There use to be…

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A time in my life where I would listen to this music over and over and over hopin it would stir something in me, courage maybe to get my cowardly self up and kill my self. I hated bein me, I hated having to wake up, feel the way I did atoneing for my actions daily. I hated my life in a way that was so simple it made sense to end it all. What was this purpose? My presence is only hurting things, the planet, life. Another mouth to feed, another person to take care of, another tax payer living to pay bills. As I put the gun to my head I just didn’t understand what was keeping us all here why do we have this “survival” gene encoded in us. What makes us fear? Why do we fear?  All I knew was that I needed to go. Not to a far away place where my troubles resided still but to another place of another time, of another field, another dimension.  

I had my pick of any gun I wanted- i just separated from my husband (he kicked me out of he house) I was living with my friends ex bf who was a gun collector – most fully loaded some illegal, sitting in this room I choose three. She and he both knew I had been baker acted twice once for suicide, yet they still put me in this room to live till the house we were going to live in was finished remodeling but I had no choice because I had no where else to go… the last time I went home to my family was the first suicide attempt. 

So it’s around midnight thumb on the trigger for a long while safety off ready, waiting, I thought “I have nothing to live for, what’s the point? I have nothing, I’ve done nothing,” and I felt worthless… Then it was like a light bulb came on with two things… One; I’d feel awful if they had to clean my blood stains off the wall and two; that’s my purpose; TO MAKE all those questions mean something and my stubbornness kicked in and I thought I’ll make my life worthwhile, I’ll make my life memorable, I’ll make it a point to live. I rebelled against myself. It wasn’t until later I found my way but it was a stepping stone and a promise, I was by no means “better” or happier, it didn’t make me feel any better but I put it down with intention, not cowardness. I put it down knowing the journey ahead could mean more than just paying bills, more than just getting by

But as I write this here now I see that the last 3 years so much has gotten in my way. And I allowed it. I could give it all up, move away. Never to return. But where’s the life responsibility? How do you tell your brain damaged mother I’m never coming back? Who’s life is in a bad situation… how can I let her life be bad why I try to make mine? So I continue on this path of guilt. 

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The Surviving Battery. 

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I search, I search beyond myself to find what it is I need. Under  the stars, over this hill. It goes on and on. Soon exhaustion takes over me, and I loose control. I need to be fulfilled. So I fight, I kill for food. I steal when I need water. I am human. I pillage for my own life without regard for yours. I reap the soil and suck out it’s life to create my own life. I fight for my own survival. They say it’s survival of the fittest, right? 

But what my inner spirit needs, the whole to my very existence, the battery to my body needs I repress. I am human. I hunger for love. I thirst for desire. Instead of finding life within, I take life from the outside. Of course my body needs maintenance but what kind of maintenance is good to a car that has no battery? It can’t even be started. It’s as though we are all batteries wondering why our cars won’t start. We are looking down in our hood at an empty space where we would, could fit but we are looking for outer sources to try to hook up and while something may work it doesn’t quite fit appropriately, or doesn’t lay very long. 

So we take things that we think fills our life’s. We kill and steal for substantial feelings. When all we need to do it ask. Everything is provided. Everything. 

Yet, our fear hinders our ability to see. Our “desires” of “the hunt” keeps driving us, this minimially efficient battery. But love, true love, our spirit/soul, that’s the true battery to life.  

Safety =Impulsivity 

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It’s when you feel safe you’re able to be yourself, is it not? When you were a child before bad things happened, you could “act out” because you felt safe around mommy and daddy because you knew they loved you. Until they punished you. Then you couldn’t fell safe. The safety you felt within them was gone – and they safety you had was taken away by the safety itself. How can you trust safety as an adult if it was taken away by the very means of being safe? 

As we grow we either act out because we feel unsafe so we want to rekindle that safety in someone else because we can’t find it in ourselves or anyone on the outside or we quit acting out. We become implosive. Hating ourselves but not letting anyone see it. As teenagers we were well behaved. As adolescents we go to college and be good little boys and girls for the safety we wish to find. We find a person to love and become attached until that person acts out against us and we no longer feel safe around them to be ourselves – to “act out” 

So we move on to something, someone else. Or if you went the earlier way, drugs, alcohol finding the next high to forget, or to feel better to not care about safety because you don’t believe safety has ever existed. 

But what if you’re caught in between? Where you don’t know whether to keep trying to find safety and continue to be disappointed and finding ways to “forget” or to “feel alive”? And by doing so breaks the safety for another so you harm that safe relationship? 

As I feel more safe with my bf I’m finding I’m acting out more. I’m on a path to destruction, not because he makes me feel that way but because I’ve never acted out. I was the child every parent wanted. Even as a baby I slept all through the night at least 6-7 hours about two weeks after the hospital. My mom said I was the best behaved child and everyone wanted me. How do you think that made me feel? To be an object of envy? How do you think that made me feel to kids my age who’s parents would say wow I wish my child would be more like you – why can’t  ou be more like tara? Uh hello we are both right here. 

Friendships were hard enough for me because I was different as a kid but you don’t have to make them worse lady. 

So now my bf makes me feel safe – I frequently hear why are you acting like a child? Or quit being a kid. This breaks me because I just want to play – I want to be able to “act out” I have to make up for lost growth in life. My impulsivity isn’t a normal impulse wherein shops, eats (although I do that more often than I should), do drugs or drink, it’s more of spontaneity in packing and leaving/moving or I get weirdly impulsive like a cat would. Biting scratching, knocking things over messing things up just because I get overly hyper and can’t contain my energy. Then just as soon as it came on it leaves. Boom just like that a 10-15 second (if that) bust of crazy then I’m okay. The biting though on my boyfriend will play back – and just like a cat I’ll fight harder until there’s a point where I don’t know limits and I’ll start hiting and I’m afraid of myself at this point. I’m not doing it to be mean or malicious I just can’t contain this energy and it explodes like a ballon; once you pop it you can’t recontain all the air that was once in the balloon… or like a cat – Start scratching their belly and they bite and kick their back feet against your arm. Then as soon as they attack they stop and run. That’s my “impulsivity”

Papers to Describe Me

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He gave me two stacks of paper. This man in a white coat holds the power to label my insanity. He tells me to go back to my room and read them to see which one I thought discribed me better… how am I supposed to know? He’s the doctor anyway. I held in my hands this banquet of words lined perfectly with pictures of sad women and men, looking out of a window trying to escape their mind, when I feel all they really want is to escape slavery. 

I gentlely grip the papers as he continues to speak to me in mindless words that seem to be a manuscript for all the inpatients. I feel as though every smile ever expressed on my face is now falling with my down turned lips. The gravity of society, pulls them away from the gentle crows feet wrinkles from my eyes that I so willingly expressed as a child. Running through the woods singing with the birds and absorbing all the suns rays through the canopy. As I breath in now to find I’m stuck with barred windows and bolted doors and I wish I could be free. 

Not just free from this prison of “sanity”, by this cookie cutter of humans this medication turns me into. I don’t want to be normal. I want to live! I want to feel alive. Not the alive you get with an adrenaline rush the alive feeling that comes with being free to choose, without laws and regulations. I feel like I knew that time. I feel like I still know. Like I’m waiting for a ship to become visible to take me away to my real home. 

Yet, I sit in this seat across this man telling me what I am, not who I am, in this description of how people should act in this society. Fuck that. 

Rage begins to boil inside my being. I want to reach across the room and rip the man apart who talks in a monotone voice, with no reason, about who he thinks I am. I want to scream and tell him to shut the fuck up, to ask him if he even knows he’s being a conformist to a “man” who no one sees. 

All my muscles relax before I show him my rage and I’m stuck in this hole longer than I’m gifted. My whole body relaxes, it’s like poison running through my veins paralyzingly me, burning holes and leaking my life force out into my muscles. They want so badly to contract, but my brain shuts out the will to move. I’m frozen with anger. I’m frozen to society’s grip on me. 

I finally hear something that’s like “you’re free to go”. Free?! How is going back out of your office into a hall wall with other locked rooms free?  Unlike some of the patients here I am not threatening enough to be in a straight jacket, but this level of the building I don’t think anyone is straight jacketed. 

One person I remember screaming and yelling one night. I feared he would come into my room, hurt me. Rape me. My mind wandered to the possibilities of what he could do before any of the nurses could get to him, and even if they could, would they be able to stop him? Panic filled me with escape routes. I couldn’t escape. Illogical imagination  filled my head with what would happen. The next day I wake up with no recollection of ever falling asleep. What happened to him? To me? What is this place? He wasn’t anywhere to be seen in any of the groups or therapies. And as my mind wonders it becomes unrealistic. 

They took him away to the lower level below ground where no screams can be heard and they practice illegal treatments to reduce rage in “the rebellious” for the coming when we all uprise against “the man” and take back our Mother…

Okay I’m laying down again. But as I lay in my bed the papers are still in my hand unaware until now. I sit up again. My memory of this is fogged. I feel as though I’m locked in a room filled with a single light to give me a dimmed view of the words. I’m locked in a cell with no way to see, hear or speak to the outside world. I’m confined to a lonely chair with a Lonely table. Cold Shackles cross my arms and feet. I can’t move till I finish these nonsensical paragraphs of who I am being labeled as. He wants me to tell him later which stack of paper describes me the best, as I believe I am. 

As I read these papers I’m filled with the belief I am those things.  I’m a “borderline” I have PTSD. Both of them fit who I am, what makes me. The chain breaks and I am released back into my room. I believe what he says. 
There’s therapy session after therapy session, and after those; groups and things to learn to put in our tool box to fit into society better. 

I walk out of my room. Groups and therapy are mandatory your first inpatient visit. I slump, head down, defeated. Shoulders turned inward. I hated this place even more. My child inside kicks and screams as I repressed her; she cries to be set free. To rebel. I silence her. She can not live here. 

Being Pulled From Reality

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Time seems to be speeding up as I will soon face plant into a brick wall, then continue on through it. It feels like falling but without reaching terminal velosity.

When you fall normally, it feels as though you are leaving the place in which you stood. You’re being separated from the stable ground to the dyer attempts to stand again. You fall to your side with a heavy head to plunge face forward. You normally don’t feel the pull of the gravity that pulls you from where you stood. You think of loosing your balance and simply falling fretfully but here I was pulled from stability. 

A while ago when I lived on the west coast of USA, I turned into someone I fear to this day. A woman that didn’t take life seriously, who would rather die than to face reality. 

As the moon rose in the sky and her face pressed against the push of wind from the rawring ocean, her tears went dry as did her mind. Numb and alone. Hair follicules stood at attention to the push off the winter wind.  Waves crashed onto the beach and surrounding rocks; she stepped forward. Her mind blank and focused, she smelled the salty condensed air of the Pacific Ocean, the moonlight tinkling the waves as they ricocheted off the large rocks, she continued forward. Into the freezing ocean she walked, she felt her boots fill up with thickening desire. Initializing shock from the water, her body made the attempt to stay warm and shiver but her mind refused to shake. Like the sinking titanic, water began to rise with no possible outlet. Her mind was her sinking ship, why not have a body to fit? 

Unsteadily she tripped over coral reefs towards the towering rocks filling her jacket with a salty calm, her eyes fixed on the Boulder ahead. With her feet numb, she forced herself up on the neighboring boulder. She rose out of the sea while the tide came in violently crashing onto her rock. The darkness did not show her the space between the rock and her target boulder and she slipped between them. Her throat filling with ocean and the waves pouring on top of her. She grasped for the rock and slowly climbed. The cold rock stealing the little warmth from her body through her hands, she reached the top. Shivering from the short journey she looked down around her at the waves growing to pull her into their home. To make her one with the sea at last. They cheered for her bravery, the ocean audience grew louder as her decision was made final. 

She closed her eyes and swayed with the wind remembering all her desires scuba diving to be one with the sea. She smiled at those memories to be put to sleep. Even more memories came penetrating her thoughts of warmth with clouded skies and black cold. She quickly opened her eyes yet the darkness sourrounded her. That darkness of cold and of skies. The numbing darkness she felt when she began.

She looked out past the crashing waves onto the horizon where calm overtook her. She paused and for the first time felt relief. Beyond the crashing of the waves and the push of violent, cold winds, she saw peace. She saw a glimmer of hope. But again looking down the waves calling to her; just one step they said as they sprayed there cold welcoming onto her face. Just one slip and you’ll be home. 
She looked out again now conflicted with hope and desire. A hope for calm, and a desire for a peaceful end. But how peaceful would that end be? Being pushed into rocks until she fell unconscious only to wake up to her choking on her decision to go down with no way out – a divers worse fear. She turned for the first time and looked back toward the beach. Her stomach was uneasy. Her boots squished as she adjusted her weight from one foot to the other, a cold shiver went up her spine. She closed her eyes tight. She had lost her mind. 

New Beginings – eating habits

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So, as life would have it, I have finished school, passed my state exams, and am on my way to becoming an LMT. I am so proud of myself for accomplishing something so big (to me). I need to remind myself and stay strong.

A new path means new transformations and new everything really. I know I have been wishy washy with what I think I want. Today I had a lot of triggers, a lot of unwanted “things” and I felt horrible and yea today was an awakening day for me to say the least. How can I be a person that people want to heal them if I’m still struggling on working on me. The good thing is I am able to turn it off when I work on others – it’s strange, but maybe that’s why I love it so much is because of my ability to “turn it off” when I’m creating space for someone. I love creating that space for them.

So if you have actually been following me, you will know that I have a past ED. Well today, as it would go an old friend from Hugh School reconnected with me and when I saw her, it was like her energy was scrambled, like I couldn’t look into her eyes, but i don’t know if that was my “uneasiness” about being around her – i didn’t recognize her bc she was SO skinny. Granted she’s taller than me so it’s easy to look super super skinny, then she starts talking to me about her diet, like shes ready to change out of her “not eating ways” but said it very nonchalantly, like 8 years will come crashing down of her ED (i saw signs of it in high school) and she’ll be able to change her habits by changing to a vegan diet… she asked me what I ate all the time… I couldn’t answer… i couldn’t even answer to myself, like hey that’s what I ate today… I am refocusing my mind towards food. Food is good. Food is nourishing. I am not glutteness. I am healthy. I am strong.

My problem is (and has been for a long time) that i think the number on the scale is the best thing for me… I just really want to be healthy and happy. for some reason I am unable to feel happy when I feel like I weigh so much. I’m not overweight, i’m not “fat” I’m just not super skinny. I would like to go through a new journey. A journey through self-realization through my poor (soon to be good) eating habits.

I want to go on a spiritual meditation journey to allow myself healing through the body. I need to get massages/bodywork 2x a month and get better understanding of myself ❤

Like most people I make excuses for things for fear of judgement, fear of rejection. I dont eat meat, dairy, or eggs. I’m vegan (but I eat honey). how much more judgemental can people get with me? lol That’s a lot to make fun of someone for yet here I am stuffing my face with the “unhealthy” vegan items. Did you know oreos are technically vegan? thats right look on the back, there is no milk or eggs in them… but i digress. my goal is to become more health/food conscious in a positive uplifting and rejuvenating way. It all starts right MEOW!

Hope for me

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SOOOOO just about everything has resurfaced. Sometimes in class, people will ignore me, everyone. I know that seems selfish and I try to just let it go but when it’s becoming more frequent and all the time. It’s hard to learn when I can’t ask questions to the teacher. I don’t talk a lot and my questions seem valid. IDK. thats one issue. Another thing that happened – my ex talked to me about how much he missed me and how he was wrong – we both were. we were both at fault. But this time he wanted to tell me how much I had made a difference in his life. how I encouraged him to go to school and I was super supportive and if it weren’t for me he wouldn’t have complete college. I’m unsure how to take that. and then someone called me about a program over the phone for people like me – depressed, coaching, life therapy – more stuff resurfaced. THEN someone calls me and tells me to say “don’t you dare go back down there. Don’t get pregnant you can’t handle that in your life right now, and you better not quite school, you need to complete something in your life… WOW OUCH! the next day I didn’t go to school – first day I’ve missed all year. Then I go to see my mom – shes brain damaged and can’t really think or function “normally” well she has to live with my aunt and grandfather, and they have been saying awful things to her – she doesn’t know any better, and she can’t help some of the things she does – why do they need to pick on her and push her down – wen she was talking to me I had to leave bc I started crying.

Then my bf and I were playing games together but my computer broke so I wasn’t able to play – I work 40 hours a week plus phone calls on nights and weekends and I go to school till 11 pm 3 days a week. Well one night when I get home from school, I say I’m tired and I would like to go to bed, he continues to play till midnight – I can’t sleep. I ask him to come to bed with me. He does but he doesn’t seem happy about it. I ask him if it’s okay he said yea, he’s just not tired – he falls asleep before me. I’m laying in bed awake – can’t sleep, can’t think straight. I just felt like I didn’t want to do this anymore. I just wanted to get up and leave right then. Say you know what – I was right I wasn’t ready for a relationship and just leave – but I didn’t want to make any rash decisions so I tried to talk it out with him – didn’t work so we just had sex and I was finally able to go to sleep.

I’ve been having weird awful dreams lately too… all this within the last 5 days…

I have been trying to read a new book that helps with being centered aware/present awareness/oneness. all that. and I’m trying to practice it. but last night just iced the cake and I wanted to just go far away. IDK where but just far.