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. 

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.  

Rage – it’s not all about you

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“Do not go gentle into that dark night..” said Dylan Thomas, is exactly what I did today. I didn’t not go gentle into myself which pushed me back out into rage. 

“Dr. Now would be a good time for you to get angry” “that’s my secret Captian, I’m always angry”. A dialogue from the Avengures. That’s me. I’m always angry, but I very very seldom show it. But like in one of my last blogs I also said that the safety I’m feeling within my bf is allowing me to open myself. And my rage has finally been displayed. Torn myself apart to show my true colors to someone I love. It’s been since my divorce that I’ve let this side come out. More than 2 years, maybe 3. But this bad? I’m not sure. 

It was a build up I’m seeing. One event after another, stress piling on to of stress. Pain upon pain.  “You hide it so well” “how could you not show it for so long?” Says my Mamaw as I tell her my dark secrets of living in my past, and how it’s become to creep itself back into my life. 

Two nights ago I woke up hyperventilating from a dream of murder. I’ve been over exercising at the gym. Working tirelessly in the yard to gain something, to show myself what? Then my bf comes at me last night about how his dad thinks I need to spend more time with him at church. How a good “successful” family is a “church going” family. I have faith but in my own way. I don’t condone Christian faith nor do I not believe I just have my own way of going about it. I as raised in church and I hated every moment of it. Being  teased by the kids in Sunday school, in youth group – not feeling welcome by anyone there. Judgmental is all I see with Christian’s yet my boyfriend is different. He has a strong faith (which I do) but he doesn’t judge me for my way of believing. I pray with him and his family and I go to church if it is required of me to show my support for him. But I won’t go every Sunday nor do I think it’s necessary for a successful family. 

This was just one of the straws the broke the camels back this morning. Upon the conversation of church and his family and his faith, I began to work hard in the yard, letting steam out but then I hit a plateau. I needed a piece of equipment I didn’t have so I stopped. I made peace with my boyfriend and desired make up sex. But what I got was nothing and a sexual energy build up that made me more mad. Then I became crazy. I got my clothes on for the gym to blow off steam and had my phone and keys to head out. Then…

He said “it’s not all about you” I lost it. I threw down all my stuff grabbed my hair walked into the bathroom, fell on the floor – “it’s not all about me?” Kept throbbing in my head making me crazy – what about all the times I don’t “get off” and he does? I felt the world collapsing – why was this making me so crazy?!? 

This happened in less than a minute but it felt as if time had slowed but my mind was not there. I could only witness. I was helpless in controlling my actions, feelings and rage. I couldn’t lay still my hair was being pulled from my scalp. I felt like this was it. My last straw. I got up and walked out. I saw my massage table neatly folded and zipped in its protective case with my clothes drapped over it from working last night. I cant remember if he said something when I walked out of the bathroom into the room. I was calm. I looked calm. I held my breath afraid to let any energy release from my body. But I couldn’t hold my breath forever. 

As soon as I placed my hands on the massage table over the clothes I lost myself. I breathed out a whirl winded fury of energetic rage that Over took my mind and actions. I detached from my senses. I threw the clothes across the room, I don’t remember if I said it or thought it – idk that it matters to anyone but me, but it felt as though I screamed “I can’t do this anymore!” 

It wasn’t a “do this” as a being in a relationship anymore it was can’t do life anymore. I really have a hard time understanding what life means and what the point of it is. 

I pulled my massage table off the wall so it began to fall and I began banging as hard as i could on it. This is where my sight left me. I felt my knees drop and I hit some thing hard with my hands. It must have been the top of the wooden table. Then soft. The cushioned part of the  table. I banged on it as hard as I could with closed fists, I pounded the life out of it. Did I wish it were me? 

I probably looked like a monkey beating a drum with long arms stretched toward the ceiling using every bit of length and power I had. The next thing I know I’m falling toward the floor. Now struggling for my life to escape a grasp I’m unaware is real or imagined. I struggle. “LET ME GO!!!” I struggle helplessly to break his grasp. I begin to scream and cry at the same time. I don’t know what’s going on. 

He said “shhh, it’s okay, I got you. I’m here. Stop fighting it. I’m not letting you go. I got you.” 

The long minute has passed and we’re on the floor. I can’t move now, only cry. It’s not that I can’t move because of him, he let go. I can’t move because I paralyzed myself with rage, guilt, pain, memories, thoughts – but mostly memories and illogical thoughts. 

I wanted to reach out to kick, punch, hit, swing all my arms, legs, and head just to get away. But it wasn’t him I wanted to get away from – it was myself. 

I continued the cycle of hating myself. Angry, guilt for being angry, confused as to why I’m angry, pain of past memories, then illogical irrational thoughts of the future, then feeling stupid for feeling that way about things that haven’t happened, not understanding why I’m thinking that in the first place, now I’m back to me laying on the floor. Where did my time go? How did I leave my body here to race with my thoughts. My body feels the time. It wasn’t long. But my mind feels eternity. 

He’s still rubbing my back. Did he leave? He’s speaking to me, words he always does of comfort and safety. Im here, Im not leaving you. I love you. It’s okay. 

I begin hyperventilating- he doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him. He tells me to breath slowly, but I can’t. Just hearing him speak reminds me of the unworthiness I feel to have him choose me to love. Why does he love me? Am I faking it or is he? Have I faked it this whole time? Or has he? I’m loosing myself again. My mind chokes with my throat and I get light headed. I feel sick. 

All this perception of life. All this confusion, miscommunication because I don’t see life the way you do or he or she does. What’s going on in the “physical world” that’s keeping us from peace? 

But peace and freedom are found when we cease to be. 

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. 

Thoughts on my thoughts 

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The end result I can never manage to create. I have a story, I begin to write but the words only create a long misunderstanding of what I want to say, what I want the reader to see, to understanding… it’s like having the image of the Mona Lisa in your head and drawing a stick figure upside down. I started with this beautiful story and all that comes out is misrepresented words to the new world. 

It’s like trying to write a book and all I can do is write a summary without giving away the ending because I don’t even know it. I have so much I want to share but expressing it doesn’t come easily. 
Any tips? 

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. 

Peace on Earth

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The relativity of time, the balance of life. The perceptions of each and the ghosts of the things unknown. Living in a world full of misunderstandings and teachings of absurdity. We misunderstand because one “has to be right”; it’s “my way or the high way”  I feel there’s little acceptance of any of it. Respect the nature of all existence, of all people, of all and any life – including that of the smallest insect. Who am I to take or to judge or to hate? It’s your way, but I have mine – don’t send me to the high way because it’s not the same as our way. I’ll still see you on the other side regardless of endless bliss, heaven, nirvana, joy, love, peace where ego, self, space and time are no longer in existence to any matter (and I mean that as physical and rational matter). We are all here to experience. Simple but complex. Peace is every breath, and every moment between.