Situation Pimp

last of summer is delight

2010-09-01T06:47:00.004-04:00

"The last of Summer is Delight
Deterred by Retrospect.
'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review
Enchantment's Syndicate.
To meet it -- nameless as it is
Without celestial Mail --
Audacious as without a Knock
To walk within the Veil."

____________________________

- Emily Dickinson, The Last of Summer is Delight

voluntarily drowning

2010-08-28T12:44:00.003-04:00

"my bars are filled with broken bottles and my nightstands are filled with open bibles"

______________________
~ lil wayne & eminem

to end is to begin

2010-08-10T18:45:00.002-04:00

If I commit suicide, it will not be to destroy myself but to put myself back together again. Suicide will be for me only one means of violently reconquering myself, of brutally invading my being, of anticipating the unpredictable approaches of God. By suicide, I reintroduce my design in nature, I shall for the first time give things the shape of my will.

ANTONIN ARTAUD, "On Suicide"

Lammas Harvest Ritual - 1 August

2010-07-31T15:50:00.003-04:00

The power of the Harvest is within me. As the seed falls to the earth and is reborn each year, I too grow as the seasons change. As the grain takes root in the fertile soil, I too will find my roots and develop. As the smallest seed blooms into a mighty stalk, I too will bloom where I landed. As the wheat is harvested and saved for winter, I too will set aside that which I can use later.
______________________________________________
source: http://www.dowhatyewill.com/lammas_ritual

an idiot on the wrong side of the door

2010-07-30T10:10:00.004-04:00

(my Facebook "Note")

the past few months have been stupid. besides fucking annoyingly ridiculous (and one horrific experience), there really is no other way to describe it. in an effort to keep things private and limit my long winded rant to a few paragraphs instead of my normal dissertation, i will skip to the events of this morning...

here it goes....

today i wope up with energy all ready to work out and enjoy one more work day til the weekend. now, even more energized post-work out, i went to get food for my cat and an atkins breakfast bar for me. returning with the food, i went to open my bedroom door but the fucker was locked. i turned the doorknob both ways (cuz you know, THAT makes sense), pushed on it (making sense again) and then called my cat's name - as if he had something to do with it and could help me get in. obviously it still didn't open. then it hit me - the door locks from the inside! how the fuck does a door lock itself? perplexed and now confident my cat wasn't responsible, i walked around to the other door and tried to open that. it was locked as well but i already knew that cuz i locked it a year ago. (worth a shot) i tried the main door again in case it changed its mind and felt like opening the fuck up. its mind wasn't changed, so i hit it. i knew this fiasco would make me late for work so i went to the kitchen to use the cordless phone (my cell was in my room) and, of course, the damn little bitch wasn't charged. (shocker) if the phone was mine i would have hit that too. soon it dawned on me that the best way to charge a phone is to plug the son of bitch in (genius). so i did. i started to get ready in all ways that i could without a change of clothes, my glasses, etc., so i would be less delayed for work when i finally, with the powers of my mind and a chant of "open sesame", got the door open, or until my landlord could help me - whichever came first. my attempts at telekinesis failed, as usual, so i decided to check on the cordless to see if it had an adequate charge to call in. it did. so there i was calling in to say "i have been locked out. i am waiting for a key. i have no idea how long this will take so i am officially calling out. should the door be opened before the end of my frickin shift, i will let you know and come to work immediately." this was the stupidest reason i have ever called out. it is a friday, which like a monday, is never a good day to call out. basically i looked like an irresponsible moron. (not the first time, i'll admit). because i can be neurotic sometimes (ha! she said 'sometimes'!), i began to panic about what my employers would think of this foolishness. to get through the panic, i decided to clean. (yes mom, i said clean). underneath my law and art history books i found some bills. i almost freaked out cuz they were obviously late until i realized i haven't made money doing overtime due to reasons alluded to iin the opening paragraph) so i couldn't pay them anyway. (wooo, what a relief!) next i cleaned out my refrigerator which is the size of a keg so i was finished in 3 seconds. but i found sugar free jello and ate it. hey, if you are going to stress eat, be thankful it's sugar/carb free. i tried the door again. why? who the fuck knows! maybe to remind myself that i called out for a real reason and i tried all i could to get it open so i could actually show up for work after being out so often (referenced above). or maybe because i thought the bastard door got over its anger at being hit and decided to open as a gesture of forgiveness. apparently it was still mad. i decided to do crunches. (if you are going to be locked out you may as well have toned abs). i considered going to work anyway - fucked up hair, the boy shorts i slept in and bra-less. a very hot and appropriate look. (culdn't call friends to help with clothes cuz i haven't memorized a number since i got my first cell phone nor could i even go with my oh so sexy sleep clothes because my keys were in my room too and i live way too far to walk) so i cleaned my bathroom. i remembered that i had left my laptop on the "kitchen" table last night (took long enough, ass). so i then decided to write this note. (lucky you)

so here i sit... outside of a locked door, messing up punctuation and grammar, bitching about shit no one on facebook cares about, wondering when the hell i will gain access to my room.

good times.

eyes

2010-07-20T15:23:00.004-04:00

i woke up just a few minutes ago....
though i haven't woken up completely....
not today or any day.

i assume one day with all the stretching, eye rubbing, and caffeine chugging
i will wake up for good

i fear, however, that when the eyes close again at night
all of my waking up will fade
and when they open again
i will have regressed back into the sleeping
child?
adult?
no, child
i was prior

the child i still am now.

i see things that an adult sees through these 31 year old eyes
but i feel them as a toddler would

raw
new
scary
threatening
abandoning
traumatizing

maybe that was just my child eyes
and maybe that's why they closed
and never again opened

coulda been worse....
that is what i always say
because they always said that...
all of those "theys" in my life...
trying to reduce my pain instead minimizing my experiences....

i couldn't take ownership of anything i felt...
it was always "too" & "over"
too much
too far
too loud
too sad
over reacting
over exaggerating

coulda been worse....
and i guess i should be thankful
and i am... i really am

but whatever it was still sits on my eye lids
heavy and strong

__________________
tag later

to be purged of me

2010-07-18T20:20:00.005-04:00

"i've freed myself from this compulsion of eating. when i wake, i am empty, light, light-headed; i like to stay this way, free and pure, light on my feet. for me, food's only interest lies in how little i need, how strong i am, how well i can resist -- each time achieving another small victory of the will; one carrot instead of two, half a cracker, no more peas. each gain makes e stronger, purer, larger in my exercise of power, until eventually i see no reason to eat at all."

____________________________________
http://www.blue-dragonfly.org/welcome.html

my mouth, my legs

2010-07-18T10:24:00.004-04:00

just like my mood disorder - which changes my diagnosis upon each type of swing... cyclothymia, borderline, bipolar 2, dysthymia... all of them - my eating disorder constantly changes.... anorexic, bulimic (laxatives - hotness, i know), binging/overeating... EDNOS... all of em...

i am a normal, healthy dieter for a little and then i get addicted to the weight loss and the associated attention... then i get obsessed and take it too far.... the attention makes me feel "on stage" and at first, i love it.... but then it makes me feel "exposed".... "vulnerable"... a "pre-victim".... so i wana lose more.... anything to make them stop texting me; stop asking me on dates; stop checking out my rack or ass since i starved them off of me.... i am afraid of the borderline doppleganger psycho slut that lives inside of me - hidden under layers of fat and sobriety.... she comes out when i am thin.... when i am drinking.... and she sluts her way through the night, through the work place, through the taken and unavailable men... all and any man....

when fat they don't look
when sickly they don't look

i miss the looks but know i cannot handle them

so i bring the attention and determination back to the opening/closing of my mouth
it is the only way i can control the opening/closing of my legs

walking with storms

2010-07-17T13:01:00.002-04:00

I long ago abandoned the notion of a life without storms, or a world without dry and killing seasons. Life is too complicated, too constantly changing, to be anything but what it is. And I am, by nature, too mercurial to be anything but deeply wary of the grave unnaturalness involved in any attempt to exert too much control over essentially uncontrollable forces. There will always be propelling, disturbing elements, and they will be there until, as Lowell put it, the watch is taken from the wrist. It is, at the end of the day, the individual moments of restlessness, of bleakness, of strong persuasions and maddened enthusiasms, that inform one's life, change the nature and direction of one's work, and give final meaning and color to one's loves and friendships.

_______________________
"unquiet mind" kay redfield jamison

standing outside the orphanage

2010-07-17T12:44:00.006-04:00

i wonder if my lack of self identity and the need to be defined by others has "forced" me to reject the real me and that is why i can't find her...

and when i think i see her out of the corner of my eye, looking at me from the orphanage window, i run away in shame....
shame of what others might think of her (this "real me")...

shame i haven't taken care of her...
shame i abandoned her...

a daughter i gave up for adoption who asks why

_________________________________________
(horribly written... but what-fuckin-ever)

pretending to be normal

2010-07-16T12:07:00.004-04:00

my dearest friend has started a website about eating disorders - anorexia specifically... i want so badly to contribute to her site but as any reader of this blog knows and anyone who's ever talked to me knows, i cannot write cohesively... how can i write about this mental bullshit in a way that shows i have it together? since i don't. how can i write not in vomit burps but in sentences? how can i convey anything i am feeling without hard, grotesque metaphors and severe language? how can i make this madness - both ED and general mental shit - seem girlie, gentle and female? i am still a madwoman! how could i possibly show myself as sane??

ambivalent anxious fear

2010-07-08T06:48:00.004-04:00

"people with ambivalent-anxious-fearful attachment styles long desperately for intimacy but their world is peopled with failures. they ask adulterers for loyalty and they ask liars for honesty. they hide their true feelings, forget the hiding place, and rage when no one can find them. they sharpen the edges of ingenuity against the abrasive whetstone of a withholding lover. security is always elsewhere. preoccupied by its pursuit, they walk into strange rooms and fold their bodies in strange arms to study their own strange faces in the reflection of a stranger's eyes."

"Girl In Need of a Tourniquet"
Merri Lisa Johnson

no one at all

2010-07-08T06:40:00.004-04:00

"it isn't any particular person i want to lie down with and make my own. it isn't anybody at all. it is the feeling of being taken care of that i want to pin down and rock my hips against. sling a leg across it and fall asleep."

"Girl In Need of a Tourniquet"
Merri Lisa Johnson

uninvited touch

2010-07-07T16:18:00.003-04:00

i stood there, frozen...
a mannequin on a railroad track...

thereby letting them continue...
allowing his 17 year old pelvis to crash into my ass...
allowing the force of his body to push me further into the pantry...

in my mind i forcefully yelled at him to leave me alone...
but aloud it was more like asking for a favor

he listened but just for a second...
perhaps being meek and victim-like worked in my favor...

perhaps it didn't...
shit continued..
shit i cannot type up right now...
not sure why...
could have been worse...

over clothes
yet violated...

trapped and scared
like a stupid little animal

i let them - in a sense
by freezing like i did
by going numb
and not screaming for help...

but i fixed that today....
i stood up for myself...

hungry bitch

2010-07-06T20:40:00.002-04:00

she is back and to be frank, i am not the least bit unthrilled....
though i suspect in time i will be...
i am no child and not even close to naive...
though often i wish i was...
i know where this road leads -
the road she leads me down....
a sickly
skinny
bony road....
where people tell me i look sick
rather than pretty...
where people listen at the bathroom door to hear if i have my finger down my throat...
(wrong behavior, wrong diagnosis)
a road with medical problems...
(hell, they have even started)...
an obsessive road
where shit-fuck thoughts rape the spaces in your mind...
and tell you you are fat....

goal weights become starting weights...
food becomes an enemy
mirrors become the tattletalers
life grows smaller
reduced to be controlled

yet it is all an illusion...
for you have no control...
instead she controls you.

vodka-rape thyself

2010-07-06T16:05:00.006-04:00

the bottle opens
the liquid pours
like keys to my locked mouth

i may not want to
but i don't say no...

i think i initiate it, even....

filled with regret and shame
i wake up the next day
scared

scared of myself
scared of others
scared of what i know
scared of what i can't remember

scared of the truth...

the gloaming

2010-06-29T17:32:00.004-04:00

my thoughts have energy
frenetic energy
and potential...
sluggish while exploding...

desire to run outside...
hidden beneath the canopy of a forest.... or wood...
exposed by moonlight that catches and shines

trees moving hypnotically by unseen winds
grass at feet
smell of soil at nose....

hint of the etheral
spells
mystery
and other-ness

fragile yet strong
intense yet calming

anything
anywhere
without walls....

stuck
and frozen
within them...

yearning for
the gloaming

yearning for
out

goodbye victimization - hello victim making

2010-03-17T00:49:00.006-04:00

if there is a precise moment when the sex-addict codependent turns into a sex-addict...

that moment is....
wait for it....
wait for it....
NOW!

this in between

2010-03-14T11:46:00.007-04:00

it is impossible to write when happy... or normalized by meds, as it were - because let's face it, i am never happy-happy... dysthymia parked its ugly fat ass in the last parking space in my brain and refuses to move. there are fleeting moments of what appears to be contented ok-ness (perhaps i shouldn't say appears to be... perhaps they ARE in fact real... but they occur only when distracted... during overtime... with friends who discuss their lives and their problems incessantly enough that i cannot hear my own thoughts). when all is quiet and nothing distracts... that is when the dark comes back. not intense darkness that allows for writing or creating but just blahness. not nighttime but a drawn curtain. a drawn sheer curtain that still lets in just enough light to prevent the room from being mysterious... keeping it a boring bedroom... not conducive to introspection.

i feel just enough downness to want to write and to be able to relate to writings of my past, but not enough to feel it enough to actually write anything of substance. like this entry - this banal and dry entry where three, if not more, dots connect disjointed thought-sentences.

in a sick way - in an exaggerated for purpose of expression, not literal way - i kind of miss the real depression... not the suicidal thoughts... not the numbess of the existential, but real feeling... that comfortable sort of cuddle feeling where you close in around yourself & are ok shutting out the world. when you lie in your bed and stare into space, usually tearless - however, if those tears DO fall, you are not connected to them. it is instead just a physiological response to a conversation between your brain and your tear ducts. no one let you in on that conversation but you know from the warm then quickly cool drip down your cheek that one took place.

this in between.

it has no character. no body. nothing to hold on to. it sickens. a low level hum of discontentedness without rememdy.

trying desperately to find its origin, nothing fits... things could be better of course, but life offers nothing concrete to blame. things are just devoid of deep joyfulness... they are just things. superficial things that can neither be responsible for lasting happiness NOR can be they be responsible for this inner indifference and the blah it creates.

mosquito bite vs laceration.

one annoys, distracts and discomforts while the other causes actual pain. today, i would prefer to be lacerated then to continue scratching this damned little bump.

people will never understand such dread and issue over such a silly thing as a mosquito bite. hell, i hardly do myself. but a laceration they respond to. as does my own brain. makes sense to be upset about a cut... makes no sense to get this rattled over an itch.

insomniac word salad

2010-02-04T19:13:00.002-05:00

i am trying to get to sleep. but sleep eludes me.

am filled with panic or is it dread? of what am i afraid? is it even fear, or am i just assuming it is? i don't think this is fear. a sponge does not fear water as it becomes saturated by it - it just grows and expands.

i am a sponge and life is water.

my heart, mind and lungs are in disorder - beating, expanding, ruminating at different speeds.

that come down from coke feeling: the awful vortex where your lungs will never get enuf air 2 fuel the demands of the heart... that feeling that life is useless and all the highs you felt were illusion/delusion... and at that moment of torment you feel sure that all of life's highs - not just the coked out night preceding- are an illusion... convinced that post drug use, your brain suddenly knows all....

i am disjointed.
separated yet held together by tendons of torment.
i am an oral nerve bundle exposed to morning orange juice.
i am a razor bladed cut bathing in rubbing alcohol.
i am afraid of fear and fearful of being afraid.

i am not one but many... staple bound to myself.
i am the me that never was but will always be.
i am the walrus... goo goo goo joob (fuckin hate the beatles)

if i could birth my thoughts, they would be maggot covered.
if i could vomit my panic, it would be acidic meth

my brain is a ferret on a double espresso.
why can't day be night and night be day?

that after movie feeling - the reel is still turning and the projector paints your surroundings... where trees are darker and vibrant - and street lights less street and more light... and headlights penetrate retinas and break lights illuminate faces....

you walk like she walked in the film. she is actor, you are viewer and her character is pretend but that pretend bridges you together... 4 you can be pretend....

swallow then wear the character....
your movements change - you hold your pencil as the character would.
you have method-acted yourself out of your skin - and you speak screenwriters words....
you have no words... for you are fiction.

yet it is at this moment that you suddenly feel real for the first time.

this is why i can't sleep.
my mind is a hamster wheel in a child's bedroom..... going nowhere fast....

my skin bruises without getting hit.
my mind startles without loud noise.

hyper-vigilant in the dead of night...
waiting for the boogie man to get outa my head.

*************
sept 2007

suffocation - RP

2009-11-04T04:37:00.002-05:00

i am not afraid of being alone.
i am afraid, rather, of being left.
i do not fear never being hugged.
i fear, rather, the end of one.

the moment the embrace stops;
the door shuts;
the call ends;
the lips part;
i am instantly paralylzed by an intense oxygen-sucking grip -
an awareness that something has ended -
the fear that i won't be able to take another breath...
until the next embrace begins,
the next door opens,
the next call starts,
and the next meeting of lips.

i fear that single moment -
immediate suffocation -
where i cease to exist -
and become a parasite without a host...
a gapping hole with no end...
a mermaid without the sea.

luvautumn repost - NOVEMBER 2007

the too good cut - repost

2009-10-29T16:47:00.003-04:00

i cut myself too good the other day. the knife butterfly-split a few layers of skin and before the blood could pool - and it barely did for some frustrating reason - i got this sense, as i stared at the layers of my skin,
that i WAS human and alive - that the work i would have to do to pretend that wasn't true and to cut deeper and harder would actually be more grueling and frightening than the work of recovery.

i wanted scars before - BRIGHT RED LINES SCREAMING TO YOU ABOUT MY PAIN AND SIMULATENOUSLY MY ABILITY TO WITHSTAND IT - but now i just pray that the sides of sliced flesh will meet up again and eventually close.

i dont want to see those layers again.
i was better when i just scratched the surface.

though strangely comforted at my sudden awareness that i AM alive and i AM a person that CAN DIE, i hate that i saw my insides like that. i was happier being miserable thinking i was invisible. now, suddenly things matter... i felt like when i made THAT particular cut, i cut God too. like i was pulling weeds in someone else's garden - that i ignored the keep out sign and proceeded into territory that wasn't mine to enter. i realized then how far away from suicide i really am. (because if i haven't the balls to see my insides ripped to exposure, than i have no business believing i can handle the afterlife - be it heaven, hell or a cold maggot filled eternal rest. if i can't handle the opening and exposure of all the layers of life i would have to sever to truly die, then i'd be a pussy to take pills or swallow bullets. i thought i meant business - that one day i would actually do it (though this wasn't what i WANTED, you see - something i just assumed would occur.) but now, carbon monoxide daydreams seem like weak mocking laughter saying "you couldn't handle real life OR real death. you ran from both and straight into the nothing.

i felt sad for my arm. like it itself was a thing, an innocent baby of a thing, that got hurt just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time (or connected to the wrong shoulder of the wrong person). i wanted to clean it and bandage it - not show it off or leave it raw. i want it to heal.

i finally got deep enough to where there was no pain - just a strange, almost automatic instintual need to heal. a place where the blood takes it time to show and the nerves never say hi... it is just you - your eyes - and your innocent layers of delicate flesh. ashamed for having seen something you weren't meant to see, you wait for the blood to quickly cover it up.

i saw what wasn't mine to see.
i now know too much.
i tredded on God's private truf.

my cuts, which i took so seriously before, now seem like little emo bumper stickers for all to see along with my chipped black nail polish.

but this one - this one felt like an afront to the Creator of life.
like dorothy, i peeked behind the curtain.

i may still want the cold trickle and sting of surface cuts. but i know now that when it comes to really getting close to the vessels and strings and muscle that can maintain or halt life, that i am out of my league.

i was made to be like a wiccan who doesn't believe in the devil so then confronts a demon dressed as a spirit guide. naive, innocent, vulnerable and shocked.

let me write about death and my need for relief.
but never again let my knife try to find it.
for now it isn't some abstract notion - but a reality.
the reality that there is more to dying than i care to deal with.
that perhaps i was better in my ignorant bliss with its little lines of scabbed surface skin, then i am with the destruction of so many layers (chances) of life.

(SP repost - october 2008)

****************
image pulled from net. not mine. not me.

sanity is a curse

2009-10-25T18:07:00.002-04:00

you can't escape what you know to be real.
no one will try to talk you out of reality.
instead, they shove it in your face.
and usually, its at the precise moment you are trying to forget it.

rip that shit up

2009-10-07T19:59:00.004-04:00

i hate small talk.
i like big talk.

big fucking talk so big the letters rip-shit bloody your mouth when you spit the words out.

yes. that is the kind of talk i like.

the sting never lasts long enough - DE

2009-10-06T19:05:00.005-04:00

little tiny slits on my forearms.
people can see them so i have to find a new place.
am i trying to show them?
cuz i know i don't really want anyone to know. well, i don't want them to know for sure, that is.
i am too old for this - certainly i am.
but if i hide them, i may forget i did em at all.
and i can't forget.
i don't always cut for the initial release (see below)
i cut to show myself i can take it.
and i can.
(big tough me with my supernatural ability to handle little cuts)

i dont want to be a 30 year old wana be goth cutter
i am not emo, i am old.

but i have lost a sense of myself
and the stretch rip of skin,
the bubble of small blood drops
and the scrape remaining and displaying,
well, they keep me in place.
in a place.
in space
and time.

i won't wither away and die in an anxious demyleinated ball of nerves shaking in the corner of my room.... i will live and bleed and be.

i am now.
i now am.
now, i am.

first, with knife in hand, i WANT the sting. an intense, if not horrific, sting.
but then as i press knife to skin, i fear it will hurt too much, so i cut like a girl
and then, then, when the knife is back in the glovebox and the sting stopped stinging moments after it stung, i am upset... i wanted it to last, was afraid it would and then regretted that i didn't let it.

typical.
ridiculous.

the reason for the bloodletting changes....

sometimes i do it because i am so over the top with emotion, i need a pressure release pronto. other times i do it so i can prove i can take it - the pain, that is. maybe sometimes i do it so i can be the cause of my pain rather than another or the world in general. but today - or lately, as it were, i cut to see color. i cut to feel something. i am not depressed, nope that is not what this shit is. this is numb. disconnect. shit-fuck detachment.

and i need to show myself i am alive.
a human with nerve endings
and vessels filled with blood.

same shit, different year

2009-10-06T18:58:00.003-04:00

i dry heave -
produce no food
just burps and spits of bile
and juice.
thoughts swim wordless-
unattached to language.
trees are cardboard
people are mannequins.
music is flattened
cars are props.
i dry heave -
ipecac but make nothing
just drips and hiccups of saliva
and blood.
my fingers type blank spaces.
there is no pain
for pain creates words.
there are no images
for the eye must talk to the brain.
i am a ghost without a family to haunt.
a witch without a spell.
amputated and tongue tied
with lips forced shut. (c)

REPOSTED
*luvautumn 10/2007
*luvpumpkin 10/2008

w8ing 2 be derealized

2009-09-29T20:20:00.003-04:00

"there is a part of me, not confessed or acknowledged til now, that feels threatened by the complete elimination of my private madness.

there is a world i know that heightens the significance of the perceived world by showing both its absurdity AND its necessity.
i fear that without that insight, the arbitrary routine of everyday life will suck me dry and robot-me til rusted death.

i really am a happy and passionate girl
if only they understood that paranoia comes not from my madness but my futile attempts to deny and hide it."

(c) luvpumpkin 2008

billowing silk

2009-09-28T20:41:00.002-04:00

"there's a gentle sigh which descends like billowing silk upon the soul that accepts its coming death. it's a gentle pocket of air in the turbulence of everyday life. the silk of this feeling flutters - no "flutters" is too active a word - the silk settles around you as if it has been drifting towards the earth forever and has finally found its target. the flag of defeat has been mercifully dropped and, in this action, the loss is not so bad. defeat itself is defeated by the embrace of defeat, and death is swallowed up in victory.

the hiss of the snake fades away and death touches lovingly, possessively: it's a master who pets the head of a dog, or a parent who consoles a crying child. the hours begin to roll and the days scarcely separate themselves from the nights. darkness swells like a beautiful, hushed tsunami, and the body craves calming lullabies and final psalms."

****************************
The Gargoyle
Andrew Davidson
page 52

persephone daydreaming

2009-09-10T22:25:00.002-04:00

waiting for the arms of hades to sprout from the grass
grab me
and pull me down.
waiting for the crisp pop of pomegrante seeds
between my teeth
juice on my tongue.
waiting for the cool wind-cry of demeter
signaling the birds to fly south -
the trees to release their leaves.
there is no autumn
until i fall...
and i cannot fall
without autumn.

****************
A Fall Re-Post
Posted by luvautumn at Friday, October 19, 2007

remembering the rape

2009-09-10T22:03:00.001-04:00

quote of the day

2009-07-11T14:06:00.003-04:00

"...we have no one to blame but ourselves. for too long we have ignored, enabled, or embraced the flawed character of those we've selected to protect and defend our Constitution. by lowering our standards for them, we've lowered the standards for ourselves. we wanted a life of ease, a life of little consequence and high reward. to get it, we repeatedly empowered thieves, liars, and con men, simply because they promised us ease. now, because we've trained them that repeated injury has no consequence, they've grow bold and fearless. when we do speak up, they ease our pain with pork, a steady stream of entitlements, and financial candy, and back to sleep we go."

Glenn Beck's Common Sense: A Case Against an Out-of-Control Government, Inspired by Thomas Paine

me and my Big Mac

2009-06-27T15:51:00.002-04:00

i think my head is going to explode right off my shoulders.

this bullshit administration wants to implement the "sin tax" and the "fun tax".

(i thought they weren't going to raise taxes of anyone making under $200k a year? well, i never really thought that but many naive, quixotic and/or idiotic people did)

this means they seek to regulate (or control) what we eat, drink & if we smoke because it is "bad for us". they must have forgotten that they believe the government DOESN'T have the right to ban abortion - which many people believe is also "bad for us".

there are those that do not think abortion is a sin. and i am not arguing that issue here. but there are also people who don't think having wine with dinner - a fattening, coronary clogging dinner - before going the movies are sins either. so not only has this fucked up administration decided it can try to control you by charging you when you do/eat/smoke things, it also decided that it is so amazing that it can define what is or is not a sin. (i thought it was the "evil Christian right" that was guilty of this? how silly those Christians are for paying attention to this "crazy God concept" when they should instead be paying attention to people like Pelosi, Biden, Obama and our great Congress! what on earth are they thinking??)

perhaps the logic is that if we eat til fat or dead... drink til passed out or dead... smoke til wrinkly or dead... or spend too much time at the movies & baseball games, we won't have any free time, look good enough or be healthy enough to get knocked up therefore making the abortion issue a non-issue?

the same group of people who got loud and pissy with Christians who voiced their concerns with what they consider to be sins, now wants to come up with their own set of sins. they want to at once control you and drive around with bumper stickers that say pro-choice. but what about my choice to go to the drive-thru at Mc Donalds?

the reality is if you cannot not tell a chick who is knocked up what to do with her unborn baby, you cannot tell her what to do with her Big Mac.

these obstacles

2009-06-21T09:37:00.002-04:00

For a long time it seemed to me that real life was about to begin, but there was always some obstacle in the way. Something had to be got through first, some unfinished business; time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.

Bette Howland

quote of the day (Mark Levin)

2009-05-21T16:01:00.002-04:00

"... First of all, let's go to the Declaration first. The Founding Fathers created a society, and that's what they created in the Declaration of Independence, founded on natural law, divine providence, God-given natural law, alien rights. The only thing that makes life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness unalienable is the belief in a Creator, not the belief in man or some government. Man and government can't, in the end, confer these rights or legitimately deny them. This is a huge difference we have with the statists, whether the modern statists or past statists. They believe rights are something to be rationed. If you agree with them, they give you rights. If you don't agree with them, they take rights away. They believe that they're all-powerful. We don't. We believe they're earthly."

MARK LEVIN

deja vu

2009-04-28T16:28:00.002-04:00

We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and done before, in a remote time - of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circumstances - of our knowing perfectly what will be said next, as if we suddenly remember it!

(Dickens in David Copperfield - chapter 39)

**********************
art: "Future Lives"
artist: ART & GHOSTS

He has risen!

2009-04-12T08:48:00.006-04:00

Rejoice, heavenly powers! Sing, choirs of angels!
Exult, all creation around God's throne!
Jesus Christ, our King, is risen!
Sound the trumpet of salvation!

Sanctus II - Libera

the ghosts that sits between us

2009-03-21T22:49:00.002-04:00

when he stands there talking about something inane while cutting up a red pepper, i swear it's joe.

i often have to remind myself that joe is dead.... that he left me and that he who remains in my peppered kitchen is his brother.

his brother.

a sort of look-a-like, wonderful guy without the manic depression that killed joe, standing in my kitchen.

i am supposed to be over joe - he who i found in a pool of his own blood next to the scalpel that he used to slice his wrists - his surgeon wrists. but am i?

am i over how he killed himself?
that he left me because he thought staying alive would kill ME?
how it feels now more like a nightmare than a dream - a lie than a reality?

i am supposed to be ready to date his brother.
to give it a shot with a man who shares DNA, blood and a hauntingly similar smile with a dead man. MY dead man.
i am supposed to allow myself to feel what i feel without guilt, fear, shame or torment.
i am supposed to give in to the new and true love i feel while ignoring the ghost that sits between us in bed.

but i can't seem to do anything i am supposed to.

joe is gone and ian is here.
and i can't let go of he who left
nor can i hold onto he who remains.

pancreas & table

2009-03-18T21:47:00.007-04:00

the other day, while sitting and speaking with two of the most interesting people i have met in a while, it was suggested that i practice the art and act of writing even when i am NOT in a dark place.... so tonight, i am trying this exercise - an attempt to get the juices following and the creation creating from a place of peace, comfort or at least, mental stability (however fleeting it may turn out to be).

and though i love this idea and agree that it takes time to really take hold and one day "work" for me.... i am struggling my ass off to make this happen.... to find words to describe things that are beyond description. and they are beyond description because they just r things...

like a table or pancreas.

sure, you can go on and on about the kind of wood, its finish or what sits upon it (the table) and sure you could go on and on about how it aids in digestion, its greenish color and it sits higher in your chest than you might realize (the pancreas)....

but these things don't need to be described. they say everything that they are simply by being said.

and that is contentedness.
something that just is.
a wordless state of OKness that forces adjectives to scatter and run.

"how do you feel today?"
"i feel content."
"can you elaborate?"
"nope"

it just is.
and nothing more can be said about is.
is is all that needs to be said.

****************
pic of Elizabeth Wurtzel, author

the heart & mind go running

2009-03-15T09:41:00.003-04:00

perhaps i am scared of abilify...
perhaps i am not suffering a true side effect at all - or at least not one of the medication itself.
perhaps i am freaking myself into some stupid-anxious tizzy; one that would not exist if i had control of my brain.

last night i took the first 2mg dose of abilify - first time taking it since july 0f 2008 and immediately, i felt fucked.

like the oxygen was being sucked out the room and my body being like a lung pneumothorax-ed itself into a frenzied need for klonopin, peace and a quiet mind.

today, this morning, things are no different. my mind continues to eat itself with thought upon thought upon thought. i am sure i could quite possibly explode. i want to leave this house and drive my car with the windows down - fast and faster til i get home - the new home; the private home where i can fragment and vomit my madness all over without witness or apology.

could it be the abilify - so little of it in my system?
or is this where my mind was going before i even swallowed the little odd shaped pill?

my mind is too loud and my heart won't calm down.
this isn't the hypomania i knew and loved -
this is panic - a true blue panic attack
a once upon a time stranger is now sitting with me - staring.

there is a garden in her face

2009-03-14T07:49:00.002-04:00

"There is a garden in her face
Where roses and lillies grow;
A heav'nly paradise is that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;

Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt, with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry."

Thomas Campion
(1567-1620)

inspiration for JW Waterhouse's "My Sweet Rose" seen above

looking for Peace

2009-03-10T18:57:00.003-04:00

i need help moving toward Christ when i feel this way....
this horrible way.

i am not just down - actually, no, i don't think i am technically down at all....

i am instead desperate for some kind of new world.
some kind of alice in wonderland type of strangeness....
where the land is mine to change and i am the land's to change. where nothing is as it seems and yet everything seems to be just what it is.
where bunnies stop hopping and chat with me.
where the night falls quicker and the world becomes mystery.

even in this darkness, the sun is too bright.
and i can't find Jesus when i am too interested in finding an altered reality.

i want peace and He is the Prince of Peace...
but how do I find Him when I am looking behind trees, praying for hobgoblins and fairies?

Oh Lord, find ME because I cannot seem to get it together to find You.

st. micheal, save me

2009-03-10T18:41:00.007-04:00

Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host by the Divine Power of God
cast into hell, satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the world
seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.

saran-wrapped

2009-03-10T17:02:00.002-04:00

today was the worst... and ya wana know why? cuz even tho it was a good day, i still jumped quickly to thoughts of wishful-death when anything (little or big) happened that i didn't like.

i don't have REAL peace,
but a saran-wrap illusion of peace.
a peace that is so thin it is see-thru
and so often punctured.

things can be all fine and dandy one minute and then BLAM! something like a flat tire or a letter from the bank saying i have insufficient funds or a change in classroom assignment at work can send me into a rapid and immediate desire to die.

no time to plan it or act on it - instead it is just a thought.
and evil thought that jumps out from what appears to be nowhere.

but can it really be from THAT out of the blue?
it must be stalking me....
waiting for me...
hiding behind trees, smiles and corners....

like a thought inserted into my head, it hits me with such force that i can't even imagine having the time to think of it myself.

it brings me to my knees and daily makes me ask myself when will it stop?
will i ever out run it?
or one day will it find me and this time stay.....
staying long enough to pick up the blade, or open the pill bottle

and end me forever.

(even the good) life sux

2009-03-09T18:20:00.003-04:00

i think i only like life in theory.
i love writing when the mood hits me.
i love reading when i have a good book in front of me.
i love art and long to purchase more and more of it.
but the everyday shit - i hate.
work. both the practice and the idea.
friends.
moods.
meds.

having to go to school after school to do what i wana do.
having to figure out over and over again what that even is.

i believe i will forever be haunted and hunted down by this creature of ick.
the sickening sense that i am forever on the verge on falling down a never ending hole of blackness ... and the secret hope that i fall sooner than later.

i, citiot

2009-03-08T10:36:00.002-04:00

so this afternoon, city savy me went for a nice Vanderbilt Mansion walk with a friend, Taylor, and then did some shopping. later, i got an invite to grab dinner and hit the mall with another friend, Laura. so i went home, put on some heels then picked her ass up.

after a great day with some great girls, it was time to drop laura off. after suggesting i turn around in her DRIVEway rather than back into the busy road, laura went into her home. completely forgetting the words that were spoken to me seconds before, i, for reasons known only to the clowns that live in my head, decided to blindly drive directly into a field of mud. (not the driveway)

yes.... the great city driver from NJ who has been known to make fun of the country drivers up here in mid-hudson valley ny, poured her car into a pit from which it refused to escape.

laura in nice chunky coach boots and i in my flip flops (changed out the heels during the mall trip cuz i am no longer city-cool enough to handle heels for more than an hour or so, apparently), tried to push the car out of the mistake i sunk it into.

needless to say - the car made a lot of noise, threw a ton of dirt in my face and stayed right where it was, mocking me.

laura, resourceful, smart and wonderful enough to keep it light to prevent me from flipping the fuck out, took my embarrassed and pissed off ass to our place of work to pick up anyone we could who was willing and able to move a NJ driver out of a stupid situation.

colleen and reggie volunteered without much protest (if any) and quickly came to my rescue. the three of them pushed my car, dirtying themselves in the process, back and forth til it finally budged. a few dirty and humbling minutes later, this city driver was freed from her muddy mishap!!!

i am so thankful to have friends and coworkers who didn't have a second thought about helping out a complete spaz!! and i vow from this day forward that the next time the urge to freak on someone for going the speed limit when they don't really have to cuz there is nothing but cornfields to hit, i will stop myself and remember with red-cheeked-shame, the night this city girl got dirty in the country.

quote of the day

2009-03-08T10:33:00.001-04:00

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

2 Corinthians 1:3

view from the halloween acid house

2009-03-06T21:35:00.006-05:00

today i was in some kind of lala-land-ok mood.... nothing good, nothing bad til we (the staff) allowed ourselves to go a little bonkers and play music loud on the van and actually enjoy yourselves....
but then i went to therapy and left feeling blah again.
empty and blank.

i met a good (new) friend for dinner but as always, it was about her and her horrible situation. (in her defense, it SHOULD be about her since she really IS going through something shitty and when i needed her the other week, she WAS there for me).

but later, another good friend from work needed a ride home from xxx .... and that ride turned into a conversation that brought me some joy....

at least for a little bit.

though i can't do all he and i discussed about my career (or at least not yet)... i finally free a tad free (maybe) to at least pursue same as a serious hobby.... something i can study for the pure enjoyment of it.

so whether i finish and pursue psych or follow thru with EMT dreams and do well enough to be a paramedic one day, i can still pursue my heart's passion of art history study, art collection, gallery and museum attendance and maybe even international travel (or whatever the hell else may one day turn me on)

i don't have to shut all doors just cuz i am opening one.

the halloween acid house is a home full of different, often conflicting rooms. and never have i ever been in more than one room at a time.

but perhaps i can be.
perhaps i can knock down all or a few of the walls and enjoy being all of me -
the many kinds of me -
at the same time.

and perhaps then (if not before) i can shed the weight of neurotic people (like xxx, for instance), who make me feel worse about myself than necessary....

i have to learn to listen to what is necessary and tune out what is noise. and i have to learn to break down some walls and let me spill all over the place without apology.

i have lived with the deafening sound of my thoughts for so long, i hardly know who i am underneath them.

no shrink has helped me find a way to quite them....

but i know that i am guilty of being all or nothing... i never enjoy now but take the now and try to pimp it into a new life for myself....

well, i don't want to do that anymore.

i want to enjoy the hike without having to own the forest.

"whisper" (myself in a song)

2009-03-05T18:56:00.004-05:00

"running the race
like a mouse in a cage
getting nowhere, but I’m trying
forging ahead
but I’m stuck in the bed
that I made,
so I’m lying
but if you keep real close
yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you.
I’m down to a whisper
in a daydream on a hill
shut down to a whisper
can you hear me still
eager to please,
trying to be what they need
but I’m so very tired
I’ve stopped trying to find
any peace in my mind
‘cause it tangles the wires

but if you keep real close
yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you.

I’m down to a whisper
in a daydream on a hill
shut down to a whisper
can you hear me
can you hear me
still the sound,
it dies on my lips
to fade away
and to forget

I’m down to a whisper
in a daydream on a hill
shut down to a whisper
can you hear me, can you hear me"(repeats) still.

(pic of Alison Sudol - singer of A Fine Frenzy... gorgeous, ain't she!?!?)

Whisper - A Fine Frenzy

quote of the (dead) day

2009-03-05T18:44:00.001-05:00

Nothing seemed true; I felt surrounded by cardboard scenery which could quickly be removed

~jean paul sartre "Nausea"

sociopath

2009-03-04T19:47:00.003-05:00

my dear friend just told me she was raped this weekend.
and i feel nothing.
i am not reacting at all.
why?

what is so dead and cold within me that i cannot shed a tear or a tumbling anxious stomach for a friend, a sister (sorority) who has been brutilized like this yet when i am paranoid or anxious about MYSELF, i am quick to emotion and physical pain?

how evil and dead i have become.

oh xxx, i am so sorry this happened to you and i am so sorry that i can't gather the necessary pain to share in it with you.
you didn't deserve this and you don't deserve me.

lord, be with xxx as i can't.
and lord? help me be a person again - a person FOR others and not just ABOUT myself.

oddly calm

2009-03-03T19:05:00.004-05:00

today i feel oddly calm...
is it the new mix o' meds my new doc has me on or is it instead some mean, insidious and devious in-between-land that is meant to deceive and mock me just before it thrusts me into a spin of up or down?

i shall choose to believe it is meds with a bit of contentedness thrown in.

but i am prepared if it IS the lie...

the lie i have been told over and over
and believed again and again.

art by: http://artandghosts.typepad.com/

quote of the day 3/3/09

2009-03-03T19:02:00.003-05:00

“I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.”

~Oscar Wilde

art work by: http://artandghosts.typepad.com/

melancholy phantoms

2009-03-02T22:22:00.008-05:00

i felt the phantom creep of unhappiness today... hiding underneath the student's desks, my data papers and behavioral charts.... sneaking in the door way; floating past me.......... waiting ... lurking.

as innocuous as the wind may have been to everyone else -
(they thought it just part of today's winter end weather)

i know the truth of the wind
and the truth enters me.

and though now i sit with a bit of ok-ness inside, i am still aware of it -
the melancholy phantoms
and their sticky-sweet smiles

quote of the day

2009-03-02T22:02:00.003-05:00

"the fundamental delusion of humanity is to assume that Obama is not an illusion"

source:
http://bestobamafacts.com

old skool local art

2009-03-02T21:17:00.000-05:00

Thomas Cole, Lake with Dead Trees (Catskill), 1825
Hudson River School

ophelia

2009-03-01T09:21:00.001-05:00

"The painting depicts Ophelia, a character from Shakespeare's play Hamlet, singing while floating in a river just before she drowns. The scene is described in Act IV, Scene VII of the play in a speech by Queen Gertrude:

'There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come,
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu'd
Unto that element; but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.[1]'"

source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophelia_(painting)

pancreas burp

2009-02-24T17:44:00.002-05:00

all day i felt flat.
almost stupid.
(horrible headache all day... maybe that had something to do with it)

but now i feel like i am coming down from 10 shots of espresso, 4 red bulls, a ton of sugary candy, 3 ritalin and maybe 3.5 lines of coke.

i wana reach down my throat,rip out my heart and puncture-poke my lungs.
i wana run in circles to catch up to my own legs WHILE i staple-gun my eyelids shut so i can sleep.

i think if i burped my pancreas would come flying out.

my thoughts are bolts of lightening that stop short at approach
becoming thick drippy globs of gunk that clog my brain.

i wana sleep
but like calm, it eludes me.

vacuum sealed

2009-02-24T05:53:00.002-05:00

when hypomanic, agitatedly depressed or neurotically anxious, my thoughts are too many...

they collide and scream and yell and press so tightly up against each other that i often have no idea what i am thinking. i can't tell what one thought is saying when the others are so loud.

but lately.... my thoughts instead of being too close to each other and overlapping, are now spread far far far apart....

i cannot relate one to the other and often find myself falling into the deep vacuous holes between them.

the Others

2009-02-23T17:39:00.003-05:00

like someone with multiple personalities (DID), i too have a few residing within me.
i don't lose time, however.... just control.

in therapy sessions, interviews and first dates, there is a me present that i don't get to see very often....

this wonderful, pre-packaged, saleswoman of a person who like a puppeteer, pulls open the strings of my mouth and replaces my voice with hers.

she is made up of what is truly good about me and what is wacked out arrogant about me and waxes endlessly about my abilities, insight and strengths. she makes promises the real me, the pathetic me cannot live up to - not with the "others" around, that is.

the "others" who lie to me
tell me its scary outside
that people are coming to do me in
that no one can be trusted
that i will never succeed
that i am evil, dirty, broken and mad,

the others prevent me from delivering on the promises of the Interviewer.

they leave me cowering in the corner wondering if they will find me.
praying that they won't...
and yet scared that they never will.

books & breaths

2009-02-22T20:10:00.004-05:00

i am convinced that 90% of the therapists i see don't see me at all.

they see this bright, yet neurotic woman, who has more insight than she gives herself credit for. yes, they definitely see me as very neurotic, but still, i sense that they think i am more well than i am.

the last time i felt this way, i started talking more about how i felt - what i saw in the world and how it affected me.... they put me on loads of meds - the wrong ones and they (the meds) made me nuts. so they took me off the meds and credited the meds for all the nuttiness they saw.

but there was something off
something odd
going on PRIOR to taking the wrong meds
and that something continues to go unnoticed or ignored at every therapy session.

i don't WANT to be crazier than i am
but i want to be acknowledged thoroughly.

all my current meds have done is take my weirdness and make it a tad more socially acceptable.
that doesn't sound like treatment to me at all.

nor does suggesting self-help books and breathing techniques.

seems ridiculous, really.
as if books and breaths could fix me.

Lord give me peace of mind, peace of heart

2009-02-19T19:14:00.002-05:00

"O Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in You, hoping for all things from Your goodness. You make a root flourish beneath the soil; You can make fruitful the darkness in which I find myself today. I adore You in all Your purposes even without knowing them; Your will be done, not mine. May I be patient! It is so difficult to realize these trials, heartbreaking as they are, can be turned into blessings. Lord, give me peace of mind, peace of heart, and peace of soul, as I offer You my thoughts, my words, and my action, and yes, Lord my sufferings. May they all be for Your greater glory, Amen."

www.livingwithanxiety.com

med-locked door

2009-02-19T16:21:00.002-05:00

i hate my meds.

they may take the edge off of my downs but also they take away my highs.... (the tiny high that cyclothymia allows)

but even worse than that, they took away the keys to my halloween acid house

and for that, i will never forgive them.

all over & on

2009-02-17T18:00:00.004-05:00

and so today, the day after an eerie bout of depersonalization, i sit once again at the computer feeling a little TOO "on"....
like a light dimmer pulled all the way up to its brightest, i am a giant glare in this blue room....

the potential energy inside me is buzzing up and down my legs, begging to be made kinetic

thoughts bounce around my skull like skittles dropping from a kids' hand....
they pass by quickly, so quickly that i cannot detect their message
but i feel them.
i sense them
as they crowd the space within my skull.

i know they are longing for movement & action because my body tells me so
but they won't introduce themselves to me in quiet whisper thought...

instead they hide in butterfly costumes in my stomach
and lightening in my legs

the lunatic is on the grass

2009-02-16T18:04:00.007-05:00

something is wrong with my brain.
(more than usual, i mean)
my thoughts are beyond scattered....
i simply cannot collect them.

i have no idea what mood i am in,
no idea what i feel like doing,
have ZERO ability to read a book and am certain that whatever it is that i AM doing, isn't the right thing at all.

i feel both disconnected AND uncomfortable...
therefore i must be at least a little connected to something to feel yucky about being so disconnected. (right?)

i don't feel interesting, fun or altered
but instead, i feel some evil kind of depersonalization - the shitty, "other" sort.
(not my regular experience)

i don't feel all "cool" and poetic - existential or provocative
but instead i feel flat, mismatched, automatic and cardboard.

i am not depressed but not happy.
i am simply here - sitting, typing to stay alive (to the moment)

i am not hungry, thirsty, tired, bored, active, lonely or bothered.
i am just flesh upon bone with my brain seated far far away from my mind.

***************
info to help me feel grounded (kinda): http://www.epsychology.us/depersonalization/

my prozac-ed nation

2009-02-10T18:28:00.005-05:00

"I start to feel like I can't maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don't know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don't know the answer, I know only that I can't. I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I've had it. I am so tired. I am twenty [thirty] and I am already exhausted."

this is how i felt yesterday

"... 'Madness' is too glamorous a term to convey what happens to most people who are losing their minds. That word is too exciting, too literary, too interesting in its connotations, to convey the boredom, the slowness, the dreariness, the dampness of depression."

this is how i feel everyday that depersonalization neglects to comfort me

"I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible..."

this is how i tend to feel always, but especially today... on the bus... totally disregarded by those i spoke to.... becoming a ghost - unseen and unheard, causing goose bumps only once in a while when the skin remembered to pay attention

"That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key."

this is how i feel when i am knee deep in the shit of dysthymia - which when cyclothymic, is either every other day or every 47 minutes. one never knows...

************
Quotes from "Prozac Nation" by Elizabeth Wurtzel (image above)

bleeding the snow red

2009-02-09T18:37:00.005-05:00

“And opening my eyes I am afraid of course
to look--this inward look that society scorns--
Still I search in these woods and find nothing worse
than myself, caught between the grapes and the thorns.”

~ ANNE SEXTON

****************************

do i feel this way (today)?
that there is nothing worse inside me than grapes and thorns?

no, anne, no i don't.

i feel horrid today.
worse than empty.
turned inside out,
bleeding on the side of the road and no one stops
the cars keep passing by
some drivers even wave
others seem burdened by my sadness, shaking their heads as they pass...

so i lie alone,
in this fucked up place between dying grapes and piercing thorns...
bleeding the snow red.

loosing marbles

2009-02-08T22:14:00.004-05:00

if my skull were two hands side by side, outstretched and cupped and my thoughts the marbles held within....
they would just now be thrown gently into the thin air above. these thoughts, multicolored and related as they nested in the hands, are now frozen in space and time up up up in the air... now random and unassociated.

i think something red and notice that there are other red thoughts about and can change focus to one of them instead but with their scatteredness separating them, i cannot bring the thoughts together. i instead notice not just the green or blue thoughts not to far in the distance, sometimes even too close given their unrelatedness, but i notice too the air itself between the thoughts.
the space of no thought other than the simple awareness of this apparent lack of thought.

i have ideas, plans, tasks to take up...
but now, in the air, these thought marbles just stick still, untouched, disorganized and unable to be anything other than useless balls of pretty glass.

all cohesion and adhesion are gone.

***********
(i can hardly think to write this, as i now begin to imagine the dread of day light that will come with the morning that soon approaches. it is enough to survive the night, must i also endure the day?)

brief release

2009-02-07T23:23:00.007-05:00

i did something that i have never done before. it was sort of a movie-move... in that most people, i imagine, don't do things in ordinary life that characters do in the movies.

i didn't just sit and write about the glow of the fulling moon and her pull on me, i instead bundled up and walked outside to greet her.

i stood on my deck, in completely inadequate footwear, and looked up for her.
the clouds - the thick thick weather mountain clouds - did much to obscure her face from mine, but she poked thru a time or two.

tho her face covered often in the wind rush of those clouds, the ground beneath her, crinkling in its snow melt, glowed that ethereal glow of quiet lateness.

i listened to the snow melt beneath me, heard the rush of flowing water somewhere under the blanket of snow and watched the twig of tree arms come toward me.

the ordinariness that made dreadful my too bright day of diner eating and traffic sitting, faded this night.

under her watch.

i let her call me not in theory or poetic bullshit, but in reality.
i stood outside for no suitable reason other than to be outside.
the wilderness that stretched out before me called me to walk out further
but ever mindful of my landlord as neighbor, i had no choice but to deny its call.

one day, i will walk out there.
maybe all the way to that small cabin looking building
and sit on the white chair that seems to wait for me.

my mind, so tired of the ordinary, made brilliant the night and strong my courage
so that i may finally walk outside of reality
and into moonlight.

finding myself in a line of text

2009-02-07T19:32:00.002-05:00

"the Lady of the Charts was quiet these days, and Professor Saks was humming along just fine. so what were we going to do about Elyn?"

The Center Cannot Hold
Elyn Saks

paper flashbacks

2009-02-07T10:53:00.000-05:00

i am afraid of a book.
yes, that IS what i said.
when i started reading the teachings of don juan, i was immediately brought back into memory and some other 'not now' place that made me feel sick. the same kind of sickness one feels right after taking a hit of acid or E while waiting for it to kick in. something works to become unwired and your stomach gets hit with panic.

i can't read the book.
i know this makes no sense.
but i can't.

this flu is baroque-n

2009-02-07T07:01:00.000-05:00

this horrible flu has kept me in fitful sleep. sometimes long passages of time in slumberland and other times, yucky abrupt wake-ups with hand burning and chest tightening.

my stomach, close to emptying itself, is constantly harassed by the evil that post-nasals its way down to it.
my coughs are dry and useless.

efforts to rid my nose of all that clogs it are futile and instead, i succeed in ripping only the soft skin of my face.

i listen non stop to the baroque sounds of stringed instruments and i wish i was somewhere else.
somewhere less sick
somewhere less alone
somewhere in history
where
perhaps this flu would kill me
and i could sleep away the nonsense of my body battling itself.

but these thoughts are just the theatrics of interrupted sleep and a nose irritated by tissues...
i surely have no true desire to die
but i would like the comfort of sleep,
for it is there that i am dancing.

****************************************
listening to:
Antonio Vivaldi
Antonio Vivaldi: Trio Sonatas, Op. 1
Trio Sonata For 2 Violins & Continuo In F Major, Op. 1/5, RV 69: III. Corrente
performed by: William Carter

found on:
http://www.pandora.com/music/song/paul+odette/mounsieurs+almaine

moon, tree & bone

2009-02-06T21:27:00.000-05:00

the near to full moon is so bright outside that all it needs is to hit the snow on the cold, crisp ground below to light up all of what lies beyond my window. my kitchen glows slightly and the dark tall men of bark call to me.

with bare feet still i would dare to crawl from my window - ignoring the door - and walk the cold crunch down to the plain.
there i would sit in the creases made by snowmobiles and talk silently to the bunnies that may or may not be hiding in the brush.

my skull, like these walls, trap me inside a place so plain, so ordinary that i have no choice but to listen to the call of the moon and her glow; the tree and his bark.

i would shed my fever and take off the clothes of the flu and run in just my bones, dripping blood and marrow as i go.

i would never mind those who i fear are watching for in my bones, they can no longer see such things as they secretly wish to see. i cannot be caught doing anything when only a skeleton as white as the snow it dances upon.

the violins in my head - those that spill out from old times - old baroque times - in italy, would guide a few toward me.... not the ones who watch but the others.... the others just like me who are cursed into flesh-capture forever until ash (or til the moon dream of danceable bones wakes them).

we would find each other and hold hands - listening to the scrapes they make as bone rubs bone.

a fire would glow but we wouldn't remember building one.
it would have always been there....
waiting to be seen.
it would keep us warm

the moon, she would keep us in sight.
the tree, he would keep us protected.
and the bunnies,they would join us... lending the pillow comfort of their fur.

********************
written while listening to: Antonio Vivaldi
Concert for the Prince of Poland
Double Concerto, for viola d'amore & lute, strings & continuo in D minor, RV 540: I. Allegro Moderato
performed by: The Academy of Ancient Music

unvoiced thought & liquid words

2009-02-06T18:43:00.000-05:00

"i experienced a very confusing moment, and became aware of the fact that although there was a clear thought in my mind, i could not speak. i wanted to comment on the strange quality of the water, but what followed next was not speech; it was the feeling of my unvoiced thoughts coming out of my mouth in a sort of liquid form. it was an effortless sensation of vomiting without the contractions of the diaphragm. it was a pleasant flow of liquid words."

*******************
the teachings of don Juan
by: carlos castaneda
page 26

lessons of psych field work

2009-02-05T10:49:00.000-05:00

psychotics aren't always violent & dangerous.
the mentally retarded aren't always nice & innocent.
there are no true predictable patterns in human behavior.
expect the unexpected.
plan to always go against the plan.
assume nothing, be prepared for anything
always remember that sometimes what is best for the patient is not always best for his caretaker but what harms the caretaker almost always harms the patient.

no one is what they are labeled - they are both better and worse.

today i am alice

2009-02-04T16:54:00.000-05:00

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?”

Alice in Wonderland

paranoid paranoia

2009-02-04T16:17:00.000-05:00

paranoia is creeping in....

i am uncertain of its etiology - perhaps it is paranoia that breeds neuroses or is it neuroses that breeds paranoia?

often times, it is a fear that sets off a paranoid episode and in those cases it is clear which came first - the chicken before its broken egg.
but other times, i almost feel certain it is the paranoia that comes first....

today, something started it... depression? fear? disjointed disconnectedness? i am uncertain... but something FIRST set me off BEFORE the migraine set in. once the migraine took hold and i needed to talk to my supervisors about taking the rest of the day off to rest and see a doctor, THEN the paranoia kicked in. but did it truly start at that point or was i paranoid prior to the migraine and that is what caused it?

i cannot determine if the root of all of this is lack of self like (coupled with a lack of self identity) or if the root is a mild yet chronic form of madness. do i act mad because i dislike and distrust myself so much that the neurotic ego inside my mind takes control and then inevitably LOSES that control? or do i get neurotic when i sense and then fear myself as mad?

am i mad because i can be quite neurotic and moody or am i neurotic and moody because i am actually mad?

(it is argued that those who ARE in fact mad, don't ask themselves these questions, but it also KNOWN that those who are sane do not either!!) *wink*

what is that actual trigger? the setting event? the antecedent?
how would i fill out a behavior report about myself - if i was the student and not the teacher?

sometimes i feel certain that i am being attacked, persecuted, betrayed, alienated, deceived....

sometimes i feel certain that i am evil and wretched and worthless and soon i will be "found out"...

sometimes i feel that people are watching - that there are listening devices and cameras about... and when i think about it directly, though i am quite able to tell myself it is ridiculous and insane to think such things, i still, on some very deep down level, kinda believe (or at least fearfully wonder if) it is true.

i feel that i am a shell - devoid of solids; that my organs are just emotions - ideas.... liquid; that i spill everywhere i attempt to walk and those who walk around me, walk AROUND me like they do rain-made puddles.

i feel that sometimes the words i am saying aren't the right ones and i wonder if i have lost track and begun another, unrelated discussion.
save for times when i AM hypomanic (or buzzed or the adderral has just kicked in) and i actually AM talking about many things at once, no one seems to think i am talking nonsense. yet still, i have this sense that i am and they either don't notice, don't care or have decided not to tell me.

i have bouts of depressive tears when things in my life are going just fine and those tears betray me - that my illness remains. in their mascara smudging fall from my eyes, they tell me i will never be truly well even when i think (feel) that i am; that somewhere, on some level, in some part of my mind, evil breathes and breeds.... it sets out not to destroy others but to consume the rest of my soon to be completely addled brain.

i am walking upon swiss cheese or an iced up pond and without warning, i am doomed (i fear) to fall through a hole....
sometimes, however, the holes are welcome for it is the fear of them - the fear of the fall itself - that drives me mad.

though i believe in my heart and the brain part of my mind that i am just a tried and true blue neurotic, not a psychotic, my fear of being close to the edge often becomes too much...

will i fall over and go completely insane?
or will i hover above forever and forever worry about the fall?

is it (madness) a thing that can reach up and grab me?
will it ever take me down and away from this place of fear?
or will health snatch me up first??

does either side even want me for keeps?
or am i just a ball to them in their silly, evil game of catch that when over, will be thrown to the grass and ignored for other, bigger and better toys?

loosen my chains, kind sir

2009-02-03T21:20:00.000-05:00

"lo, noble physician, the 'morn in russet mantle clad walks 'er the dew of yon high eastward hill. so loosen my chains, kind sir, for the tasks of the day await me"

HAMLET

while reading "The Center Cannot Hold", i found upon the above quote... page 196 to be exact.... and i too find it perfectly fitting for those docs & meds that bind us AS WELL AS the illness itself that binds us.

when off meds, i am at once horrifically dissociated, depressed, paranoid and anxious AND creative, deep, imaginative and alive.
when i cannot speak what i think for fear of the med or judgment that may follow, i am trapped inside myself - sicker.
but when i can and do speak my thoughts aloud, i am haunted by the fear & prescription pads of others.

when i am functioning enough to work, i am working too hard to function.
when i cannot get it together to get to a job, i am alive within myself. but to the world, i am dying.

so, doctor, the bright orange sun of morning has come - and i ask that you rid me of these meds, rid me of this illness and rid me of the constraints therefrom, for there is work to be done this day.

(and a day to be found underneath this work)

*****************************

(x-posted from halloween acid house)

we all go a little mad sometimes

2009-02-01T21:15:00.000-05:00

i am in a strange place today.
not strange in the sense that i haven't been here before
but strange in the sense that it isn't completely real.

my mind is slightly - only slightly - fractured this evening and i think i finally know why....

it doesn't want to deal with something.... perhaps the something of list making and task doing.... the something of hard work weeks and much needed treadmill rides.... perhaps sometimes when i go a little mad, i am actually PREVENTING myself from truly going bonkers....

like letting off a little mental steam in an otherwise pressure-fucked pipe.

well, the valve is slightly open tonight and i long to run down the mountain side behind my cottage, dancing and laughing under the moon.....
i wish i could stand in my hot shower for 5 hours and burn the burden of responsibility off of me.....
i wana drink wine with beautiful people under the stars
i wana snuggle in my bed by candlelight with best friends not yet friended....
i wana bake a cake for someone and then spoon it into cupcakes
i wana get on my knees and pray
and wash my kitchen floor with salt water
i wana read my book with the lights out and my eyes closed.
i want tomorrow to be yet another sunday and i wana will it so.....

tonight i go a little wacko to keep from BECOMING wacked.

don't think & drive

2009-02-01T14:52:00.000-05:00

lewis black once said in one of his routines that the cause of aneurysms very well may be that in the overhearing of something so ridiculously moronic the brain, in its desperate attempt to make sense out of it, actually pops open and hemorrhages.

i very readily agreed with this claim as i too have heard some things that i swear are the very reason i need therapy every so often and wine almost every night. but not until i actually saw with my own eyes the most asinine of things stuck next to each other on the same car, did i truly understand the potentiality of the brain breaking as it attempted to make sense out of the absurd.

in front of me while driving to NJ from my new home upstate, was a Prius (of course), sporting two bumper stickers right next to each other..... before even reading the lesion-making insanity i will share with you in a moment, my first thought was why is this tree hugger wasting all that paper with bumper stickers? isn't the Prius enough of a statement?

(you see, as asinine as it may be to advertise saving the planet using chemical glue and PAPER, it is equally asinine for someone (namely, ME) to give a rats ass about the irony of a leather jacket wearing driver and his way too stickered prius. why should i care if this man liked leather and paper AND saving the planet? who cares? let the man be.... at least he saved the planet a teeny bit with his Prius, right? that is more than i did to help that saturday afternoon. right?)

but just then, when i thought it was perhaps my over opinionated mind that might be the problem and not this Prius man, i made the mistake of reading the bumpers stickers.

one read: "Donate Life - Donate Eggs"

and the other read: "Pro-Choice: Keep Your Theology off of my Biology"

and suddenly, my brain broke open and blood shot out of my nose.

how in all holy f*** can this leather prius man believe that eggs are life AND also believe it is christians, in their wacky idea that fertilized eggs are life, are wrong for being pro-life?

i was confused.
and at that, the blood started coming out of my ears too.

is it the fertilization part that made this pro-choicer think it wasn't life, cuz he obviously thought that the egg itself was life?

but how does that make sense?

i must be wrong..... there has got to be a way to make sense out of this.... surely, his leather jacket is faux leather and those bumper stickers are made out of recycled republican skin and these bumper stickers DO in fact make sense and it is I that is just too damaged from all the head trauma from work, maybe not enough sleep or the fumes from the broken ozone layer above my eco-hazard mazda that have clouded my judgment....

it can't be that this particular man believes eggs are life when he says so but when christians say God says so they are evil theology forcers and the eggs are suddenly just biological material? because surely, this prius man isn't a complete lunatic... surely he is smarter than the juxtaposition of his jacket, car and bumper stickers would imply....

and as the blood started pouring down my face and pooling on my lap, i struggled with all that i had to understand the idiocy that stood before me in traffic....

maybe he wants people to donate eggs from the grocery store so little starving children in africa or paterson could eat and if they ate well that was preserving life. ok, so eggs equal life. ok, that makes sense. right? then the issue of abortion was totally unrelated to the donation of eggs. surely, that MUST be it!!

but at that thought, blood began to squirt from my ears.
even my brain didn't believe what it was thinking.

somehow, before i reached my parent's driveway, i had to understand how someone can believe at the same time what both of these stickers say! i was certain i was missing it - that the answer was right in front of me and that the liberals were right and i was narrow minded... and it was that narrow mindedness that was keeping me from seeing the truth.

so i continued to drive, blood soaked and weak, trying to understand this prius man in front of me.

maybe he believes abortion IS killing but doesn't think people should push their religion on him... maybe THAT is his issue.... not that being pro life is wrong but that being pro life because of God is wrong.

but then who made the eggs that make the life?
is he concerned about chicken eggs and poor children AND concerned about people pushing religion on him AND concerned about the planet but ok with leather cuz at least they use the meat of the cow too?

WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THIS MAN!???????
WHAT IN ALL THAT IS HOLY IS HE THINKING?

.... and when the hell did i miss my exit?....

stupid zebra

2009-01-27T20:01:00.001-05:00

i assume it was some oddball random one day-showing of PMDD yesterday but maybe it wasn't.
maybe my illness has taken a new shape - one that's smaller in size but not in mite... one that goes unnoticed for days and then like a crazed yet stealth jungle cat, jumps the fuck out of the bushes and eats seven whole zebras in one gnashing of its teeth.

yesterday i felt my will to live slip away.
but it wasn't that angry FUCK YOU SO KILL ME shit that usually comes and knocks on my para-suicidal door, either.

it was slow but insistent.
intense yet almost caring...
a come hither sort of courting -
like a fancy, frilly invitation to a tea party, NOT a dungeon-drool tug from hell.

and then today, POOF - it is gone.
not so much as a teacup left out to prove it was there.

and so now, i sit - alert
waiting for the jungle cat like a scared, yet intrigued stupid little zebra.

blOAted ANOreXIa (x-posted)

2009-01-22T19:30:00.000-05:00

maybe its cuz i haven't been 'here' in a while, but this place - this writing place - doesn't feel like the home it once did.

i wonder if there could be another reason....

i haven't visited my own mind in a while...
and perhaps it is THAT, not my little diary, that doesn't feel like home.

with nothing much going on -

(passage omitted)

i haven't had the need to explore my thoughts and feelings. been focused on the mundane parts of life - bill paying (or not paying, as it were), dieting (cheating), the union trying to come into my school, how to design my nice but oddly laid out new place, how to PAY for that, etc.....

my life, has been devoid of triggers.

and tho it IS is easier when the little stuff fills my day, it isn't always necessarily NICER.

i hesitate to say that i MISS pain, however, i make NO reservations about saying i miss the land of depth i reach when i am in it (pain, that is).

when hypomanic, adderalled, dysphoric, anxious, paranoid, etc.... life can be cruel, back breaking, gut wrenching - evil even.

but its unmistakable - life.

you know you are there.

feeling it.

may be shit that your eating but you're tasting SOMETHING....

something...............

i haven't much of that these days.

this is good news in many ways;
that i can be distracted by the details of life - the inane bullshit that keeps us all "civilized"......

(passage omitted)

but it is also a negative kind of news -

tho NOT DEpressed (and i praise the LORD GOD ABOVE for that!)

i AM SUPpressed.

held down & restrained by the societal imperative to be productive, self-sufficient, saited & well-adjusted.

without hunger there is no growth; no drive.

and today, though i wish for things, i am too "stablized" to work for them.

i am full.

and THAT is what empties me.

*******************
x-posted from luvpumpkin

2009-01-21T18:04:00.000-05:00

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”

will fuk 4 luv (love sick)

2008-12-31T21:10:00.000-05:00

addiction is knowing something is destructive, wrong, no longer desirable, yet wanting it anyway. Doing it anyway.
that's it - doing it, not wanting it.

i want the love.
the attention.
the proof that i exist and am worthy of that existence, that love, that attention.
but i don't want the sex.

its like driving thru the bad parts of town to get to your dealer.
you fear that behind every corner is a man with a knife or a cop with a gun...
yet you drive.
terrified during the ride.
hardly noticing the graffiti, broken 40 bottles and EZ Wide ashes.
your foot is on the pedal but you cant feel it. not the pedal nor the leg.
the car appears to be propelled by something else
and it has taken you along for the ride.

you long for the high - that longing pushes you to stay belted in the car - white knuckled on a steering wheel you can't feel to control.

the drug is the DESIRE FOR LOVE.
that's what compels you.
not the sex.
the sex is just the method.

and just like the synthetic happiness perceived after a line of coke, this sex- happiness is fake.

it lies to you.

and you lie FOR it.

letting it fuck you.

life paper

2008-12-21T19:02:00.001-05:00

my life has become that piece of paper sitting in front of a child and his fat crayon
or that self-critical artist and his charcoaled hands....

a mess of once pretty sketches and shapes, colors and images, now messed up by too many of the wrong strokes -
too many wrong shades of blue and that awfully done sketch of the model's hand.

i want to snatch this life paper by its sides and crunch it into a ball.
a big ball of broken mess that i can chuck into the waste paper basket beside me.

tho, it appears that the life upon this paper is mine and to throw it away is to throw me away -

if i do, i would cease to exist.

but if don't, i shall remain over sketched, smudgy and ugly in my mistakes, mess-ups and creative failures.

thoughts of the concussed

2008-12-12T11:23:00.001-05:00

my fuckin head is killing me!

the back of my noggin feels like it is being squeezed by an evil evil little man. the same little man and sticks ice picks in the backs of my eyes and pinches my nasal sinuses shut.

he is a dick of a man even if he IS little.

i am home from work yet another day - a paid day off. not bad. wish i didn't have an anvil on my head but whatever it takes to get a vacation.

i am supposed to go see Twilight (AGAIN) this evening with a friend. i am 30 and she is 31 and we love Edward.

we need to get boyfriends or vibrators or something or else i fear we will start taking to Troy from High School Musical. and if that happens, i will surely shoot myself. perhaps he is cute in some waxy way but somewhere along the line his image people turned him into a wooden boy - a girl-like boy who repeatedly does celine dion like moves during his performances.

i don't like wooden girl-boys who dance like celine dion. (i don't think i'd like the ones that dance like janet jackson either, if truth be told)

but i am not a hater.... they can exist and do their wooden "thats the way it is" thing - i just pray i never start to like it like it the way i like Edward.

these are the concerns of the concussed.
mock not for it could happen to you!

xoxo

seep upon waking

2008-11-17T18:23:00.000-05:00

i am not actively depressed, but as a sufferer of Dysthymia (and the one time episode of Major Depressive Disorder), i can still feel the cold ghost like hand of despair occassionally upon waking in the morning..... sometimes even after a nap during the day....

it is in these moments that i am uncertain as to whether or not i am solid. i feel like liquid seeping in many directions and suddenly aware that i am spreading apart and my limbs are separating. parts of me seep and cling back to the bed; the mattress, while other parts threaten to turn to vapor and rise above and away from me. i am thrust into sensation - a ripping separation - that what i dreamt; where i would dwell in my dreams wasn't real. or better yet is being taken away from me like some sort of punishment. reality comes crashing down on me like mountainside boulders, crushing me below. it matters not the pleasantness or evilness of that reality for the boulder weighs and breaks me the same.

my mind both begs me to continue sleep and to get up -
and my body refuses to give in to vapor.

with no real depression, no sadness about what is, while content about my job and life, i still find myself unable to scrape myself from my too coarse for comfort sheets upon this too hard - came with the apartment - twin (of all things) bed.

like low hanging clouds, around me lays a heaviness - a sense that i must lie low and hidden.

but then the guilt fights to come in.

i should be with those kids that need me.
i am a new employee and should only call out when doubled over in physical, proveable, acceptable pain.

but when the unconscious mind glues itself to the safety of your small bedroom - when no overly analyzed neurotic thought had a chance to enter or influence, it is hard to deny the imperativeness of the call. something stronger than i demanded i stay home. it came to me early in the morning when i wasn't yet awake enough to reason with or fight against it - nor was i awake enough to consciously agree with it via neurotic fears. real-er than any thought that comes to you through positive or negative self talk, it just IS.

its you protecting yourself, speaking to yourself from a place deeper and apart from your ideas of self.
and to deny it is a from of suicide attempt.

when the sun goes from gently waking you to forcefully shaking you awake and the thoughts of your ego and fears come flooding in, you cannot seem to defend your decision. yet something from within reminds you without words or describeable emotions that you did what you had to do.

i'll spend much of today wishing for the comfort of sleep while praying for the strength to do what's necessary in adult land upon the early morning ring of my alarm clock tomorrow.

the pain i miss

2008-10-09T19:46:00.001-04:00

i just realized this moment something poets and romantics and lucky people have always known. the pain of a broken heart, a longing heart, a hopeful heart and a loving heart is the only pain worth living thru and for.

depression - an absence of love or God or anything of the heart, is suffered by many. sometimes we many even chose it over the pain of yet another heart ache. i have willingly suffered this lack; this absence all to avoid another form of pain - but a pain that instead is a full pain. a pain full of life. one that reminds you that you are alive; that you can bleed - that you were worthy of blood and life and oxygen in the first place.

heartbreak can kill you but that killing can bless you for it is only the alive that can be killed.

alone, trying to run from pain has caused more pain - more death....
suddenly i have less life for having not been willing to die.

i have always felt like ophelia - the borderline, hopeless girl desperate for the love of a man who never quite commits to his love for her - outright denies it even.... perhaps today, if i am still ophelia, i can be her as she risks her life to reach for that branch... i won't reach for the long shots born in delusion, but the long shots born in love and hope. if i stumble and fall to the waters below, let it be because i reached for a beautiful flower, rather than sunk to the bottom with my pockets full of dead, useless stones.

***************
image of Bella & Edward.
i am a twilighter thru and thru!! xoxo

the too good cut

2008-10-09T19:44:00.000-04:00

i cut myself too good the other day. the knife butterfly-split a few layers of skin and before the blood could pool - and it barely did for some frustrating reason - i got this sense, as i stared at the layers of my skin,
that i WAS human and alive - that the work i would have to do to pretend that wasn't true and to cut deeper and harder would actually be more grueling and frightening than the work of recovery.

i wanted scars before - BRIGHT RED LINES SCREAMING TO YOU ABOUT MY PAIN AND SIMULATENOUSLY MY ABILITY TO WITHSTAND IT - but now i just pray that the sides of sliced flesh will meet up again and eventually close.

i dont want to see those layers again.
i was better when i just scratched the surface.

though strangely comforted at my sudden awareness that i AM alive and i AM a person that CAN DIE, i hate that i saw my insides like that. i was happier being miserable thinking i was invisible. now, suddenly things matter... i felt like when i made THAT particular cut, i cut God too. like i was pulling weeds in someone else's garden - that i ignored the keep out sign and proceeded into territory that wasn't mine to enter. i realized then how far away from suicide i really am. (because if i haven't the balls to see my insides ripped to exposure, than i have no business believing i can handle the afterlife - be it heaven, hell or a cold maggot filled eternal rest. if i can't handle the opening and exposure of all the layers of life i would have to sever to truly die, then i'd be a pussy to take pills or swallow bullets. i thought i meant business - that one day i would actually do it (though this wasn't what i WANTED, you see - something i just assumed would occur.) but now, carbon monoxide daydreams seem like weak mocking laughter saying "you couldn't handle real life OR real death. you ran from both and straight into the nothing.

i felt sad for my arm. like it itself was a thing, an innocent baby of a thing, that got hurt just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time (or connected to the wrong shoulder of the wrong person). i wanted to clean it and bandage it - not show it off or leave it raw. i want it to heal.

i finally got deep enough to where there was no pain - just a strange, almost automatic instintual need to heal. a place where the blood takes it time to show and the nerves never say hi... it is just you - your eyes - and your innocent layers of delicate flesh. ashamed for having seen something you weren't meant to see, you wait for the blood to quickly cover it up.

i saw what wasn't mine to see.
i now know too much.
i tredded on God's private truf.

my cuts, which i took so seriously before, now seem like little emo bumper stickers for all to see along with my chipped black nail polish.

but this one - this one felt like an afront to the Creator of life.
like dorothy, i peeked behind the curtain.

i may still want the cold trickle and sting of surface cuts. but i know now that when it comes to really getting close to the vessels and strings and muscle that can maintain or halt life, that i am out of my league.

i was made to be like a wiccan who doesn't believe in the devil so then confronts a demon dressed as a spirit guide. naive, innocent, vulnerable and shocked.

let me write about death and my need for relief.
but never again let my knife try to find it.
for now it isn't some abstract notion - but a reality.
the reality that there is more to dying than i care to deal with.
that perhaps i was better in my ignorant bliss with its little lines of scabbed surface skin, then i am with the destruction of so many layers (chances) of life.

****************
image pulled from net. not mine. not me.

vanilla & copper

2008-08-19T08:01:00.000-04:00

i tried being with myself tonight.
the kind of being one does when they can't make a sound, can't get turned on by their own body, can't cum without dirty effort.
and after, when i saw that no one was there and the body that i left to climax was the same body i loathed before i pretended to want it.... i realized the thin glaze of stick on my hands - the vanilla cupcake scent - wasn't cum at all, but tears.

the knife feels better.
the high higher and the deep deeper.
how sad - that both acts are not only done alone but done for some elusive happiness that is only reached with blade upon skin.

next time, the stick of my hands won't be of vanilla scent but of copper penny.... and the sin won't dry clear but red.

she who shines in the dark

2008-08-19T07:58:00.000-04:00

for me, Persephone has been my battle/ride with cyclothymia (mood swings/states) personified. when i think of her, i think of the desperation of her 'winter' and the elation of her 'spring'. though i love the fall and also feel hypomanic in early spring, i loathe the summer. save for the time that is now - the harvest times.... lammas & mabon..... then samhuinn or samhain.

when i think to pray to her, i think actually about raising a glass to those who understand the decent and the ascent and the difficulty of BOTH. when i think to celebrate her, as i do every year this time, i don't just get swept up in the magick of neo pagan ritual, but i thank my Christian Lord and God for His hand holding during the times i rise and fall. because i have these myths, i feel less alone.... more a part of the world, its history and its people. she both resided in hell AND on earth. she and her mother were the point. rape too was mentioned.

though i cannot relate to the Christian story of Father and Son, I CAN relate to its promises. i do not step away from the church for lack of belief, but i step toward the Lord Jesus in thanks. for the myth reminds me of a God who though jealous is generous enough to allow me time with her.

if i chose to see her as a goddess, well then i'd lose him (sight of him, actually). but if i can see her as a story of those who shine in the dark.... then i can SEE in the dark. and who i see is Jesus. his love is the light, his word is the lantern and his image is the vision.... but when i can't reach him because the darkness feels to thick, he lets me remember her - the she that went down but returned home again. and every fall, i go down..... not into depression but into a christian winter. a place where i spend time witching around, searching for fae and magick.... each step the lantern fades in the background but as dim as it gets, i never think to extinguish it completely. for she is just a metaphor; a tale to relate to and if i turned away from his life in search of hers, i would be in pitch blackness forever, searching in mist for paper and myth.

i pray that the Lord sees me struggle with the decent and appreciates my springtime rise (even if it IS in early winter). He is always the reason for the season - even if it isn't snow but leaves that blanket the earth.

i'm needing magick.... i pray i don't sin in this need.

twacked

2008-07-29T07:58:00.000-04:00

i am so fucken electric now, i could burst. the abilify is either NOT cutting it or it is causing this. i was good for about one week on the reg dose but now.... BUT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i am larger than life hypomanic in the agitated why does my skin prevent me from getting bigger and stretching out; why are my muscles trying to move my body without permission or even awareness from my brain type of hypomania that only a fucked up bipolar could ever understand.

maybe i took meth in my sleep. maybe i astral projected to some faerie land apothacary and took whatever i could and instead of reaching for the qualudes, i found the crystral and now, i am tweeking??

i am itching to be free of my skin, my body and all these fucken blood vessels that serve to only tangle and confuse me further. my eyes are still asleep - at least the lids are... but my body, my mind and my thoughts are fucken all over the place... each on a different amount of a different drug. i am in a K hole, snorting coke, shooting meth.... i want to come down.... i want to be numb, but no one invited the heroin man to this party. this party. this fucked up 100000 miles an hour party.

i tried to find God last night.
i already know Him but i needed Him.
He is always there but when you go mad and move to fast to find yourself, you can't find nor hear His still small voice.

but i knew it was there and i prayed for it. but i couldn't pray. i had to look up prayers, read parts of them cuz my eyes were broken... a cinderblock on my accelator pedal.... i begged for the enemy to be cast out. the enemy that takes me to these crack house parties, pays me to strip and give head... these parties in my head.... these parties that last for moments that carry like years. very fast. very very fast consecutive years of ferretian espresso smack down nuttiness.

my mind is a squirrel with a nut. a mouth that moves for reasons known only to God and felt only by the nut. i go here - no there - no back here again in a split second, and cars crash around me.

the cyclothymia workbook that sits next to me lacks the ability to be opened and i am too fucked, too twacked, too far gone to open it and read it and know what it says... for my skin and my brain are not mine.... and my blood is caffeine and my saliva is crystal and my skin is dope. i am torretian - tic tic spaz tic.

***************
art: ART & GHOSTS
http://artandghosts.typepad.com/

bunnies, bats, abilify & wine

2008-07-22T08:00:00.000-04:00

alice's wonderland lives within the house.
the dark house with many rooms.
bunnylicious is just a room - a creepy oddly cute room
that sits upon a frame of red
painted by the swift wing of a bat.

**********************************************
eventually i will have to face reality.
write back to those i miss - the ones i have quickly come to need...
but even on this new med, i have no idea where i am or what to find.
suddenly i feel consumed with the idea of magick and mystery and haunted harvest bonfires
rather than the deep darkness of nothingness.

suddenly the forest that led to some sacrificial grove, has become full of wildlife, gnomes and fairies.
how is it that i feel Mary, Persephone, Ophelia and Alice all in one place at one time yet am not fractured and fragmented as i normally am when they all appear at once.

i am this odd version of dissociative identity disorder who knows all of her separate parts.
i can't control when they show up and to what room they will make a home.
but i know them.

Mary - all three of her - the sinner, the worshipper, the intercessor (hopeful/wanabe) (mary magdelene, mary of bethany, the Blessed Virgin)
Alice - the lost girl in a derealized world of acid and fairy tale
Ophelia - the identity-less borderline seeking substance in the absence of a man
and Persephone - the Queen of the Underworld and the Maiden of Innocence, spring and flowers.

i am lost and found.
dark and light.
magick and ordinary.
sin and sinner.

*******************************
i need October....
i am bleaching and burning hot white in this summer heat.
i need the promise of change, of fruit, of edging closer to those who have passed.

*****************************
it will soon be august.
fuck august.

somewhere in a forever wednesday

2008-06-17T16:33:00.000-04:00

are all these things mutually exclusive as they appear to be?
can i want both these things at the same time without an explosion of neurons and loss of self?

how is it that i live in black, unable to even THINK of white -
and then the next week live in white, trying to think of black, but still again, stuck on white?

the clock of my brain is stuck still
everything is linear
it all happens NOW

why do i immediately think about the thing i was thinking about before i started to think of a new thing - thinking to myself that i can't possibly think both?

there are no straight lines of time, plotted nicely on a chart
but instead a mad scramble of continuous entangled circles repeatedly drawn again and again upon itself.

where others go from today to tomorrow,
i sit somewhere in a forever wednesday.

on depersonalization

2008-06-16T18:40:00.000-04:00

"I buy a newspaper along my way. Sensational news. Little Lucienne's body has been found. Smell of ink, the paper crumples between my fingers. The criminal has fled. The child was raped. They found her body, the fingers clawing at the mud. I roll the paper into a ball, my fingers clutching at the paper; smell of ink; my God how strongly things exist today. Little Lucienne was raped. Strangled. Her body still exists, her flesh bleeding. SHE no longer exists. her hands. She no longer exists. The houses. I walk between the houses, I am between the houses, on the pavement; the pavement under my feet exists, the houses close around me, as the water closes over me, on the paper the shape of a swan. I am. I am,. I exist, I think, therefore I am; I am because I think, why do I think. I don't want to think any more, I am because I think that I don't want to be, I think that I....because....ugh! I flee."

~Sartre from "Nausea"

(just) a few of my favorite things

2008-06-16T17:40:00.000-04:00

winding streets canopied with trees -
the humming of big fat bumble bees.

pumpkins and scarecrows displayed about -
woodland creatures chomping nuts in their mouth.

distant thunder roaring like a hungry belly -
harvest apples, hay bales and canned-preserved jelly.

ice cracked ponds & hockey skates -
meteor showers opening the skies likes gates.

ghost-seeing kittens hunting ecstatic -
yellowed paper & the musty smell of an attic.

early morning sunlight tickling hushed streets -
the crisp crunch of autumn leaves and black heels when they meet.

rain that pelts, coats and sings -
faded pant pockets revealing his skoal ring.

the wooshing of tree limbs and bird-flapped wings -
these are (just) a few of my favorite things.

the Watching for fall

2008-06-14T18:27:00.000-04:00

i am waiting for the fall.

i am tired of the bleary eyed sun,
bleached out lawns &
grown men in shorts.

i am waiting for the spell to come and wrap me up again.
to pull me out of the mundane
reminding me that there is more out there than what we see...

and that those creepy feelings and strange sensations from those we call the Watchers
are but revelations of truth
not disease.

me as earth

2008-06-14T17:54:00.000-04:00

At my core- the small but dense and most significant part; my center, is where the holy spirit sits. Its the keeping place of my purest and truest soul. Its where hope and faith and love expand beyond sentiment and live as thick, tangible truth.

My mantle- the biggest and most vast part of me, resides a vacuous vortex. An open door of a high up airplane; sucking windlessness. A hollow place of nothingness. A perpetual drift thru deadness.

My crust- the thinnest veneer, r the thoughts and hopes borne of my meds and other hallmarkian cliches of self help, cheer and joy.

Every so often, as i walk the crust, I come upon a crack. Tho slight, the awareness of the deadening suck below is just enuf 2 allow me 2 c thru the quaint tales of meds and greeting cards, self help books and 12 steps...

But the deeper awareness of my core, prevents the tempted slice of blade upon veiny wrist.

cyclothymia

2008-06-12T17:08:00.001-04:00

there is a place upon the swing of bipolar that many sit.
this place refuses to excite enough to bring success and riches, but torture-teases at the idea.
this place rarely dips low enough toward death, but often scratches and knocks at its door.
those that live here, hover only slightly above madness with their feet barely scraping the ground.
its a place that gives u just enough hope that your sane while at the same time forever taunting you, whispering - "you're not".

vodka, donuts & cock

2008-06-12T16:20:00.000-04:00

i realized something huge today.

i have been avoiding - unconsciously - the real pathology of my heart and mind.
i have been so sure that i was broken, that i fixated on what seemed the most logical - my brain.
my fractured and fragmented broken brain.
have i chemical issues from birth or even genetic predispositions? i cannot say.
but i CAN say that i have a deeper issue. an issue i have been reluctant to address.

when i practiced anorexia 5 years ago for 3 years, i was obsessed with the absence and doomed inevitable return of fat.
i self medicated with men - strangers i met in the bars i sat self medicating with alcohol.
my mind ran rampant and was owned not by me but by some doppelgangerian automaton lush whore.
when i couldn't fill my mouth and stomach with food to cover the dull roar of despair and the static channel changing noise of secrets and numbness, i filled the space between my legs with sinful thrusts from faceless strangers that still haunt my nights.

i have been trying to fill myself up.
plug up the holes.

hiding behind the 30 pounds of pain, i learned that i fear myself.
i fear exposure. i fear rejection. i fear abandonment. i fear intimacy. i fear the realization that without fear, i am at a loss to define myself. that without vodka, donuts or cock to fill up the spaces, i would crack apart like eye-less antique dolls.

i learned today that i fear the hunger.
the hunger that breeds the whore.
the whore who craves useless liquids, sugars and muscle.
i fear that without the fat to protect me from a secret even i myself don't know, i will fuck myself broken; a CSI DB with panties dangling from my bruised and bloodied ankles.

i fear that i will lose myself to that cunt alter ego and i will march obediently but mindlessly behind her further and further away from my real self.

but as i sit here not fat enough for support groups, but too fat for daytime love making, i fear that i will never allow myself to feel. that i will forever hide behind the ugly and remain unnoticed by boyfriends, husbands, friends and dreams.

i fear that the daughter i see in the corner of my eye in a car seat as a drive, will fill the womb of another - more deserving, less cracked woman.

i fear that if thin i will run out of excuses.
i will be without cover in a tree-less desert.
i will fall unconsious by my own date-rape drug and fuck k-holed and numb.

the good guys will walk thru me; a mere shadow.

i wonder if i was dirtied long ago... if there is a reason outside myself that i needed to create that bitch, whoring double.

and i wonder if i instead raped myself with loathing for so long that i suffer the same as the left for dead violated central park joggers.

did i do this to myself?
did i drink and eat and fuck myself further into the hole i desperately sought to fill - to only widen and deepen it some more?

or did someone break into my playhouse
lift up my skirt
and open the wound thru which my soul dripped out?

3:00 dangle, snap, cut

2008-06-07T20:18:00.001-04:00

the noonday demon strikes again.... everything feels futile at this time of day.... the sunny dreams of summer mornings melt, boil and rot like once beautiful fruit in the afternoon heat.

i do not wish to die - but i do, however, long to pray on my knees and hear only thoughts of God... my mind doesn't shut up. it haunts itself. it cripples the body.

i crave wine, not food, but feel too fat and ugly to drink it with any dignity.

i like my job but when i rush to get out into my car, i am unsure to what i am running.... no physical friends outside the realms of cyberspace for all are married with kids.... no boyfriend, no love....

there's no comfort naked in bubble baths either - i am too fat to enjoy even those. (and even if you said i was not, i wouldn't believe you one bit)

the narration never stops. Lord, i would love to crawl into a book. a book about fall.... a creepy but kind place that breeds hope, and silences editorializing.

shut me up. stop the pulsating flood of thoughts that eventually get so loud they are no longer audible but felt instead in my bones and blood - thickening my marrow,
grinding my joints...
congealing and edema, sludge and phlegm.

i hope the threatening thunderstorm comes thru but it will hover, i bet. just like this fucked up ghost of melancholy... the promise of release is but a tease. a thank God truck stop mad dash to a locked public bathroom.

like the sky, i pray for a release of fury and a deep soil soaking cleanse.

if only i were young again... not as "cured" (she laughs out loud at the funniness of this thought)... i could grab the ranchers knife that hides in my glove compartment (can never be too careful - a chick alone on the road) and abrade the skin just a tad... just to get little beads of redness that i could smear and then bump like liquid penny-coke...

but alas, i am even too tired for this.

i prefer to leave the world in mind instead - taking trips on the wings of angels and the wishes of saints....

but all is not lost - for there is hope in that my arms reach up
even when my head hangs low.