“Do you love me?”

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“DO YOU LOVE ME?!?” I screamed into the phone, thousands of miles away. 

“Yes of course I do” his calm voice choking me. 

“Then why? Why didn’t you try?” I sobbed hanging my head between my legs. 

“I did try” he said. “Every time I called, I told you I loved you” 

“But you’re not here” I whimpered. 

“I am there, I’m with you” he took a deep breath in, “how can I forget you?” 

In an empty parking lot on the side of my car I sob. Alone, empty, helpless. Death can take me now. 

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Dreams vs Reality. 

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It’s is possible that dreams overlap reality? As I drove my car a dream took over all the senses and it was like I was living the dream while I drove but it was my “reality” I know I’m awake… right? I mean as I type this I’m in “my reality” and it was here that my dream overlapped. It’s not the first time it’s happened i just never knew how to explain it till now. It’s not dejavú – it’s not that it happened before, but a man was in my dream was a truck in my reality, a stop sign a door… it overlapped I knew what both were there was definite distinction between the two. 

I have a theory/viewpoint on how this “reality” is. It’s close to Mayans and Shamans and how we live in a dream. Everything that happens happenes within, everything I experience is because of the perception that it’s exists – but just like a dream it’s “not real ” but it is at the same time. Like non-duality. Something can’t exist without the other but nothing exists at the same time. I believe in string theory too where everything is connected in energy. If I move my arm I pull on someone else string across the universe. I have that much of an affect. But in another plane it’s not real, but it is. 

So anyway as my dreams overlap with reality I find myself having trouble understanding life… what is the point? As I view space we are so minute yet here we are worried about our hair or what clothes we wear. We are so bound by our own gravity we can’t look up to see the stars. 

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. 

Disassociation 

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Where you know it’s happening but you’re watching. When you feel your body but can’t control it. Where you understand but don’t act. Numb. Fights inward. Fights outward. Life. Acceptance? Grief, GUILT. What is it? 

Words can’t describe, because words don’t experience. If I place my hands, just there you’ll understand. But you can’t, you don’t accept. 

I give, give, give… to nothing. What do I give? My life, my energy. Does it matter? It only is matter. Matter and their workings. Energy. I put my energy into you. Then what? Push back, flaming death back into my face. But from under it comes. From myself. Was it I who pushed? Did I give to receive this? 

Words, distraught. Words, misunderstood. Words, painful words. They mean nothing. 

But if I place my hands just there, maybe you can understand. I repeat this why? Because you’ll never understand. Never. You will not understand because you are not me, you don’t need to understand, so why speak? Silence, just, patience, time; tried and true 

Fight, fight again, with me with you. Feel the push. Feel. The. Push. When I place my hands just there. It’s true. My hands, they don’t lie. My hands can’t lie, they can’t speak. Truth is hidden, it’s hidden from above, below, under, in, out, around. Forever truth rings in a song. Music so beautifully, painfully, emotional. The music of us. 

Disassociation of life. Reality? Truth? What is it? 

The Little Psuedo-Sibling

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It’s like a little sibling that isn’t really there, at least that any one else can see. But you know. It’s like a voyage to another world with this singular mind that has a companion. Yet the mind is expansive – how else could it create this false world? 

In objectivity, the sense of the other stays. Here is my sibling. My other mind in which argues with me. In which neither really exist. Yet I listen to our banter – or is it their banter? Is it me that I’m agrueing with? Or am I watching the argument? 

So I watch. Both subjectivity and objectivity. Who is who? Complain about this, yet in the same breath award the thought. Yes, this is a good idea – but don’t actually do it because it’s stupid. Wait, what? 

I’m trapped in this confusion. This mind that thinks even know someone is reading this blog to plot against me – and I’m not talking about a sibling reading my diary, the paranoia goes beyond that. Like the police or CIA are reading my words to say yep she needs to be taken out. We can’t afford to let her talk. Or much more eccentric the aliens are reading it from the future saying yep she needs to die before she exposes the secrets. 

I have secrets you see that only me and my sibling share. That I watch being talked about, but that I’m saying. Greater than myself these ideals come to me. Greater than any world or universe. There’s much more meaning than just a thought – it’s beyond the mind capablies – but how do you ask, can I think of it if minds can’t perceive it? Because i don’t exactly “think” it, but I do at the same time. It’s more than a thought. 

And I don’t even know how that flowed to create a compete thought but that’s what I got.