely to find solace, and perhaps, even succeed at becoming a productive participant in what lies beyond the safety of my plastic bubble of sanity.
The question that follows: Can it be done? (or am I too far gone, recessed into the crack in reality which allows me to function without any physical social connections, and very few interpersonal relationships.) What I fear is that I am so offended by the shallow ones- the one who have NOTHING to offer, and are a leach, a likable leach that people keep around for amusement- that I may never find my niche.
The resentment that I harbor for my parents, and particularly my mother is almost deafening- it is a constant ringing in my mind, not at the back, like a gnat flying about, buzzing in and out of my thoughts, but a damn relentless blood sucking mosquito, eating me alive.
She now admits that it was wrong, what they did, isolating me, especially when I plead with them to let me free- let me go to school! Not realizing at the time that what they had done was illegal, and they would have to answer for it sooner or later. Now I belong on the Island of misfit toys... No matter how hard I try, something is broken.
I feel so awkward with my peer group, especially when they learn that I have a child who is anywhere from 4-8 years older than theirs... Seems the stigma of being a Teen Mom never wears off, they just find new ways to judge you, and your over achieving public school attending, vegetarian child. No matter what I do, she will always have to live with it too. Even though she is a high functioning child, the label is still there- she must be illiterate, poor, white trash. OK, they have me on the poor part, sure are. It's life, you make due with what you have, not what you don't.
AAAHHHHH!!!! I am just so fucking frustrated, I want to be "fixed", and for the sake of survival, just fit in! OMG, I can't believe I just said that... No, I don't want to fit in, I do not want to be a sheeple, I just want to look like one during daylight hours so that they'll accept me into their money making world.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Indecision
I am completely torn... What to do? What to do? WTF?
I would like, love, want desperately to enter two different fields of work. I know not which to pursue, or which would be the most rewarding for me. Or the most profitable... *le sigh* God, damn it. Damn it.
As a woman who has experienced "Natural Child Birth" or "NCB" for all 3 of my pregnancies, followed rather uneventful, yet excessively long labors which left to the medical community would have ended in cesarean section, I am interested in becoming a Doula. If It had not been for Mechelle, I would have undoubtedly caved to the pain of labor, and indulged in drugs, which I know now could have resulted in my becoming paralyzed... I have spoken with 5 anesthesiologists who refuse to touch me with a 10 foot pole, because I have fairly severe scoliosis. Though at the the time of my first birth, they attempted to sell me on one, even though I WALKED into the hospital fully dilated, trying not to push, and spent Less than 20 minutes in the hospital before I shat Niki out.
On the other hand, I truly would enjoy graphic design... as I find my vent time used up with pen and paper-I know that were I put on task, I would successfully produce useful material... I look through my note/sketch/watercolor books, and all of the canvas I have wasted, and know that I would truly be productive. My attention to detail is what makes it such a pains taking process for me.
Now, let us add into the equation those who feel I should have some sort of career writing. I disagree wholeheartedly, as I gaze upon all of the grammatical errors which present in the previous text.
I do enjoy writing, but I have little to say that is of worth.There is very little that would be absorbed by the general public. I could write a book, based on the hell alone.
Oh, what the fuck do I do?
I would like, love, want desperately to enter two different fields of work. I know not which to pursue, or which would be the most rewarding for me. Or the most profitable... *le sigh* God, damn it. Damn it.
As a woman who has experienced "Natural Child Birth" or "NCB" for all 3 of my pregnancies, followed rather uneventful, yet excessively long labors which left to the medical community would have ended in cesarean section, I am interested in becoming a Doula. If It had not been for Mechelle, I would have undoubtedly caved to the pain of labor, and indulged in drugs, which I know now could have resulted in my becoming paralyzed... I have spoken with 5 anesthesiologists who refuse to touch me with a 10 foot pole, because I have fairly severe scoliosis. Though at the the time of my first birth, they attempted to sell me on one, even though I WALKED into the hospital fully dilated, trying not to push, and spent Less than 20 minutes in the hospital before I shat Niki out.
On the other hand, I truly would enjoy graphic design... as I find my vent time used up with pen and paper-I know that were I put on task, I would successfully produce useful material... I look through my note/sketch/watercolor books, and all of the canvas I have wasted, and know that I would truly be productive. My attention to detail is what makes it such a pains taking process for me.
Now, let us add into the equation those who feel I should have some sort of career writing. I disagree wholeheartedly, as I gaze upon all of the grammatical errors which present in the previous text.
I do enjoy writing, but I have little to say that is of worth.There is very little that would be absorbed by the general public. I could write a book, based on the hell alone.
Oh, what the fuck do I do?
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Foolish Games
Some days are easier than others, and obviously I have been struggling as of late. With many, many different things, questioning every aspect of my life. Why? What? How? When? Can I? Will it work? Should I? Is it worth it? Dunno... I know so very little at this point.
What little I do know is that I tire quickly of the games, and perhaps it isn't even a game. It could simply be that there is nothing in any way grounded, and so it seems that everything I do is as if a pawn is being shifted in one direction or another. In the same hand I also hold this incredible fear of being exposed, made a fool of, but I do an adequate enough job of that myself... I may as well be an open book, and at times am, as I have no one to talk to. No one to explore my thoughts with. No voice of reason shifting me back into reality when I lay adrift on my own stream of thoughts.
So many questions. No answers. And I live each day waiting for the ball to drop, wondering when enough will be enough. Wondering how damaged I truly am. And knowing that I have no way of finding out until it's too late. It may be already.
How many times a day can I check myself back into reality? And am I even walking in the light of realization, or am I simply convincing myself that reality checks have been issued and cashed in?. Maybe it's time to check the account balance...
What little I do know is that I tire quickly of the games, and perhaps it isn't even a game. It could simply be that there is nothing in any way grounded, and so it seems that everything I do is as if a pawn is being shifted in one direction or another. In the same hand I also hold this incredible fear of being exposed, made a fool of, but I do an adequate enough job of that myself... I may as well be an open book, and at times am, as I have no one to talk to. No one to explore my thoughts with. No voice of reason shifting me back into reality when I lay adrift on my own stream of thoughts.
So many questions. No answers. And I live each day waiting for the ball to drop, wondering when enough will be enough. Wondering how damaged I truly am. And knowing that I have no way of finding out until it's too late. It may be already.
How many times a day can I check myself back into reality? And am I even walking in the light of realization, or am I simply convincing myself that reality checks have been issued and cashed in?. Maybe it's time to check the account balance...
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Where is my name?
Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of the fact that I would have an enormous up-hill climb ahead of me when the children reached a likely enough age as to be in the care of another. What is even more tiresome is listening to people who will never be able to comprehend what life as you know it has consisted of, say "well, just do it". OK, this is me, admitting that I am flawed. I am imperfect. I am afraid, and I don't know where to begin.
Nothing more I dislike than hearing a pity party, or dealing with a 'woes me' attitude from someone who is otherwise capable. So, I can understand why someone might feel the same in regard to me, or even to my situation, or life in general. And to them, I have this to say; Until you live my life, leave me the fuck alone. Enjoy being who you are, because you have an identity. You have not been lost in the roundabout of motherhood, you still have a life, a likely enough future, and a name. Do you know what it is like not to have a name anymore? Do you? When you simply become "MOM", then and only then will I listen to your know it all, this is how the world works, and what you should do with it tone. When you become a mother, then and only then will you be capable of understanding the personal sacrifices that I have made to live through the past 10 years worth of hell, and make sure that my babies made it out alive... Maybe even then you won't understand, or believe what I have lived through. Until you live a life of isolation, and have to learn everything about people in your 20's (rather than learning from birth forward), then I am not interested in your little "Get over it" speeches. I'd love to see you in my shoes for a week, and see how medicated you are by the end of it (oh, and by the way- I function without being medicated- it's called "facing fears head on").
This may very well be the point at which I accept that, I am not the best person for the round the clock caregiver position at the moment. I have done anything, and everything within my meager mommy powers to provide my children with the coping mechanisms that they'll need to enter the big, bad, scary world. That's all I can do.
The absolute need for my life to consist of more than ass wiping, booger pickin, laundry washing, food prepping, alphabet song singing, boo boo kissing, monster under the bed chasing, has arisen.
At one point, some years ago, I had aspirations. I had dreams, visions of what I would be doing right now. Nowhere in those dreams did everyone I know call me "Mom" (might I add, even people who I did not personally shit out).
The slightly sick part is, that regardless of who you were in your past life, you are expected to be consumed by motherhood. It is an unwritten law of American society that you suddenly become a baby talking, tushie pinching, breast vs formula feeding debate champ, who is also connoisseur of baby wipes. It is expected of us to simply give up who we are for the ultimate fulfillment of being a mother. Sorry, this isn't working for me. I'm not a Brady. I have a brain in here somewhere *shakes head* yep, I can still hear it rattling around. And that brain tells me that there is more to life than reproducing and caring for young. Given, its a rather important part for some people, but it is not the end all, be all of human existence either. I cringe when I hear someone say that they "Never felt fulfilled by life" until they became a mother... Now they sit at home all day watching stories, and eating junk food. Yep, that's sure some fulfilling life you have there! what ever happened to your career, BTW?
OK, so some people would say that I am ragging on my own kind here, but I disagree. I feel that I should not be defined by motherhood. THEY do.
I have this need, this desire to mean something to someone other than my children (and immediate family). I don't want to be known for who I am as a mother, I want to be known and seen as me, as a person with their own thoughts, opinions, ideas, desires... I just want to exist.
Nothing more I dislike than hearing a pity party, or dealing with a 'woes me' attitude from someone who is otherwise capable. So, I can understand why someone might feel the same in regard to me, or even to my situation, or life in general. And to them, I have this to say; Until you live my life, leave me the fuck alone. Enjoy being who you are, because you have an identity. You have not been lost in the roundabout of motherhood, you still have a life, a likely enough future, and a name. Do you know what it is like not to have a name anymore? Do you? When you simply become "MOM", then and only then will I listen to your know it all, this is how the world works, and what you should do with it tone. When you become a mother, then and only then will you be capable of understanding the personal sacrifices that I have made to live through the past 10 years worth of hell, and make sure that my babies made it out alive... Maybe even then you won't understand, or believe what I have lived through. Until you live a life of isolation, and have to learn everything about people in your 20's (rather than learning from birth forward), then I am not interested in your little "Get over it" speeches. I'd love to see you in my shoes for a week, and see how medicated you are by the end of it (oh, and by the way- I function without being medicated- it's called "facing fears head on").
This may very well be the point at which I accept that, I am not the best person for the round the clock caregiver position at the moment. I have done anything, and everything within my meager mommy powers to provide my children with the coping mechanisms that they'll need to enter the big, bad, scary world. That's all I can do.
The absolute need for my life to consist of more than ass wiping, booger pickin, laundry washing, food prepping, alphabet song singing, boo boo kissing, monster under the bed chasing, has arisen.
At one point, some years ago, I had aspirations. I had dreams, visions of what I would be doing right now. Nowhere in those dreams did everyone I know call me "Mom" (might I add, even people who I did not personally shit out).
The slightly sick part is, that regardless of who you were in your past life, you are expected to be consumed by motherhood. It is an unwritten law of American society that you suddenly become a baby talking, tushie pinching, breast vs formula feeding debate champ, who is also connoisseur of baby wipes. It is expected of us to simply give up who we are for the ultimate fulfillment of being a mother. Sorry, this isn't working for me. I'm not a Brady. I have a brain in here somewhere *shakes head* yep, I can still hear it rattling around. And that brain tells me that there is more to life than reproducing and caring for young. Given, its a rather important part for some people, but it is not the end all, be all of human existence either. I cringe when I hear someone say that they "Never felt fulfilled by life" until they became a mother... Now they sit at home all day watching stories, and eating junk food. Yep, that's sure some fulfilling life you have there! what ever happened to your career, BTW?
OK, so some people would say that I am ragging on my own kind here, but I disagree. I feel that I should not be defined by motherhood. THEY do.
I have this need, this desire to mean something to someone other than my children (and immediate family). I don't want to be known for who I am as a mother, I want to be known and seen as me, as a person with their own thoughts, opinions, ideas, desires... I just want to exist.
Friday, March 12, 2010
What Now?
I am at a crossroads, and have not the foggiest which road to turn down... All I know is certain is that I must choose one, or be known as the perpetual fuckup.
Maybe I should explain (perhaps I should refrain). Ah, here goes... My parents, in an attempt to keep me "pure, and good" withheld me from society. I was their golden child, the one who showed potential, the one they wanted. Tested a higher IQ than both of my parents @ the age of 5, when my mother was convinced that I was "special" and took me to a sting of specialists- Only to find out that I was brighter than she was. Whoda thunk?
So, they illegally homeschooled me. There is no record of my education. Period. State laws required a minimum of yearly testing, reporting the scores to the state for the purpose of grade advancement, and statistical purposes. They opted out of ANY reporting. I was simply a ghost. The only record of my existence up until the age of 15 (when I became pregnant, entered the system, and became just another statistic) was the date of my birth, and a hand full of random (and RARE) doctors office visits.
When it became evident to me, some time around middle school, that I needed outside influences in my life if I were ever to become anything of worth, I asked to be placed in a public school. Only to my astonishment, I found out that it was not possible, my parents would face jail time if they were to attempt to do so. The result was that I was continued at home, completely isolated from society, as I had always been. Eventually that backfired, as I said, resulting in pregnancy.
Now, here I am, a 25 year old mother of 3. In the eyes of any potential employer, completely uneducated. I can not even compete for an entry level position that some illiterate 18 year old fresh out of HS can! I am "Unqualified".
Now, let us compound the situational difficulties here... I can not pass the GED as it is now, because it was revamped last year. A little explanation due? Yes, yes... I had a drug over dose about 8 years ago. I almost lost my life, actually, I did. I was brought back... NDEs are always fun, they change things. I lost a lot of memory as well. Mostly mathematics, I regained the stutter that I had lived with as a child, and several other difficulties that I am still coping with today. After spending several months in study, it became apparent that NO progress was being made. I maxed out all of my other test pacs, but math... FUCK!!!
I also do not have a valid Drivers License. When I was in HS, there were several laws passed in the state of NC regarding student grades and eligibility to acquire your DL. Students that dropped out of HS could not maintain a DL, it would be suspended or revoked, as well as students that did not maintain a C- average. Seeing that I was not ever actually IN school, I was not eligible.
Those laws have since been changed, but by the time they were I was living on my own, and used this wonderful thing called Public Transportation. I had no car, no money to get one, and did not need one. Boy did THAT change!
Upon moving to SC in 2006, I learned just how badly I needed my DL. I was married to a man who refused to sit in the passengers side of a car with a woman driving- he ripped me out of the car on several (more than 15) occasions, becoming increasingly violent each time. I finally gave up on learning to drive, it was certainly not worth having the living shit beat out of me. So, here I am now.
I want to be productive, I want to be someone my children can look up to. Not simply their mother. I want to be financially independent, and yet I realize that I likely never will be. I will have to have help from somewhere... And I would rather die than be a welfare mom. The lowest of the low, the scum of the earth, they do not aspire to ever do more than be a leech.
What now? What the FUCK now?
Maybe I should explain (perhaps I should refrain). Ah, here goes... My parents, in an attempt to keep me "pure, and good" withheld me from society. I was their golden child, the one who showed potential, the one they wanted. Tested a higher IQ than both of my parents @ the age of 5, when my mother was convinced that I was "special" and took me to a sting of specialists- Only to find out that I was brighter than she was. Whoda thunk?
So, they illegally homeschooled me. There is no record of my education. Period. State laws required a minimum of yearly testing, reporting the scores to the state for the purpose of grade advancement, and statistical purposes. They opted out of ANY reporting. I was simply a ghost. The only record of my existence up until the age of 15 (when I became pregnant, entered the system, and became just another statistic) was the date of my birth, and a hand full of random (and RARE) doctors office visits.
When it became evident to me, some time around middle school, that I needed outside influences in my life if I were ever to become anything of worth, I asked to be placed in a public school. Only to my astonishment, I found out that it was not possible, my parents would face jail time if they were to attempt to do so. The result was that I was continued at home, completely isolated from society, as I had always been. Eventually that backfired, as I said, resulting in pregnancy.
Now, here I am, a 25 year old mother of 3. In the eyes of any potential employer, completely uneducated. I can not even compete for an entry level position that some illiterate 18 year old fresh out of HS can! I am "Unqualified".
Now, let us compound the situational difficulties here... I can not pass the GED as it is now, because it was revamped last year. A little explanation due? Yes, yes... I had a drug over dose about 8 years ago. I almost lost my life, actually, I did. I was brought back... NDEs are always fun, they change things. I lost a lot of memory as well. Mostly mathematics, I regained the stutter that I had lived with as a child, and several other difficulties that I am still coping with today. After spending several months in study, it became apparent that NO progress was being made. I maxed out all of my other test pacs, but math... FUCK!!!
I also do not have a valid Drivers License. When I was in HS, there were several laws passed in the state of NC regarding student grades and eligibility to acquire your DL. Students that dropped out of HS could not maintain a DL, it would be suspended or revoked, as well as students that did not maintain a C- average. Seeing that I was not ever actually IN school, I was not eligible.
Those laws have since been changed, but by the time they were I was living on my own, and used this wonderful thing called Public Transportation. I had no car, no money to get one, and did not need one. Boy did THAT change!
Upon moving to SC in 2006, I learned just how badly I needed my DL. I was married to a man who refused to sit in the passengers side of a car with a woman driving- he ripped me out of the car on several (more than 15) occasions, becoming increasingly violent each time. I finally gave up on learning to drive, it was certainly not worth having the living shit beat out of me. So, here I am now.
I want to be productive, I want to be someone my children can look up to. Not simply their mother. I want to be financially independent, and yet I realize that I likely never will be. I will have to have help from somewhere... And I would rather die than be a welfare mom. The lowest of the low, the scum of the earth, they do not aspire to ever do more than be a leech.
What now? What the FUCK now?
Friday, February 26, 2010
So on, and so forth
Ever have one of those days where clarity of thought resembles the horizon? It is as a straight drawn line on blank paper, all that lies below that line is filled into the darkness of the land or sea, while all above is the potential reality that can only be sought by those who would defy fear.
Often I have been told that I think too much. I believe that I may not think enough, or that I am too slow to categorize what has been analyzed. That I am always second guessing a determination that is clearly cut and dry.
Continually, I am amazed by the decisions that life would have us face. Something, an opportunity, a chance for gain that may come only once, is a monumentally blessed occasion for one, and a point of grief for another. I am torn between being happy, putting on a face, swallowing my anguish, moving on- Or fighting for something that I know is unattainable. Eh, the world will not end... But it will certainly contain less joy.
The simplest things are the hardest to attain, and to maintain. The past year, if its experiences have taught me nothing more, have taught me that much.
So, here I sit dissecting my thoughts, in a desperate scrap with my emotions, trying to regain control over what I fear is a complete loss. Attempting to remind myself that the sun will rise and set on my emotions, people will be birthed, and people will die. Nothing in the world really changes, except for my own personal quality of life. And what of it? I make the decision to be happy. Or do I? Is there some unknown criteria which must first be met in order for happiness to occur? Perhaps there is.
When all else is said and done, what do we have in the world but hope? You can carve vast mountain ranges into depth-less caverns with none more than water, and mold opinions and beliefs with no more than persuasive seeding comments... Hope does not abate this fear, which is born from reality- not from negative, paranoid, or insecure thoughts.... Lots of unanswered questions.
Often I have been told that I think too much. I believe that I may not think enough, or that I am too slow to categorize what has been analyzed. That I am always second guessing a determination that is clearly cut and dry.
Continually, I am amazed by the decisions that life would have us face. Something, an opportunity, a chance for gain that may come only once, is a monumentally blessed occasion for one, and a point of grief for another. I am torn between being happy, putting on a face, swallowing my anguish, moving on- Or fighting for something that I know is unattainable. Eh, the world will not end... But it will certainly contain less joy.
The simplest things are the hardest to attain, and to maintain. The past year, if its experiences have taught me nothing more, have taught me that much.
So, here I sit dissecting my thoughts, in a desperate scrap with my emotions, trying to regain control over what I fear is a complete loss. Attempting to remind myself that the sun will rise and set on my emotions, people will be birthed, and people will die. Nothing in the world really changes, except for my own personal quality of life. And what of it? I make the decision to be happy. Or do I? Is there some unknown criteria which must first be met in order for happiness to occur? Perhaps there is.
When all else is said and done, what do we have in the world but hope? You can carve vast mountain ranges into depth-less caverns with none more than water, and mold opinions and beliefs with no more than persuasive seeding comments... Hope does not abate this fear, which is born from reality- not from negative, paranoid, or insecure thoughts.... Lots of unanswered questions.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
When The Swell Reaches The Break
I know that I am not well, in many ways more damaged in, by, and through my efforts to right the sinking vessel of my mind. The heart floats, but everything else sinks like a paper boat.
Oddity seems to pursue me wherever I turn, and in the realm of interpersonal connections it seems to swell to the break and come crashing over. For what was apparently far too long I failed to realize that it was not that I attracted oddity, but that oddity loves company (much as misery does- that is for another day though). I was not a defect that attracted what the world would perceive as toss-abouts that could not stay on the current, and were flailing about in a ceaseless drift of societal rejection. Fact was that I was a source of comfort, a ground wire to reality, and the sounding board on which thought lives were fine-tuned. Likewise, these other 'damaged' people have been my refuge through the first 25 years of my young life.
Today, today, today was the beginning. Today was in so many ways, symbolic of rebirth- And from the ashes I rise. I am no phoenix. I do not believe in reincarnation, in a spiritual realm, in the possibility of higher power. This is it, this is life and I am going to get only one measly shot at combining the elements in my brain, self managing pain, fear, joy, anger, apprehension, hope, even love in such a way that I am able to contribute something to those who are saddled with the burden of attachment. I believe in life. I am but one tiny insignificant fleck of carbon being hurled through the cosmos on this currently crusty chunk of molten rock.
Things I say. Things I do. Things I mean. Thinks I think (thanks Seuss). The places I'll eventually go... No one knows, but there are apparently a couple of insignificant flecks of carbon floating in close proximity to me, that would like to see me accomplish something significant with my insignificance. In so many more ways than my feeble mind is capable of contriving expressions to make clear- I owe them. Particularly him, for he was the only one who has insofar expressed confidence that I could succeed. I owe the effort to those who would see me well, see me as I once was... I am still in here somewhere. In a tiny hidden heart shaped box I have lived not for weeks, but for years (thanks Kurt). The lid is off, and the keeper of the keys is attempting to lock me back in.
Shut my eyes and pretend I am blind, I leave the rest of the world behind. My mind alert, heightened to the light that others exude. It is bright, it id deep, it is stunning. I stand expressionless in the doorway of my mind, feeling this blinding energy consuming me, and I am afraid. I open my eyes upon this light, blinded and suddenly in the darkest of nights. Adrift on a sea of memory, where from the deep the monsters come, roaming, homing in on my brightly flashing beacon of fear. I too, have my own light...
As I open my minds eye to the ceaseless waves of paralyzing fear, it is in that fear which I learn to shine- I will blind you.
Oddity seems to pursue me wherever I turn, and in the realm of interpersonal connections it seems to swell to the break and come crashing over. For what was apparently far too long I failed to realize that it was not that I attracted oddity, but that oddity loves company (much as misery does- that is for another day though). I was not a defect that attracted what the world would perceive as toss-abouts that could not stay on the current, and were flailing about in a ceaseless drift of societal rejection. Fact was that I was a source of comfort, a ground wire to reality, and the sounding board on which thought lives were fine-tuned. Likewise, these other 'damaged' people have been my refuge through the first 25 years of my young life.
Today, today, today was the beginning. Today was in so many ways, symbolic of rebirth- And from the ashes I rise. I am no phoenix. I do not believe in reincarnation, in a spiritual realm, in the possibility of higher power. This is it, this is life and I am going to get only one measly shot at combining the elements in my brain, self managing pain, fear, joy, anger, apprehension, hope, even love in such a way that I am able to contribute something to those who are saddled with the burden of attachment. I believe in life. I am but one tiny insignificant fleck of carbon being hurled through the cosmos on this currently crusty chunk of molten rock.
Things I say. Things I do. Things I mean. Thinks I think (thanks Seuss). The places I'll eventually go... No one knows, but there are apparently a couple of insignificant flecks of carbon floating in close proximity to me, that would like to see me accomplish something significant with my insignificance. In so many more ways than my feeble mind is capable of contriving expressions to make clear- I owe them. Particularly him, for he was the only one who has insofar expressed confidence that I could succeed. I owe the effort to those who would see me well, see me as I once was... I am still in here somewhere. In a tiny hidden heart shaped box I have lived not for weeks, but for years (thanks Kurt). The lid is off, and the keeper of the keys is attempting to lock me back in.
Shut my eyes and pretend I am blind, I leave the rest of the world behind. My mind alert, heightened to the light that others exude. It is bright, it id deep, it is stunning. I stand expressionless in the doorway of my mind, feeling this blinding energy consuming me, and I am afraid. I open my eyes upon this light, blinded and suddenly in the darkest of nights. Adrift on a sea of memory, where from the deep the monsters come, roaming, homing in on my brightly flashing beacon of fear. I too, have my own light...
As I open my minds eye to the ceaseless waves of paralyzing fear, it is in that fear which I learn to shine- I will blind you.
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