Supernova to the heart

And without warning, there was a supernova that come flying past and bursting into your life. . . There you were alone, hopeless, and distorted by all that life had beaten you with. 

I don’t mean to whine, but life hasn’t exactly been very easy, much harder than the normal lot in life.   Being homeless for instance, I truly believe most people couldn’t cope with loosing that last, lingering sense of security.

I guess this is one reason that I am so thankful for the little bits of happiness or in this case of my life the very large bits of happiness that have finally been thrown my way. 

“I threw a wish in the well,Don't ask me, I'll never tell looked to you as it fell,and now you're in my way “

I have known Orion for about a year or so now.  I met him in the most unlikely ways, at least to me.  I had hard rules against the getting overly attached to anyone from a sillyass video game, but alas, it happened without my knowing. 

Silly how a game can do something so unexpected. . . Thank you World of Warcraft. . . . .

From the day that I met Orion, I always knew I wanted something just like him, but never thought it was him --- It wasn’t possible after all?  He was perfect in all the words that he said and his laugh made me….want to smile?  Something that was not frequently found in my house, especially not on my face! 

How is it that you can have loved someone for a thousand years and want to love them a thousand more without having known them for a thousand years?  I never believed in the whole soul mates thing, not really.  Had I come close to this feeling?  Sure.  Robert was a very close to this feeling, but I didn’t love him from the moment I met him --- Not like Orion. 

“I have died every day

Waiting for you

Darlin' don't be afraid

I have loved you for a Thousand years

I'll love you for a Thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you

Time has brought Your heart to me”

I loved him before I knew I loved him and that’s insane to say --- Or maybe I just another crazy girl.  I honestly couldn’t have hand crafted a better match for me.  He is everything I wished for and everything I had forgotten to wish for.   

I have doubted every man I have ever been with;  I have felt inadequate and often unwanted, but Orion never makes me feel that way.  He has that kind of unconditional love that everyone needs and craves from a lover and a companion. 

Sometimes I believe that we have mates that we see time and time again and Orion is mine.  I looked for him in all the wrong places and at the very last moment before I left to go look in another time he was there to save me.  He didn’t just save me, he jumped down with me instead of sending for me.  He knew and He came.  How?  I don’t know, not could I ever explain.   

In essence, I am thankful. I am happy. I am more than ecstatic and never could have even dreamed such a grand thing into existence.   I am just a simple girl, broken, bruised and torn by the past and he is. . . Everything I ever needed.  How did *I* get so lucky? 

*takes a breathe*

That’s enough for now…..

Come home. . .

 

Can’t even begin to stop thinking of you . . .

Tired

I have wanted to say something for days, but something has kept me from it.  I don’t know what – I guess it is just me loosing the fight against the notorious brain dragons that take over my thoughts.

“The wave has come, now she has past, hush.
Her power, her might, her silent extinguishing strength.
Shhh, lie down, lie down, and sleep.
No longer are you alone, hush.
The four riders black, devestation, they come hush.
Now you can sleep, sleep the best sleep.
No more screaming, no crying, no pain, just sleep.
Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, shhh!”

- William Flemming

Sometimes it’s as if all the ideas and thoughts I have are flittering by so quickly they are unattainable. It’s like I am trapped in a prison surrounded by nothing but images of all I have fucked up and the broken reminants of what remains.

I am tired of fighting.  What if that?  What if I am just tired of fighting?  Tired of trying?  Tired of it all?  What if I don’t even care to keep on?  What then?  Where does it leave me?

I just want to rest indefinately and stop this all.  I want the thoughts gone.  The stress gone.  I don’t want to fight.  I don’t see the purpose and I am not sure that I ever have.

Did I ever know who I was? Probably not.

I want so badly to hide in my room, burried under blankets and hiding from the world, but I have no room.  At least not one that I can truly call my own right now.  I hate this feeling of emptiness and lonelieness and of homelessness.  I don’t know where I can call home anymore and that’s almost as good as being homeless.

I think I will try to nap and hope the world just passes me by unnoticed while I sleep (hopefully).

Cutting fuses

Here I am, 11am and still awake -- I didn't even look at my bed tonight, but I knew that was coming long before the night crested very good.  I am . . . frustrated more than I am tired.  I ran dungeons on my warrior and just zoned for . . . I don't really know how many hours.

The entire night though, I couldn't get this song out of my head that bunny sent me after a conversation we have been having basically since I saw my psychologist the other day.

SO basically, my psychologist was doing one of those questionaire bullshit things to measure if you have the "symptoms" of whatever.  One of the questions was. . ."Do you have a hard time making friends?"

Well truthfully?  No. People rarely dislike me when they meet me.  In fact, quite the opposite is true.  They fall in love with me, get addicted to me, and are just generally attracted to being around me and the life that I have created for them to see.

Now, do I care for all of these people. Yes.  Do I miss them? Every last one.  Even the ones that stabbed me in the back, spat in my face, and laughed when I stumbled and fell as I ran away. . No, never just out of town -- Not out of the county, but states away.  There was never enough distance to be put between me and these various people that I have loved passionately as friends and the few romantic lovers I have held for short periods of time.  Yes, I clearly see that my default setting is -flight- when it comes to getting terrible close for terribly long.

These are all the same people that I would more than readily fight for in any given circumstance, justified or not.  It's like when I care for people it's with such and intensity that it is overwhelming and then I make the mistake of assuming that they should, in turn, reciprocate this dedication that I have shown them in exorbitant amounts.

The sad part is that these people bleed me dry emotionally and in any other way that they can.  They utilize the energy and the fact that I never sleep to serve a purpose. It's not always the same, but I fall into it everytime; Sometimes I even know I am doing it, but I do it anyway.  It wasn't until just very recently that I have known people that have . . .recognized? sympathized? felt sorry for? I don't know what it is, but it's something.

My best friend from the time I was, I don't know, 5 maybe? was my Brother.  He was my hero in so many ways.  He was there when everyone else had turned their backs.  He was the one that  basically rescued me after my mom kicked me out for wanting to go to college.

Let me talk about Noah a bit -- He was pretty much amazing from the get go.  Everyone loved and adored Noah.  He was the All-American man that people aspired to be like.  He never scored below A - average's , he was the starting quarterback, the lead in every theatrical performance, a black belt, always helping everyone that he could and eventually he went off to serve, as he said, "A purpose higher than [him]self."  Noah so gallantly rode off in that military plane to Iraq, knowing the potential consequences and seeing no other options but to face them; such courage and such care.  He carried beanie babies in his pockets to hand out to the different kids, hoping to inspire something other than hate and war in their tiny hearts.

He even made one last trip to try to save me from my own self-destructive prison that I had locked myself into when I lived in New York.  He sat me down that day and dared me to lie to him about the situation I was in. . . I promised him I was fine and that life was indeed much more grand than I could have EVER imagined - - - But I fear that even thought he left that day that the bruises on my face were enough to tell the truth.  I was good at creating alternate realities.  I always had been -- Perhaps I even believed what I was saying then.  I probably did --

I eventually got to the point that my perception of love was so warped.  I actually believed that the only form of affection was in the moments that I cowered in the corner while images of my childhood flooded back just before the first violently angry blow.  Why was he so angry with me?  I would question this often as I meekly took the fits of ravenous rage that tore at much more than my flesh.  It still gives me a sick feeling to my stomach as I think of those times -- And many other times, but they haunt me.

I don't really talk about it.  I am ashamed.  How did I ever let that happen to me?  I had promised myself that I would never let the very thing that I watch my own mother endure through tragic mishap-pen relationship after even more fucked up relationship.  And there I was, like a moron daydreaming as he used me like his own personal stress ball and then smiled as I lied about the especially tough "rugby" practice. (Granted, I legitimately DID play rugby....It was never as bad as the sport called Jonby.)

Somehow I became convinced that horrific things he did were just his way of showing affection to me because for whatever reason I was sub-human.  Sometimes I would have preferred that he just hit me over the things he would do just to simply fuck with my mind.  I was struggling with so much --  I still struggled to cling to, what is now a shattered faith.  I really wanted to do the right things, but he preferred any option that would simply stroke his ego I suppose and torment me.

Yea, sometimes I post a lot of music videos, because they can kinda get my point across and how I am feeling.  Anyway...

So enough about that for now and back to Noah.  So he was amazing in every way and an upstanding and respectable human being -- He never came home from Iraq.  And I wonder why him and not me somehow? I wish I could take is place, because honestly I fuck up everything I touch eventually -- Don't get me wrong, when I am good I am fucking amazing . .. for a bit. . . then I fumble and fuck it all up.  It's never, "oops you made a small mistake," and its ALWAYS something of nuclear proportions leaving everyone completely dazed and confused by the bombshell.

My brother stood by me through the tough fuckups and other than that? Everyone else faded into the dark after no more than 3 years ever at a time.  That's like tops. HAH.  I think I have know Randi for a little over 4 years now and Robert I knew for uhm.........gosh I don't know I was like 18 the first we ever kinda met.

I guess my goal is to figure out exactly what makes me spin so violently control toward these mishaps and mistakes and ultimately to the grande finale of an explosion.

I need to go make work words again...Maybe I will come back for more later.

Broken Shields & Memories

So, this may seem pretty retarded, but I tend to relate a lot of my feelings and life to World of Warcraft.  I guess it's one of the few things I can make sense of anymore -- which is absolutely retarded.

Anyway-- The whole point of that blip of knowledge is to say this.  What if we had some form of metaphorical "shield" that was meant to be our barrier from the stressors that are put upon us?  Then does that mean that if the war of life beats you enough your shield would break?

Now my question is, if your shield is broken and you have misplaced your weapon, then exactly what are you left with to fight off the notorious brain dragons?  Nothing.  Left with nothing all over again..... This theme seems to be reoccurring lately.  

I fear that my theoritical shield broke a very long time ago and that I was just running on this crazy and intense high until that one fucking terrible day.  The thing I don't understand the most is how I withstood so much of the other bullshit that I have seen and that has happened to me, but the thing that finally snapped that shield in half was the departure of...essentially the.....the mortar that held me together at the seems.  Something about Robert in specific gave me hope for the first time in light years.  He, at one point at least, helped me to see the things around me for what they were and to move to be strong; Most of all there was something in him that inspired me to go for things I never thought were possible.....and that again seem all to scary.

I will probably never return to school --- No matter what I say -- I won't get my PhD and there I will be.... And everyone back home can be right.  They can finally be proud in their predictions about the simple, awkward girl that left town at 16 wide-eyed and curious to learn what the world outside of that tiny town could offer here.

It didn't take long for me to realize that no matter what there would be demons that would find me and torment.  It was as if I was literally dragging a cart filled with a million tormented souls that want more than anything to overcome me and walk the world again. Yea....that's a pretty crazy thought, eh? Maybe they are the only ones that have learned how to control brain dragons, taming them for their own evil purposes.

Okay yea, this is gonna get boring and lengthy I fear so either re-direct your attentions to other more intriguing things or grab a cup of coffee or whatever and well, settle in I suppose.

"Each of us is an accumulation of our memories."

-Alan Loy McGinnis

I have a whole fuckton of things rattling around in my brain today.  It's largely in part to Bunny and I's trip to the university today.  I had to get my medical records for the crazy person doctor cuz, yea.  Anyway, it's kind of insane the flood of memories that came rushing into my head just upon entering that city; A city that once use to be the only place I had ever found solitude and happiness.  Jacksonville was my safety zone for so many years and now it holds nothing but the ghosts of a past all to far gone.

I even begged my husband to please not ruin that place for me.  I made him promise to at least let me finish my PhD before he did anything stupid. He made all of these promises BEFORE I ever agreed to his pleas for me to marry him...This was after MUCH hesitation on my part, but life threw some seriously devastating things at me during that time.  He promised to take care of me and at the time I had a staph infection that  (once I finally got care the day after we got married) the doctors told me could have probably killed me before long.

First off, THANK YOU for stating the fucking obvious.  I am not a moron and I knew I was fucking sick as hell but I had no insurance and well I don't know.  Anyway -- So -- I got married to him -- we had been friends for some time before we dated and things were for all intensive purposes and such were sorta perfect.   I should have know that perfection doesn't actually exist. . .

Perfection is just a perception of a misconstrued reality. . .A misconstrued reality that we create in our heads, I guess.

Secondly, as I said before he inspired me.  Why? I don't know.  When I was with Robert I truly felt invincible.  I did some of my best work while I was with him and even my thesis I wrote in hopes that he would be back soon. . . Ha soon and that was a year later.... Silly chaoskitty is silly.  We were best friends afterall and in away we had always fed off of each other's crazy.

Now, I have to go on a hopefully brief aside.  I do get super hyper-sexual when I am manic and I have been known to do insane things to attain sex when I am manic.  I am completely reckless and dangerous about it-- I really don't fucking care.

The point of this aside is that I can see now that Robert used that to his advantage and was all to happy to just manipulate me and my emotions....He can't tell me he didn't recognize that about me....He is still the only person I have ever really known that long. . . I never keep friends or lovers long because when they start to get to close it's time for me to move out of the state......

(Yes, now its Bunny and she refuses to let me run .... Thankfully.) 

Robert used my periods of mania to playout the fantasies that he wanted, at all costs -- Even knowing how I would feel when I "woke up" from my periods of disillusion.  How could he do that?  How is that everyone around me has pretty much taken hold of my mania and used it to their benefit all of these years and didn't even care how it would affect me in the end?

Anyway, Jacksonville was the last place I ever saw my husband.  God, what a tragedy.   I have said that before though.  It's hard for me to really put into words any of how I am feeling or what I am thinking.  In fact, my typing is nothing but sputters of keystrokes --- I keep hoping to make sense of it all.  How did I get here?  I keep asking myself that....It's the only thing is consistent anymore.... How did it happen? What did I do? Where did I make that horrific wrong turn that led me into this endless and mindless oblivion.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow. . . "

At least that is what Shakespeare said. . . There is nothing sweet about the sorrow that endlesslessly continues to consume me.  It kind of seems like time has only further wrapped the memories and the feelings of that time.

This is where I am going to go on a rant that Bunny has heard (all to often I am sure).  I would give anything to be be able to at least change the way things ended; to change that last memory.  Why did it have to be that way?  The forced kiss through my sobs and him looking at me through eyes of sympathetic confusion and the adoration that an adult has for a small child. . . "I'll be back soon. I love you," as if he were just going out to run an errand. . .

An errand that would last for almost 4 years. . .

His voice still lingers in my ear drums, haunting me and leaving me with thousands of unanswered questions.  I remember all of the happiness and joy that we shared and then I see that look and hear those penetratingly cold words stab into my thoughts . . . One of the few thoughts that always come across LOUD and CLEAR.  No he never truly knew me, but it was okay in some weird way....No matter how tiring it was.

As Bunny and I drove through Jacksonville, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to various memories of times when I think I was happy, but I am not sure.....  My psychologist asked me who I was this week and I couldn't answer.  I am not sure.

Did I ever know or did I just continuously concoct the easiest personality to fit every situation?  I am sure that the last is most likely true.

I had  a lot more to say, but I can't sort through all my thoughts anymore so I guess this is where I stop for now. .. Off to try to make words for some work stuff since I can't make anymore words here. . . .

I leave you with a song from the musical cats, "Memory."

Brain Dragons

“Even though I'm sleeping again, everything still feels a little rickety, like I'm here but not quite here, like I'm just a stand-in for my real self, like someone could just reach over and pinch me and I'd deflate. I thought I was feeling better, but I don't know anymore.” 
― Amy Reed, Crazy

This is all to true, even though most night I am not sleeping still.  I hate this feeling and I hate feeling like I have absolutely no control anymore.  I wish I could know how at one point, even when I was completely out of control that somehow I held together my life, but now . . . I have just lost everything.

Nothing seems real to me anymore . . . It's all like a broken, terrible nightmare that will persist if but just to take control of me and consume me completely before I can even take my next breathe.  This is why people commit suicide, they decide that they must end it before this "thing" has time to do it for them.  It's the only sense of control they have over their weakness and their illness; over their lives even.

How disheartening is it to think that the only thing you can actually control anymore is your own existence or non-existence.  What if you got the point that you didn't even feel as if you had no control of that?  Where does that leave me? Lost and hopeless with my own thoughts, thoughts that I wish I could destroy and never know again?

You can't unknow what is already known as they say I guess.    

How does a person essentially become a prisoner of their own mind?  How is that this invisible dragon slowly siphon all that was useful, all that was pleasant, everything that was once worth a damn, and just leave you as an empty shell of a person?

I can almost feel this dragon's claws as it digs deep into my brain, taking control of all that I am and refusing to ever let go of it.  These dragons are not like the ones in WoW.  No, they can't be so easily slain by a group of your "close" internet friends, nor would those friends really care to contend with your brain dragons.  What if I transform into a brain dragon after to many years of being controlled like a puppet on a string?  What if I start to slowly suck away the livelihood of any that dares to venture to close to what seems to be a sleepy brain dragon?

Sometimes a brain dragon is easily disguised as a harmless jester, full of "life" and seemingly harmless -- That is until you realize that the brain dragon is not full of life, it runs on your life energy, slowly sucking away till you are weak enough to consume.

Parasitic brain dragons are the only way I can describe my bipolar.  

As for now, I am gonna slip away to a *hopefully* delightful lunch with my most favortist bunny.

A slow begrudging click-clock-click.

Lets start with my first thought:

How, pray tell, is it that over a month can pass by me, days can fliter by, moments in time, blips of my life-- They are all lost. How is it that I go days without once venturing to lie down in my bed to sleep and when I do, I wake up thinking it was all one day. For example, How is today Wednesday already? Am I getting completely lost in a dark circle of self-abandonment? Have I worked so hard to absolve myself of feelings of guilt, self-loathing, anger, depression, worry, and many others that I have some out abandoned myself--- Much like those that have passed in and out of my life over the past 27 years. Have i some how perfected the task of hiding myself, that-- maybe, just maybe, I can't even see myself? Autopilot?

Six months ago I would have blamed this on a constant drug haze, but now-- It's only when I get high that I feel the need to get out of where I am right now. Sober, I just want to sink further into this asinine pit of disillusion and insanity. In this place, there are no tears, there is only what I create. Misconstruction of the human soul and mind. Deconstruction? Self-implosion? Who knows?

Sometimes hours feel like minutes and days feel like hours.

Now, to paint my recent picture for you:

I awoke in a purple and white splotch painted room, a heavy down blanket that was once mine lying heavily over my body. I stretch, fumbling for my cellphone and laptop, pulling it onto the bed. Hair a sundry on my head, I shivered pulling on long sleeves, the wood fire had long gone out. My eyes adjust to the dark of my old high school room, still groggy from a night of smoking and drinking coffee with my mom. I look at the time finally-- It's only 4am and I had just gone to bed maybe 2 hours ago. No one is awake-- There is no TV to watch, no internet to use. Just the quiet of a house that had retired its lively hood for the night. Frustrated and still some what exhausted, but unable to sleep-- I quietly slip to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. I grab all the necessaries on the way back to my room so that I can at least indulge in the fine green leaves my mother had left out for me. Turn on the music, pack a bowl, go grab a cup of coffee. Before I can make it back to my room with a fresh cup of coffee my mom meets me in the hallway, she too can not sleep.

Is it that we have both seen so many of the same undesirables that keeps us close, even when at times I could just scream and rage at her?

We meet in my room, she brings some old rickety heater and we sit there, smoking a bowl and drinking coffee. I stare at her.... She is young, but when you look at her face and into her eyes--- You can see something, I, personally, see all the horror stories. All the blood, tears, screaming, scheming, hiding and running--- For years... Years of being on the run. Have I grown to be addicted to that lifestyle? Is that why I am bored and hiding from myself?

And... Idk.. I'll write more later--- Sorry but it comes in cycles.

A beautiful Tragedy

 What is a beautiful tragedy?  I mean tragedy, in the most tragic of ways--- Not in the Shakespearian humor way.  Although, I suppose one could consider this beautiful tragedy a humor.  Eh, who knows?

Anyway, I met this mysterious man, clad in ACU's, the dust and  blood of war on his boots and a hazy fog of memories he would wish to forget for the rest of his life.  He was, in essence, my perfect my match-- A by-product of suburban life and much to hard work that is war as an Infantry man.  In him, I saw me.  In him, I saw myself settling down, creating a home and, yes, even quite possibly a family (even though the thought of children had always irked me to no end).  Our souls clung to each other, if but only for a moment in time.

The only problem with deep love is that the line between deep love and deep hate is all to close.  How does the old saying go, "We hurt those closest to ourselves the most."  Best friends, lovers, family-- Companions in a road that would be all to bumpy and hectic.  In a way, I will forever cling to the essence of his memory-- Like the smell of fresh brewed coffee first thing in the morning, waking up to that aroma only to drink to much and end up  jittery.

Anyway, I won't particularly bore you with details for there are all to many. And I am sure they will seep through my post little by little.

I should be logged into phonesex already, but its' been a week where the thought of talking to these needy, emotional bastards kills me.  You know what worries me honestly?  The fact that I can create such a powerful allusion of who and what I am, that so many men are instantly drawn to me -- Emotionally, Physically.  They feel obligated to me-- They fall in love with "me."  How is it that I so easily craft this divine goddess for each and every voice over the phone, often times causing a sick addiction for them. Causing them to want me, desire me....even need me, even more so than their own wives, girlfriends and/or family.  I don't even feel that I have to try most days-- It just flows from the silky seduction of my voice. Perfectly saying whatever it is they want to hear-- Painting the image of perfection and desire in their minds eye.  The funny part is, I am not what they think.  Everything I create for them is a false.


Anyway, enough for now-- I must finish my kona coffee and fight off the lingerings of a wine headache.

The beginning

There I stood in the Aldi around the corner from me, staring at the collection of cheap ass wine.  I had given up drinking months ago, but something about today had, well, drawn me back to the sweet cover of this intoxicating beverage.  Just imagine me, standing there in gray, worn capri's, a black short sleeved short, my Droid safely tucked in the chest pocket-- My hair thrown up into a sloppy pony tail, black-rimmed glasses and a long burgendy sweater-coat.  I was a site for sore eyes alright, but, had they any clue the LONG string of events that had brought me to this moment, contemplating my choices of much to cheap wine, they would have quite possibly averted their eyes or, in rare cases, offered me some form of comfort.

I am not here to seek your pity or obtain the advise of all the self-proclaimed psychologist of the internet, no.  I am here, simply to tell you my story.  My hope is that you will find entertainment, open your eyes to the a few of the horrors that life has to offer, and/or to console those that have also seen the darkest of dark places in life.  You are not alone and, alas, neither am I.

I picked up not one, but two bottles of cheap White Zinfandel-- Something produced by a company I have never even heard.  Why two bottles? Any night of drinking, should a long one-- That's all I could figure out.  I suppose I knew it would be a long night of thought.  Pondering on just what it was that had brought me here, to this place, from where I once was---

Isn't that what most of us spend out free moments wondering afterall?  How is it, that I ended here, at least for this moment.

Anyway, today is a little about me.

I am 27. I gradauted with a Master's degree in Psychology about a year ago.  I have been a phonesex operator for a little over 2 years now.  I am married, but not married, meaning legally I am married.  I have not seen my husband in well over a year and rarely talk to him since he left.  This is a whole post of its' own.  A beautiful, yet tragic blimp in a life that is. . . mine.