Thursday, May 31, 2012

Calm? Not So Much.

    Calm? Calm, you say? Not so much, it is all a facade. I am an expert at the calm demeanor when need be. And now, I need be. Inside I am bubbling up, boiling over, frothing, foaming. Excitement, anxiety, fear, panic, thrill, all at once, one large shot of adrenaline inducing awesome. I can't help it, too much, or not enough. I am not sure. But I am feeling something coursing through me like fire in my veins. It is as when my dogs leap to their feet, barking at "something." They have no clue what, just, "Something! Something!" Yes, it's like that. There is Something. I don't know what. I can't separate my emotions enough to even know if it is for good or ill. Just a vague trembling of anticipation, excitement, fear, panic, delirium, lunacy, focus, joy, anxiety. All rolled into one Something. I am hoping it will sort itself out soon, so I will know if I should be elated or terrified. But until then, I think I will just keep a calm facade, breathe, and try to get through the next few hours without exploding. It is exhilarating, this whirlwind of mine.

Pendulum Swing

    I cannot seem to shut down the wanderings and meanderings of my brain today. It is the sure sign that mania has retreated to the background somewhat, allowing Brain to resume control of Body, though Brain is still more than a bit A.D.D. and dysfunctional. Lately, I am inclined to berate myself for my lack of the more refined social skills, my inability to keep myself in check, my loss of my Internal Editor. I do, truly, often speak before I think, Leap before I Look. I have developed a frustrating honesty that I seem unable to control. I have been trying to understand myself, constantly questing for enlightenment and truth within myself. So, once again, I flay myself open and examine my motives, actions, reactions and interactions. Yes, this is a constant, ongoing flaying that seems as if it will never end. And once again, I dive into my sloppy inner-workings. Head first, eyes open, no goggles.
    I lived in the shadow of deceit for over a decade. It is true. I heard glib lies, falsehood, alibis, embellished partial truths, elaborate plans. I tried to protect myself from them, hide from the reality, remain true to myself, but I was tainted by the dishonesty despite my best efforts. My trust was broken, my self esteem damaged, my loyalty shattered, I betrayed my own sense of honor. And so, here I am. Alone, but intact. I have recovered my self-esteem and honor, regained my trust, grown and matured, regained my moral footing. Interesting thing, it has brought me to a point in life where I seem to be incapable of deceit, dishonesty, and it also seems, tact and subtlety. I have not quite decided if this is all for the good. It is the swing of the pendulum. Yes, I am proud of my honesty, that I am trustworthy. But I am more than a little disconcerted at my inability to recapture my reserve. Most of my life I have been reserved, to the point of being painfully shy under the right, or wrong, circumstances. Yes, I can still feel the pressing shyness and temerity when confronted with overwhelming situations, such as crowds of strangers. But beyond that I feel as if I am careening out of control, ricocheting around the emotional landscape, causing mischief and mayhem wherever I alight. There is a strange hilarity and euphoria, I confess, but the aftermath is not so amusing. Try as I might, my honesty and openness have the upper-hand, and may very well keep it. It makes me feel off balance, distracted, demented, and more than a bit deranged. All my life I have tried to keep tight control over my actions, reactions and interactions, but the control is long gone now. The pendulum swing. I am beginning to accept this as the new norm, though I would not mind if the pendulum would swing back to centered.  

Lead With The Heart

    "You are a wonderful and giving friend, Loyal beyond reason, Heart first; solid and true. It may be that your 40's were about finding the strength of your Soul. May it be that your 50's and beyond are about finding the Love and Passion that your Soul deserves."
    These words were written to me by a dear friend who it feels I have known all my life. Despite our differences, and there are many, we are still as sisters; close, loving, understanding, caring, compassionate. She has been solid beside me when all else felt as if it were crumbling to ruin. She understands me at a core level that is rare, even when we misunderstand the surface, the Core remains solid.
    I don't know what led me to rediscover these words, written to me in the darkest days of my winter in the abyss, but I think today I needed the reminder of my worth. Sometimes I forget. It is easy to look past my true worth, look to the materialistic, the facade, the unimportant accomplishments, or lack of, that our society deems to be the gold standard of worthiness. I am not highly paid, do not have a college degree, drive a hand-me-down vehicle, ride a grubby Harley that I love, have a mongrel that adores me, and have a bank account that currently hovers near zero after bills are paid. So, on the surface, maybe I don't seem like so much. But if I look beneath the surface, take a moment to see into my Heart and Soul, I can see the true value of who I am. My friend knows me well, and does not exaggerate when she says I am "Loyal beyond Reason, Heart first; Solid and True." I lead with my Heart, it is an open book. I can't change this behavior, it is as much a part of who I am as are my blue eyes and my mania. I lead with my Heart; open, yet solid and true. I love easily, warmly, and fully. I cannot but do otherwise. Love is what I have to share, and it grows exponentially. But I am solid and true, and Loyal to a fault. Once my Loyalty is earned, it is not easily broken. Again, part of my very Nature. As much as my friend knows the Core of my Being, I do hope there is some prophesy to her words. My Heart and Soul, strong and solid, deserve Love and Passion. I do seek to fill the void with the love of friends and family, and the passion for my art and home. And I will continue to lead with my Heart; open, honest, solid and true. I could not do otherwise.

My Strange Aloneness

    I live my life in a strange Aloneness. Self inflicted, self induced, I am beginning to think. As much as I cry at the unfairness of loneliness, solitude and isolation, I am beginning to think that I am solely responsible for my condition. Subconscious, self-sabotaging behavior? I am still trying to figure it all out. As a rule, I do not fear being alone. And I really am rarely lonely. But then my Aloneness will step to the fore, stare me in the eye and remind me that I am, indeed, going to a home bereft of stimulating companionship. I am a great conversationalist, despite it all. My animals are all very used to my running monologues, enjoying the sound of my voice, adding their two cents worth, but really not quite up to par in the feedback department. Oddly, I find myself having similar conversations with my plants. Especially my newly planted grapes, and the recently transplanted roses, as I encourage them to take root, find their place in the world, be strong despite the winds of change. I have considered wearing a phone headset, just so anyone witnessing these elaborate conversations would assume I am talking to a human at the other end of the line, not a struggling Himrod White grapevine that merely stares back, mute and stubborn..
    Mostly, I am content with my Aloneness. Mostly. But then there are the days when I come home too tired to carry the conversation, wishing for just a few encouraging words, a calming touch, a welcome home that does not include dog drool. Those are the days that find me being unerringly drawn to the darkness of my bedroom, and the comfort of wrapping myself around my pillow and crying silently in my despair. Even though I live alone, I weep silently, the only sound my ragged breathing. I am not one to make a loud fuss over grief, even if there is no one to hear. But I only allow a few moments of such self-pity. It can't be allowed to take a firm hold. So I will find my proverbial boot straps, give them a good solid yank, and leave the sanctuary of my cave-like room. Alone does not have to translate directly into Lonely. Mostly, I am content with my Aloneness. Mostly.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Cat and Mouse?

    Is it better to say too much, than too little? Better to overwhelm with words, or risk misunderstandings. I just do not understand the human mind. Am I alone in the desire to let my feelings known and understood, instead of playing coy cat and mouse games? I have spent a lifetime trying to understand, keeping my mouth shut out of fear of saying too much, driving people away with bare faced honesty. Yes, I do understand that some things are best left unsaid, things that though true may be hurtful. But to be honest with emotions, thoughts, actions. That is where my naive, gullible nature does tend to lead me astray. I want, need to be honest with who I am. But in the past have had my nature referred to as "a full court press." I don't see it as such. Is honesty so intimidating and frightening? Does the threat of truth and disclosure intimidate? It shouldn't. Are we so jaded, far removed from honesty, that we are suspicious and threatened when confronted with bold truths? We should not be forced to read between the lines. We should not risk friendships over half-truths, unspoken desires, and fear of saying too much. I have released most of my fear, but still find myself wondering at the sagacity of full disclosure. Too often I feel the sudden panic of not having an unsend button, a rewind, a playground do-over. At times I even regret having fired my Internal Editor, who slapped a gag order on me whenever she saw bold truths bubbling up from within and getting perilously close to my lips.
    And so, I stride through my personal life, doing my best to be honest and yet not intimidating. I do think it is very possible that I have discovered a friend or two with whom I can be straightforward Me. I have spoken truths, blatant honesty, no-holds-barred Me, and then fearfully waited for the flinch, which doesn't come. Is it wrong that I am so astounded? Odd that I may be free from the drama of the cat and mouse games preferred the world over? I am hoping that my freedom is at hand. My emancipation. The release of my soul into the wild so it can soar uncensored. Truth is not frightening, unspoken truths though, can take on the same terror as the boogeyman. To not know is far worse than the knowing. I prefer to shine the light into the dark corners, revealing the truth as the harmless pile of toys that it is.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

I Don't Understand

    I do not understand people. I know I have touched upon this before. But it keeps rearing its head and staring me in the face these days. I fall prey to the misconception that people should act in a logical, or at least semi-logical fashion. But they do not. I find that intelligence has nothing to do with this, or education, or lack of it. What I am beginning to see it as  is lack of courtesy, empathy, understanding. Most people are so fixated on their own needs, dreams and desires that they do not look beyond their small sphere of reality and into the world around them. So inner focused, self focused, selfish, that they do not comprehend how their actions, words and deeds effect the world and people around them. Even, and maybe especially, those people closest to them. Assumptions are made that anyone and everyone is willing to just follow along, jump in the boat, be at the beck and call. Maybe, I fall into this mindset as well? I don't think so, I spend far too much time dwelling on how my words and actions effect others.
    I do find that I am less flexible now than I was even a few years ago. But I know that I stick to my guns because I am all too likely to allow myself to compromise all in order to keep harmony. I have done it too many times in the past, and not so past, to my own downfall and disappointment. There are so many days when I wish I could set aside my concern for others, my empathy, sympathy and understanding to just demand what I want, when I want it. No compromise. Just my desires, my dreams, my schemes, my wishes. Me. Mine. But I don't. Why? Because I know it does no good to force my dreams and wishes on another, it will just end in heartache. Mine. So instead, I am inclined to distance myself, refuse to play the game, stay alone and lonely. But I can't compromise my Self. I know dreams are fluid and can be altered if the incentive is right, my dreams change and alter to the circumstances. To me this is not a compromise, it is a meeting of the minds, finding new dreams, new desires, changing with the ebb and flow of life. But again, few people are as willing to see outside of their narrow sphere of self, they see such alterations as giving in, not as trying a different path. I am always interested in seeing what is down a new path, even if it is dark, shadowy and fraught with potential danger. That is what life is about. Finding new paths, not fearing change, not hiding within your own sphere of reality, clinging to a wished for future so strongly that you cannot see the beauty of a possible bright, new future right in front of you. Look beyond what is within your own arms' reach, see what lay just beyond your touch, and reach for it. Stop at the fork in the road, take the more difficult path, the rewards are often greater despite the scrapes and bruises. It is not as difficult as it sounds. Painful, sometimes. Heartbreaking, on occasion. But the rewards can be immeasurable.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Home Safe

    Home. Wrapped around me like armor. My shield and weapon. Mania returns to beat melancholy away from the door. A preemptive strike.  Successful. Perfectly placed. Strategic. No collateral damage, just melancholy blasted away, fragged, demolished, destroyed. Zero casualties.
   Now, entrenched, well armed, well protected, safe. I know tonight will bring sleep free of demons. I can wake rested, renewed. Spirit rejuvenated. It was a near miss. And I am feeling an adrenaline fueled vigor, knowing how close I came to tragedy. A preemptive strike. Surgical in its precision. Saved. Safe. Home.

Get Home

    Days like today all I can think is, "I need to get Home. I need to get Home." I can feel the crash coming, and I know if I can get home I can likely stave it off with forced mania. I can work myself to the brink of exhaustion and then mania will kick in and take over. I know this. I know this. It is like a tide of panic rolling toward the shore. I have no idea the depth and power of the wave. Have no way of knowing until it hits and either breaks upon the rocks, harmless and mild. Or if it will sweep far inland carrying detritus from the depths to deposit upon my ravaged beach. There is no way of knowing. I just know that the alarm has sounded. The bell is pealing. I have to get to high ground, my home, my fortress of solitude, my bunker high upon the hillside. I have to outrun the wave. Hoping it is all foam and spray. I need to get Home. I just need to get Home.

It's Nothing

    After more than a week at full blown manic mode, I feel myself coming up against the wall. Maybe it is just a touch of fatigue, a bit of a hill on my careening course. I feel it humming behind my eyelids, a specter lurking over my shoulder just beyond the edge of my vision. It taps my shoulder, then hides when I turn to look. I tell myself, "It's nothing, it's nothing." But really, I know better. I know better because I can feel the loneliness creeping back, just a touch, just enough that I have felt the sting of tears after a whole week without weeping. Fatigue making me susceptible to to the pain of rejection, real or imagined. I can feel the gloom of abject loneliness waiting in the wings for nightfall. That will be the sure test, when darkness falls. The beauty of knowing what is pending, seeing that hint of the future, gives me the prescience to do what I can to head off the darkness. If I can avoid wakening the demons I may be able to ride out a day of mild melancholy, revitalize my spirit with sleep, and attack a new day with returned vigor. I know melancholy is the price I pay for mania. But there are times when I wish to defer the payment, put it off, risk added penalties and late fees. I am currently enjoying my rocket ride, my whirlwind, the eruption of fire. I would be sad to see it come to an end before I get to truly blast it through to the extreme. But the specter lurks, just beyond my vision, just out of sight, breathing on my neck with soft, cool puffs. Just enough to raise the fine hairs along my spine. If I can reconnect to the mania, now, I can outdistance the specter, I know I can. This is why addicts continue to chase the dragon, because in reality they are trying to outpace and outdistance their pursuing demons. I do not have to resort to outside influences, chemicals, substances. The influence is in my mind, the chemicals in my brain, the substance courses through my veins. To add outside forces would only end in disastrous carnage. A hazardous chemical reaction. At least I am wise enough to understand this to my very marrow. But still, I feel the specter looming. I choose to think that I am just tired. It's nothing. It's nothing. I am just tired.

Occam's Razor

    Occam's Razor: The law of Parsimony, of Economy, of Succinctness. To select from competing hypothesis  that which makes the fewest assumptions and thereby offers the simplest explanation. In other words, "If you hear hoofbeats, think Horses not Zebras."
    I don't think this is a difficult concept. As a matter of fact, it is a very simple concept. That is the whole premise; Simplify. But I find that people are all too willing to over think, let their imaginations run rampant, take a simple situation and over-complicate until it is an irrevocable tangled mess. As much as I pride myself in understanding psychology, of others and myself, I now realize that despite that knowledge I still don't understand people. I do not understand their actions and reactions to simple things. They over-complicate, read too much into simple statements, seem to be looking for a devious motive behind my honesty. In the world inside my head, usually A leads to B, which then leads to C. Straightforward, simplistic. But in the real world there is no such logic. It is a convoluted mess of emotions, misunderstandings, and hidden motives. Apparently, my honesty is the Zebra. My straightforward, honest approach is being constantly misunderstood, and suspect. Despite this, I cannot bring myself to step into the circle of game playing. I refuse to interpret aching silence and unanswered missives. I have been down that path before, and though my instincts and interpretations were dead-on, I still refuse to play. I am not a child, to sulk in the corner, arms crossed and scowling, waiting for someone to notice and ask me what is wrong. I chose to think that silence is merely silence. Words mean exactly what they say, no reading between the lines. A smile is a smile. It is simplistic, honest, truthful. It is who I am. As lonely as honesty has left me, it is still my chosen form of communication.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Off The Deep End, and Back Again

    Off the Deep End, and back again. When you have gone beyond the edge, fallen into the abyss, walked through fire, and managed to find your way back, it causes irrevocable changes. It alters reality on a level that cannot be understood except by those who have traveled a similar path. I know that my personal journey was not as arduous nor dreadful as what others have had to go through, and through it all I knew that I would find my way back. I never reached the point of total despair, just abject misery, near loss of all hope, and demoralizing despair. There really is a huge difference in degree, once a certain level has been plummeted to. Rock bottom for me is still several levels of hell higher than what many must endure.
    But I do not trivialize my personal journeys. I have no desire to be the "lowest." That is definitely an honor that I do not strive to achieve. When deep in the clutches of the abyss, in the heart of the fire, it was near to impossible to make myself believe that there would be a way out. That I would survive relatively intact. Diving into the deep, I was forever changed, and I feel as if it has left an indelible mark on me. I see it now as a mark of honor, a scarred over war wound to be proudly displayed, at least to myself. I have reached a point of relative stability, it has been a full week since I have cried, and I feel stronger, more capable and revitalized. Plunging off the Deep End, submerging into the darkness, baptized by fire, cleansed, scoured free of accumulated grime, swept of detritus, returned to the light.
    I feel reawakened. As if the last decade was spent in somnolence, sleep walking through life, accepting what came my way without a fight, choosing the path of least resistance, letting my edge be dulled, my surface tarnished. But that is not who I am. It took the plunge into darkness, Off the Deep End, to revitalize my spirit, even if it came near to breaking my mind. I can look back, reflect, appreciate my heroic endeavor, marvel at my strength, wonder at my resilience. I am forever changed, altered, metamorphosized by the experience. I am strengthened. I feel closer to realizing my full potential. I have reconnected to Me that was lost so very long ago. I am stronger, resolved to not compromise my happiness, self esteem, health, spirit, heart for anyone. I am as the steel heated in the white hot fire, hammered against and anvil, and then plunged into the cold, dark, deep waters. I am strong, unbreakable, honed sharp, polished smooth. Dangerous. Graceful. Sleek. A work of Art; Forged in Fire, Tempered in The Deep.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Not Mania, Me

    Last night, trying to dance myself into exhaustion, and not being very successful, I was feeling a bit unnerved by my recent and long lasting manic mode. Lying awake at 5am, after a brief but adequate 6 hours of sleep, I wondered, maybe this is not manic mode, but a return to the Me that was so very long ago? I remember days of boundless energy, enthusiasm for life, lusty thoughts, voracious appetites for all things physical and emotional, power coursing through my veins, an undimmed spirit, a fire in my belly. In truth that was 3 decades ago, yes I was younger, and have lived a lifetime since. But am I all that much different today than the young, vibrant woman I was then? Yes, older and wiser, but I have always been told I am an Old Soul. Yes, maybe a bit more jaded and aware of the dangers the world can hold. But Physically and Emotionally I feel I have turned back the hands of time. My body feels better and more capable now, than it did then. I am stronger, have better stamina in all things, and fuel my engine with healthy rocket fuel, not cheap sludge as I did then. And to add to the package, my skills, patience and understanding have multiplied exponentially over time. I am ten times the woman I was then. And I have rediscovered the fire that is Me. Reconnected with my zest, vigor, lust, power, eccentricity and electricity. I see it now, knowing what I know, as having shed so much of what was holding me down, forcing me to be grounded, tethered, bridled, caged. I have freed myself from the detritus of my past, broken my shackles, and shed that life as a snake sheds her skin. I can look back at the hollow, shriveled, cast off debris and see how it had dulled me, hindered me, made me itch and crave change. Now my scales gleam in the sun, sleek and smooth, begging to be touched. I flicker my tongue, tasting the fresh clean air that surrounds me. I understand that Manic Mode is not the exception, but the Rule. I want to charge through life, careening down the path, milking every minute from every day. I can't be held back, tied down, forced to change, or I will once again grow dulled and hindered. That is not who I am. I am The Whirlwind, The Maelstrom. I am a Force to be Reckoned With. I am Me. I am the Mania and the Mania is Me. I have reclaimed who I am, and I will not let it slip away again.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

All Gleed Out

    Still overwrought with full blown Mania. I have never had an episode last so long, nearly a week. I don't know whether to be elated or concerned. I am racing headlong through my days, being amazingly functional and productive, as long as no one minds the A.D.D. brain that can't stay focused on any given train of thought for longer than a few minutes. Oddly, I am soothed by Civil War documentaries. Over the weekend I played a 10 hour documentary that begins with the political machinations that inspires succession, through the assassination of President Lincoln and beyond. I played the mini-series through three full times as the soothing sounds accompanying my frenzied activities. It is obsessive, I know. It is compulsive, I know. But at this point I know better than to try and predict, control or understand some of my actions. Careening through my days, overstimulated, overactive, forgetting to eat, but never forgetting a workout. I have lost 4 pounds in a week. It is a bit alarming. And tragically, I believe that the last three pounds was all breast. I have nothing left, thank the gods I have good pec muscles or I would be as flat chested as I was at 8. But damn, my muscles are corded steel. I feel like I have the brain of an A.D.D. 10 year old, in the body of a fit 25 year old, wearing the skin of a 50 year old. It is a very weird combination, and all I want to do is race around, burning energy, not sleeping, playing, talking rapidly to whoever will listen, thank the gods my dogs like the sound of my voice. Tonight I had to dance for a solid 2 hours to bring my exhilaration down to a manageable level. I danced, sweated, gyrated, cavorted, twisted, writhed, and swayed for a solid two hours. And, still not tired.
    I am not sure where or when this will stop. I have managed to put it to good use. But it gets wearing and concerning. Maybe I am just overflowing with glee and it has nothing to do with mania at all. Just an epic cavalcade of glee. Yeah, that must be it. But damn, I am about gleed out. How much glee can one girl tolerate? I guess I will find out. Tomorrow is another day.

Time To Play?

    I know I am on a cusp, standing at a crossroads where every choice will lead me far from the life I have been living. Exhilaration and panic are my constant companions of late, as I know I am stepping ever further from the life I know. It is a time of change, metamorphosis, options, decisions. Mania has been propelling me forward at a reckless pace, I am almost in need of Melancholy to take the reins, slow my pace, and make me revert to some introjective inspection of motive, method and madness. But neither melancholy nor mania are at my beck and call, they come and go with the casual negligence of a cat. Instead, I will careen down whatever path presents itself as the most likely to not end in a dead end, or train wreck. I am sure no matter the chosen path it will be fraught with hairpin corners, mudslides, washed out bridges, and No Gas For Next 169 Miles signage.
    A year ago, I felt myself at a similar crossroad, but then my options were more straightforward and obvious. I had personal goals set, and was stubbornly hellbent on achieving them, and I did despite the odds and opposition. Now though, my goals are more fantasy and dream world, more ephemeral, as solid as the mist lingering along a creek bed. I feel a driving need to pursue goals, but for the moment I have nothing so solid as the goals and dreams of my recent past. Yes, I have dreams galore and glorious. Fantasies running rampant, taunting me, tormenting me, titillating me. My imagination has been on an unending carnival ride replete with lights, bells, whistles and the smells of diesel exhaust and fresh corndogs. It is ridiculously fun, but yet in the end not as satisfying as a solid goal pursued and achieved.
    Maybe it is my time to play? Time to rest on my laurels for a moment? Enjoy the fruits of my labors? My opportunity to set the wearying life goals aside for a time, and just play? Seek out fun, pleasure and playmates? Maybe I am finally at a vantage point in the road where I can see across an open field, lights of the carnival beckoning, sweet smell of cotton candy drifting on warm summer air. Time to step off the hard-packed path? Wander across the field, through verdant grass, riotous wildflowers, the hum of bees tickling my inner ear. Warm breeze caressing my skin, flirting with my unbound hair, tall grasses tickling the palms of my hands. I think I have earned the right to play, unencumbered, uninhibited, unabashed, uncontrolled, unapologetic. Time to play.

Monday, May 21, 2012

For Your Consideration: Melancholy

    Funny how Brain/Body switch gears so easily and fluidly. Currently in full-bore manic mode, getting tons of shit done, going through days at breakneck speed, unable to find the point of fatigue even when I am staggeringly exhausted. It is glorious, and demanding. And Brain barely functions. It darts from subject to subject, unable to stay on task, unable to focus. Like a rabid turbo-hamster on a well greased wheel, tiny legs a blur, moving at lightening speed, but really going nowhere fast. It is so unlike the darker days, when Body is slow to start, and has to be whipped into action. And Brain will whip Body into action, knowing the consequences of lethargy, even during a bout of Melancholy.
    *Melancholy: /melen-kalee/   Noun A deep, pensive, and long lasting sadness. Adjective Sad, gloomy or depressed*  I have decided that "melancholy" sounds much more romantic than "depressed" and so have decided to just go with the flow. Besides, doesn't Manic/Melancholia sound way more fluid and poetic than Manic/Depressive?  Seriously.
    So, as you see, as Mania blasts through Body, poor Brain is unable to keep on track. Therefore, the meandering into the definition of Melancholy, and my new favorite euphemism. If this were the 1800s my doctor would merely prescribe Opium for my Melancholia, and I would likely have an attack of Vapors from a too tight corset restricting my breathing as I dashed about during full blown Mania. Then, I'm sure Laudanum would be the preferred cure, "Careful my dear, I hear it is full of Hops." Hops? Yeah, that's what I would be concerned about.
    Okey-dokey, leaping off track, once again. Interesting how hard Brain struggles against the energy overload. I can empathize with the 6 year old kid amped up on high-fructose corn syrup and too much pent up energy. Oh my god I am going to explode! Yes, it's like that. Poor, poor Brain. Just hanging on with both hands, or would that be hanging on with medulla oblongata? Gripping tight with all the gray matter Brain can muster, as Body careens madly through the day, reckless and wild. Brain, just wishing for a dose of Melancholy so he can regain control, wrest the higher functions out of the gleeful clutches of Manic Body. But, as we all know, Self, Body and Brain, there is no way to stop Mania, it must just be ridden into the ground. Self and Body, try to shush Brain, as we enjoy the Mania far more than the Melancholy. And damn, my kitchen is clean.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Embrace The Insanity

    Snapped awake at 5am from a dream I do not remember. Oddly the bothersome Demons typically responsible for nocturnal interruptions were nowhere to be found. Instead it was a naughty Imp, poking me awake, whispering lascivious thoughts, sweetly corrupting, tempting, tempestuous. Curled around my pillow, eyes closed against the dim, pre-dawn light, the thoughts were rampant in my brain and body. Not my usual soft, sensual, dream fogged thoughts. These had an exhilarating edge. Images of rough hands, eager, firm, not painful, yet with the chance of leaving a trail of light bruising on easily marked skin. Hands in hair, gripped tight, tugging firmly, head pulled back to bare throat. Bruising kisses, firm bites. Hands pinned. Muscles flexed, not in resistance, but with the feel of frenzied struggles. The recklessness of children at play, sweating, wrestling, King of the Hill. But definitely not Child's Play. It was torment. Thoughts such as these, alone in the near dark, torturous. Time lost meaning as my brain led me through these shadowy paths. Graphic images on the movie screen inside my head. Full color. Graphic. Uncensored. Making me insane. But I embrace the insanity.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Find Her Peace in Sleep

    Some days I feel like finally just giving up, throwing in the towel, burying my head in the sand. This is one of those days. I search for the good, the optimistic, the joyful, a small glimmer of hope and bliss. I search so hard. It doesn't seem like it should be this difficult. For every little moment of triumph I get hit with a larger defeat. I am back to one step forward, two steps back. I am trying so hard to hang on, to keep moving forward. I know I will manage to make it through this latest shitstorm of random acts of fail, but right now, today, this week, it is everything I can do to not crawl into my shell and just wish the world away. Where is a massive meteor strike when you need one? I could handle that. It is the constant pecking away of my self-esteem, resources, livelihood, that wears me away like the waves lapping against stone. I reach out, trying to pull in revitalized energy, recoup lost resources, rebuild self-esteem. But it feels as if every attempt backfires. At each and every turn I am being faced with disappointment and mounting problems. I watch as my limited finances dwindle, sapped by unexpected emergency expenses. One step forward, two steps back. I am so tired. Today, weeping  at my desk, feeling alone against the world, again, still. How I wish for a hand up, providence, a minor miracle. But I know it is not to be. I am alone, and so I alone must be the hand up. I am fresh out of miracles though, and my strength seems to be waning. Maybe I am just tired, so very tired.
    Oddly, I started the day full of the optimism of Spring. And though the day was a rollercoaster of emotions, as they all too often are, it seemed I was heading for a decent ending. Then the hits came, and kept coming. one assault after another. And this has been the norm of late, I wake, cheerful and optimistic, manage to hold that close to my heart and shine my way through the day. Maybe I am just burning out the light too early in the day? The days are getting longer. Do I need to dim my radiance, hold on to a few rays to combat the inevitable darkness? But I am no more able to control the flow of energy from my spirit, than can the river slow the water. It just is what it is. My energy cannot be contained, cannot be slowed, but lately it feels as if I am a leaky vessel, and the energy is draining out at an every increasing rate. Am I sharing too much? Am I trying too hard to buoy too many other spirits, until I have been emptied like thirsty lips suckling at a canteen? It is so tiring. I feel empty, drained, dried up. By the end of the day I have nothing left to alleviate my own needs.
    But there is the bliss of sleep. I will crawl into my bed, curl up on my side, cradling my pillow to my chest and seek rejuvenation through the healing power of sleep. Hopefully tomorrow, as today, I will wake optimistic and re-energized. My soul and spirit renewed by sleep. Will it be true if I wish it to be so? I fervently wish it so, with any shred of hope left in my dusty container, I really wish it to be so.
    "And if tonight my soul may find her peace in sleep, and sink in good oblivion, and in the morning wake like a new opened flower, then I have been dipped again in god, and new created."  D.H. Lawrence

Don't Go In Alone

   Is there any place that exemplifies the cancerous mentality of our 
country any better than the mega-mall? Forced to spend an hour dawdling 
at this most hated of places, there was no recourse but to give myself 
a goal, a definite objective so as not to be sucked in and brain-fucked 
by incessant conspicuous consumption. In this case, fortunately, I was 
in dire need of half dozen 16 gauge horseshoes to replace metal bits in 
various piercings. And so, fortified with a handful of Double Bubble 
Bubblegum, and hostile attitude, I plunged into the fray. The assault 
on my senses was near to overwhelming. Every step took me deeper into a 
world of sights, sounds, scents, most of which are garish, overly 
cloying, sickening sweet, brain numbing. I was fortunate that crowds 
were minimal, reducing my need to kidney punch, or drop a shoulder and 
body block, and allowing me to widen my stride to hasten to my 
objective. Sadly, my hunt required popping into several shops, all 
geared towards vacuous youth with overwhelming need to follow the 
recent trends, and armed with parental credit cards. Each shop pounded 
with its own cacophony of dance club music, the repetitive, electric 
drumbeat beating against my skull like so many limp fists. Knowing I 
had but one need, I was quickly in and out, avoiding bored, overly 
helpful clerks wanting to be sure I noticed the bulging racks filled 
with overpriced, cheaply made, sweat shop produce. Each individual 
foray increased my feeling of desperation, frustration, aggravation and 
hostility. I could feel homicidal urges beginning to rise within my 
chest, and knew I needed to quicken the pace, find my objective, and 
flee to the fresh open air before my urges combusted into 
uncontrollable rage, or my head exploded, whichever would come first.
     Finally, I see the store I know will be my salvation; Hot Topix, 
the one store that makes me feel even moderately at home. I enter, my 
ears are soothed by the pulse pounding, adrenaline fueled, intricate 
drumming of a classic punk band, drum sticks wielded by a master of the 
Power Beat. I feel tension draining from me as I am surrounded by the 
misfits and wannabe-misfits of society, and am calmed by the smells of 
leather and vinyl. Homicidal urges fall away, my hands unclench as I 
caress skull adorned miniskirts. Of course, I find my objective 
immediately and am quickly assisted by a charming girl, eyes rimmed by 
wide, coal black eyeliner, hair streaked with purple and green. My 
people. Of course, with time to spare, I find myself wandering the 
store, coveting the black corset-like vest ornamented with skulls and 
black leather lacing. I find a sundress, white with black Dio De Muetre 
skeletons, it would be perfect. But, I find myself succumbing to that 
mindless shopping mentality, wishing I had a crisp, new credit card in 
my wallet so I could shop willy-nilly, self medicating myself into 
somnolence, convinced the current economic crises is a mass 
hallucination of the unwashed masses fueled to hysterical level by 
inept, gore seeking reporters hoping to whip the public into a frothing 
frenzy. It is the Tender Trap, lulling me, getting me to drop my 
defenses as I feel the warmth of acceptance and understanding, the 
lassitude of senseless consumerism, but it is still a trap, a cunning, 
diabolical trap. Fortunately, I am not so entranced by the power of 
commercial goods that I cannot pull myself away from the trance 
inducing, addictive vapors of senseless spending. I make my meager 
purchase and flee, feeling as if I dodged a bullet, or at least a 
tranquilizer dart.
      The mall is a dangerous place, fraught with perils beyond 
imagining and inhabited by all-consuming zombies. Beware all who enter. 
And if possible, don’t go in alone.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

The Unapologetic Me

    Another phase of self-analysis. Or more of the ongoing perpetual therapy session, not sure which. But I have moved away from my harsh self-flagellation that was my proclivity in the not so distant past. Okay, haven't completely left the whips behind, nor the hair shirt and cilice band. But they are kept in the closet and only brought out for special occasions. Now that my Demons have ceased their relentless berating and taunting, at least for a few days, I can delve a little deeper into my psyche, past the scar tissue, past the still oozing wounds. I can touch on feelings revealed by the quieting of the voices of failure. Amazing how much more one can hear, when the babble has been silenced. I never know how long the silence will last, there are already murmurings, echos, sibilant hissing. But right now, this moment, there is mostly silence. Today has been a day of mostly silence. Hard work in the outdoors, productive, manic endeavors do help to push the voices to the rear of the bus. Yes, I do know that my mania kicked into high gear yesterday to stave off an episode I could feel lurking just out of sight. But that is part of Mania's job, to stave off another episode.
    With the quieting of my demons, the hushing of the voices, a manic sense of accomplishment, came one of those rare moments of clarity. I saw it and seized upon it before it could flee to the netherworld and beyond my grasp. It was triggered by the underlying hunger that has been nipping at my heels, making me ache, leaving me less than satisfied. It was a moment when I realized that I have been looking in all the wrong corners, under all the wrong rocks. Looking for something that I am beginning to think does not exist. My hunger, which I know cannot be satisfied with the banal, the bland, the plebeian, may be something I will just have to learn to live with. I may need to find another course, a surrogate, a replacement for a hunger that I think is not to be satiated. Why? Why have I suddenly become convinced that I will be ever craving, ever hungry, never satisfied? Because I need to be the Unapologetic Me. I used this word today in a missive to a friend, by sheer dumb luck, too much coffee, and an unstemmed stream of consciousness. The Unapologetic Me. Me, unapologetically bi-polar, unbridled, unashamed, ricocheting wildly through emotions, bouncing off walls, climbing the walls, curled in a corner, rambling, incoherent, creative, medicated, insomniac, obsessive, focused, weeping, raging, sensitive, neurotic, damaged, deviant, caring, devoted, honest, lunatic, grounded, balanced, flighty, spacy, tattooed punk, leather clad biker, earth mother, hippie chick. I need to be totally accepted for who I am, not have to only share a fraction of Me. I cannot continue to hide elements of my nature that are vital to my soul, as I have done within every relationship I have ever been involved in. Every single one. This winter I was even told that one condition of a relationship was that I would have to stay on my meds. Seriously. At the moment I agreed. Several moments later I was thinking, "What the fuck did I just agree too? And who the hell are they to make such a command?" As you can imagine, that did not end well. I have found that every time I begin to share some of the more critical elements of what makes me Me, I can be pretty sure that I am crossing the line, and that chances are I will never get the chance to speak to that person again. It is weird. I'm not saying I don't have plenty of friends who take me just as I am, but they are not subjected to me day in and day out. They get to see me at my best and most charming. Okay, I think I am pretty damned charming when I am at my most deranged, but maybe I am seeing it from a slanted perspective. And I do shelter everyone from me when I am hovering near the abyss, that is just plain courtesy on my part. But I honestly cannot imagine meeting someone who will take every aspect about me at face value, understand that it is part of me, that I do not need fixing, that I do not need healing. I doubt there is a single person out there who can meet the Unapologetic Me and not flinch. I do not say this out of conceit, I wish it were that simple. I say this from experience. And so, I realize that by making the decision to only accept someone who can accept every facet of this gem, I may well be making a conscious decision that will set me up for a lifetime of solitude, or at least singleness. And I realize that I am okay with that. I want, need to be Me, raw, uncensored, unabridged The Unapologetic Me.

Friday, May 11, 2012

"What Are You Hungry For..."

    "What are you hungry for when you don't know what you're hungry for?" This old advertising slogan came to me suddenly today, suddenly and as an epiphany. Or maybe an anti-epiphany. For months, and more, I have felt consumed by a hunger, a need, desire, craving, urge. Call it what you will, it has been a driving force behind many of my actions this last year or two. But I have no idea what it truly is. I feel it, buzzing inside my skull, behind my eyelids, in my chest, perched on my shoulder. An Imp with a cattle prod. It forces me to action time and again. But why? What is it? Where is it herding me? Guiding me? Forcing me? I chose wrong paths, make poor decisions, because I do not know what it is I am needing, what I need to feed this hunger. It is not a void, I am not empty. It is more like a ravishing hunger caused by a mineral deficiency. There is no easy explanation for the cravings, just an instinctual need to satisfy them.
    I have tried the plebeian remedies. I have followed traditional paths. I have tested tepid waters. It is not what I need. It is as if I were trying to stave off the cravings with dry saltines, it may work for a brief moment, but then the cravings are back harder than before. The force of this hunger has been astonishing as I blunder about sampling one thing after another. Tasting and discarding. Too bland. Too dry. Too mealy. Too mushy. As much as I wish I were one to be satisfied with bland, mundane, gentle fair, I am not. I am likely to only be satisfied with acidic, acerbic, salty, fiery, spicy fair that will panic my palette, terrorize my trachea, steamroll my stomach and devastate my digestive tract. I am not one who can be satisfied with the easy choice, the comfortable path, the white bread world. As much as I shelter myself from the nausea inducing drama of the world around me, I am none the less drawn to a level of stress and anxiety. True,often self-induced, self-inflicted, and self-contained. Maybe I am addicted to stress? But that is not the right fit either. It is much deeper than that.
    As I have been stumbling from one ineffectual remedy to another, trying to force myself into a path that should be deemed acceptable and that of least resistance, I find myself reaching out to try and taste what should be forbidden fruit. I reach for the acerbic, the raw, the bitter, the spicy. I touch it and know it is what I crave. But still, I pull back, fearful of the ramifications, the potential for major upset. I taste it upon my fingers, tongue tingling with the intensity, making my mouth water in anticipation. But I draw away, unsure. Reaching out, touching, tasting, its fragrance on the wind teasing me further. The hunger is strong. Overpowering. But I know that there is no one cure, no one remedy, no easy fix. I know my life is not destined to be peaceful and easy, no matter how I shelter myself. But as I shelter my body, allow a peaceful setting to surround me, I know I can risk heart and mind to find what it is that is driving me. I feel I am closer to understanding this hunger, this need, my cravings. As I have tested and discarded the bland and easy, I know the flavor I am looking for will be anything but. What are you hungry for when you don't know what you're hungry for? Something you just haven't tasted yet.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

I Am Not The Backup Plan

    I am not the Backup Plan. I am not the Default Winner. I am not The Girl On The Side. And yet, this has been the story of my life. I would like, for once, to be The One, First Choice, The Grand Prize Winner.  Am I the only one who sees my worth, understands my value, appreciates my skills? There is an underlying frustration that seethes within, railing against the unfairness. I have found I am most appreciated after I am gone. Where is the justice in that? Is it too much to ask, for once, to be appreciated in the now? To be understood. To be wanted. Desired. To be the object of passion. These are actually simple things. Simple desires. Simple needs. To be The One, First Choice, for once. I concede, it is heartbreaking, and damaging. At times my self-esteem suffers. But I know my worth. I know my value. And truly, in the end, that is what matters. I matter to Me. I am My First Choice.

Monday, May 7, 2012

Mania To Save The Day

    Finally! Mania has finally made an appearance. I knew it was merely waiting in the wings, watching as I struggled through waist deep angst, fought against big, ugly demons. It waits, knowing I will fight my way through the latest chaos, the most recent drama. Mania knows I am stronger than I think I am. Mania knows I will rise to the occasion. My Mania knows me better than I know myself. Once I had dissected myself, exposing the bleakness at the root of my ongoing battle, Mania stepped up to help relieve me if the heavy burden weighing upon my soul. I know the core issue is still there, it did not magically disappear with the arrival of mania, but it has been tamed, forced into a corner, muzzled, sedated, until I have recovered enough spiritual energy to renew the battle.
    With Mania in the house, I knew my soul needed me to dance. I have missed my Manic Dance Party For One. And though I am somewhat hindered by recent surgical invasion into my troublesome knee, I strapped in and danced. Not quite with my usual reckless abandon, instead I relied on measured, sinuous movement. Music that caressed my body like lover's hands, encouraging flowing movement, flexing muscle, warmth, sweat. My soul needed me to dance. Dance renews me, empowers me, frees me to send my mind away from the day to day strife and off into the cosmos. Mania rescues me, Dance salvages my soul. Now, I am tired, but justly so. My muscles ache in a sweet, heated, post-coital way. I am relaxed beyond measure, tranquil, serene. I know that it isn't likely to last, but I will enjoy the afterglow while I can. Mania has arrived, I am saved.

Dredging Up The Past, Again

    I am not inclined to write about specific events, preferring generalization and symbolism to share my day to day weirdness, meltdowns and triumphs. But this weekend I got an email. Definitely an unsolicited email from the ghost of my past that haunts me most, and cuts deepest. A ghost that cut me to the quick, left me ragged on the side of the road, and still asks for absolution. I know that there is a point when I must find forgiveness if I am ever to truly heal from the deepest betrayal, devastation, humiliation and anguish that has ever been inflicted on the very core of my being. I know that, and yet, I don't know if forgiveness is possible. How can you damage someone so deeply, and yet still believe that friendship and love are a possibility? I realize that I have something deep inside of me that is broken, damaged, torn asunder. I am beginning to think that this damage is visible to prospective friends as a tainted aura. That this pall that has been cast across my features is partially responsible for my failure in the social arena in which I now find myself struggling to find acceptance. Struggling and failing. I find that I seem to have set myself up for multiple rejections. Friends wonder why I crawl into my shell, hide from the world, head for the sanctuary that is my home and refuse to emerge until the necessity of a paying job forces me into reality. And still I risk myself, my self esteem, my heart. I don't know why. Every minor rejection is an echoing reminder of a cataclysmic failure, the opening of wounds so deep they may last through eternity, the devastation of hopes, dreams and expectations. I was left hopeless, heartbroken, wounded, damaged, and deranged. It was not pretty. It was agony. The email made me stop and reflect how I am trying so hard to put that past behind me, to forget, to wish it had never happened. I am striving to move forward, but am being held back by a bitter past, and an indescribable, black emotion that stifles my joy. I need to confront my own damaged soul, deal with my own fractured heart before I can move ahead and into a new life, whether that be alone or with a partner. I know that others can see the damage as clearly as if I wore it tattooed across my forehead. It is a blight upon my cheerful nature, a curse upon my giving character. I know if I can face this head on, pull it from within my very being, dissect it, analyze it, understand it, that I may be able to beat it. I am beginning to see it as if it were a cancer that must be removed in order to restore my spiritual health. And in this sense, it will leave a void, a part of me that is lost forever, my innocence lost. I think that this is the crux. The reason I cannot find it within myself to find forgiveness. My innocence was taken, abused, discarded. Whether intentional or not, that was the outcome. My innocence is lost to me. My trusting nature has been sullied, and may never return. This is the true tragedy. Innocence lost. My Innocence Lost. I want it back. I want it back, but I know I ask the impossible. Maybe, just maybe, I can at least heal my trust. Relearn to trust my heart, to bare my soul, to not be guided by the memory of a pain so deep as to be unforgettable. And so, this email from my tormenting ghost, though it did dredge up grief, pain, tears, mourning, anguish. it reminded me that I must not turn my back on my own heart. I must reach through the haze of grief and heartache to find my trust, to heal my soul, to regain myself. I can do this. I must do this. If I cannot, I will continue living a half-life, and that is not an acceptable path. I will shed my grief. I will find my trust. My soul will heal. I will open my heart. I must, this is not an option.

Once More Into The Breach

    My demons were especially cruel last light, tormenting me, taunting me. Flaying me open to reveal fresh wounds and still tender scars. They are incredibly skillful, these demons of mine. Their timing is impeccable. They know to wait until I am at my lowest ebb, and it is too late in the night for me to reach out (though they know I reach out very rarely and only under extreme duress). So in the the darkness they ply their trade, with infinite accuracy. Targeting my weakest points they prod and poke with glee. I know they lurk in the shadows, watching my life, waiting for unrelenting hardship or ghosts from the past to interfere with my fragile stability. They know that the slightest touch from these ghosts will spill me from my questionable life raft, my leaking vessel, and spill me into rough seas, frigid water, the murky depths. There, floundering, I am vulnerable to any assault. My demons know this, and wait. They won't attack when I am feeling fleeting strength and stability. Oh no, they are clever little beasts. They know that when I am feeling powerful and rock solid that their attacks will be easily deflected. They will wait patiently, burning red eyes watching my every move, knowing that I will tire and my defenses will flag. I can only protect myself from the constant onslaught for so long before fatigue forces my shield to falter, to droop, my stalwart defenses to crumble. Then they will move in stealthily, under the cover of darkness, to begin their tireless assault. They are clever little monsters, these demons of mine. Clever, patient, diabolical, relentless. I kept my defenses strong and firm for weeks, despite a continuing onslaught, despite wave after wave of assaulting forces. I stayed strong despite the odds, regardless of the repeated blows against the shield of my psyche. But even I cannot remain stalwart forever, without reinforcements any fortress is bound to crumble against relentless bombardment. In through the breach my demons swarm. Their invasion has taken on a life of its own, as they plunge deep into my soul, attacking any and all weaknesses, creating weakness where there was none. I have no defense left. I have no troops to rally to my aid. I feel I have nothing. No way to combat the current invasion. At this point, the best I can hope for is to play dead, lay lifeless and unreactive as the demons stab at me with red hot daggers. I have to hope that if I can remain quiet and calm, they will give up their monstrous game, tire of exerting themselves with no payoff. In this, I am asking a lot of myself. Possibly more than I can withstand. Possibly more than can be expected of any mortal soul. But I am out of options. My play book has left me bereft of ideas. And they say that no battle plan will survive beyond first contact with the enemy. I can plan, devise brilliant defenses, but when reality hits me like a land mine, unexpected and hidden, damaging and painful, no tactic will survive that. But I know I must manage to hold out. Maybe reinforcements will arrive in the nick of time. Maybe the demons will tire of their torment. Maybe I will manage to win a final and absolute victory over my demons. No. That will not happen. I know the best I can hope for is to finagle a truce, delicately harness their energy, bend them to my will. They will never be beaten, never surrender. Not in any real sense. But maybe, just maybe I can reclaim a working relationship with my demons. I know that in many respects I need my demons, they fuel my creativity, and can be the driving force behind my mania. My demons can whip me towards success, out of sheer tenacity, if nothing else. Despite an near overwhelming desire to just lie down and give in, I must make myself refuse to give in to their onslaught. I will find the strength, somewhere deep within my soul, to rise up against them. I will find the power to resist the overwhelming desire to succumb to their assault. I know I can be the victor, at least not be the fallen. I have done it time and time again. But I am so very weary. I just need a rest. I just need a brief respite to gather myself, again, for the next wave. For I know that when darkness falls, they will resume their insidious poking and prodding. But I will be ready for them. I hope.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Mania, Gift Wrapped

   I am waiting for my Mania to come to my rescue. It is long overdue. Mania is the one reliable weapon I have during times like these. I feel as if I am being assailed on all fronts. Faced with bitter disappointments time and time again. I bury myself in projects, keep my mind occupied, push forward when all I really want is to curl into a ball and shut out the world. It is times like these when I seem to be blindsided by random acts of rejection and ghosts from the past coming back to raise the pain and angst of bitter disappointments. The sun loses brightness, the spring colors dim, I see the world through a haze, and wish it were not so. Where is My Mania? It should be here by now. I am clock watching, awaiting my tardy guest. Mania knows I can't maintain this level of darkness for long. Mania knows it needs to intercede, needs to my knight in shining armor. For I have no other hero to step up to my aid. No other paladin to rescue me from Me. Maybe Mania will be here tomorrow, when I wake. Maybe, if I am sure to send out a reminder, a wake up call, then Mania will surely come to my rescue. Of course it will come, Mania has never abandoned me, never left me to flounder for long. But I know that it may be just testing my mettle, setting back and watching as I fumble through the day. Mania smiles, knowing that I am being reminded of my need for it, making sure I appreciate it for the gift that it is. For my Mania is a gift, it comes wrapped in bright paper, with a beautiful bow, easily unwrapped, and always a delight. Maybe the gift will be here in the morning. I will hold that hope close. My Mania will come to me, save me, be my hero once again. Mania just has to remind me now and again that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I do love my Mania. I truly do.

The Price of Independence

    The aloneness of independence takes its toll. I pride myself in my strengths and ability to face life head on, alone, hiding fears, and moving forward despite the sibilant voices whispering in my ear that it is all too difficult. There are days when I want to pull the curtains tight, crawl into bed, burrow under my down comforter and sleep until the feelings of loneliness, despair and emotional exhaustion dissipate into the ether. But they never truly leave. They hover like vapors in my peripheral vision, reminding me constantly of their presence. I don't like admitting to myself that my independence comes with such a steep price. I know that I am often viewed as not wanting or needing any assistance, a partner, even a shoulder to cry on. I can even convince myself of such most of the time. But there are days when all I could wish for is another warm body present within the house, the sound of someone moving about in the other room, someone else to start the coffee in the morning. I think I would even be happy with a poltergeist, just to have that feeling that another sentient being inhabits my space. In the not so distance past I have allowed myself to be entrapped in a toxic relationship just so I would not be alone. Just so there would be one person in the world who would contact me daily. I weighed the situation and realized that my self esteem and self worth were far too valuable to spend in such a situation and so I broke free, despite the agony and desolation it caused. But now, alone, I could almost wish a return to what was at least a pretense of partnership, although I know I felt every bit as alone then as I do now. My life is never easy.
    Of course I know that this mood will pass. The darkness that threatens is always transitory. Even though it does lurk just around the corner, waiting a moment of weakness to pry its way into my brain. I know that my happiness does not hinge on the whims of others. My happiness is not tied to any other body but my own. I can take pride in my independence, even though I know it may drive away those that are intimidated by my strength, or those who have a need to be needed. I understand this. I have paid the price of the resolute loner. I have set my course. Someday, maybe, this will change. Someday, my strength and independence will be recognized as the beautiful thing that it is. I know this, I recognize it for what it is, but on days like this, it can be hard to convince myself.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Unabridged Me

    Rejection. I have slowly become accustomed to it. Sadly, annoyingly, frustratingly accustomed to being given the "Thanks-for-playing-we-have-fine-parting-gifts" pink slip. The whole of my life these last few years has felt like one failed interview after another. I get one opportunity to put my best foot forward, am judged, found lacking. Days will pass. Achingly silent days. And then the formal rejection arrives. I am beginning to think that I am the only one in the world who feels I measure up to whatever arbitrary standards are set by whoever it is that judges me and finds me woefully inadequate. It makes me doubt my own skill set. Makes me doubt my ability to fill the bill. I tell myself that it is because I am overqualified. The world is not ready for someone with my amazing skills. That I am so wonderful that others pale by comparison, and so I must be culled from the herd so others will not feel lessened by my presence. It is a good lie. And one I repeat often, especially at night when my demons gleefully remind me of recent failures.
    It does bring me to the edge of the abyss. I stare into the darkness that only recently released me from its grip. I won't go back. I refuse to let the abyss gain even the lightest grasp of my soul. But it is there, waiting. Patient as eternity. Repeated failures, continuous rejections, makes me doubt my choice to stay the course, be who I am, not present a false face. I want to be Me. The true, unabridged version of Me. I will not dilute myself in the vain hope that if I am just less Me than I will be deemed acceptable. I will not censor my glee. I will not edit my truths. I need to be everything that makes me the unique individual that I am. But I am lonely in my aloneness. The nights are long and dark. With each new rejection comes a moment of doubt. My stance weakens, my resolve wavers, if only for a moment. But that moment feels out of time and space, an eternity of fear, weakness, melancholy, panic, tears. It really is just a brief moment. A moment when I feel that the true, unabridged Me is not fit for publication, that I must censor, rewrite, edit, tweak, throw out entire chapters. I feel as if the world has deemed me unacceptable. And I don't know how to cope with that. And so I don't cope, I try to ignore the pain of rejection and move myself out of range. Yes, I do look back over my shoulder, analyze and reanalyze my actions and words, hoping to find some clue as to why I was not chosen, I look over every second, hear words, feel emotions, wonder at the failure, and convince myself that it is not me. I am not to be found wanting. I am the unappreciated, unclaimed prize. And this prize is not to be given out willy-nilly to the first person/job/situation who steps up to the plate. If I am rejected, it is not me that loses. I console myself with the knowledge that despite my aloneness, I am unique, I am being true to myself, I am unabridged, uncensored, unedited, raw, honest, and true to Self. That is where I stand. It is where I remain. It is Me. And I do not reject Me, I embrace Me.  

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Disjointed And Disconnected

    Feeling disjointed and disconnected. Nothing seems to flow, everything has a hitch. I can't even form cohesive sentences, my brain, mouth and hands seem to be on different frequencies. There are days when I feel I have split into several personas; capable worker-bee, spaced out writer, confused gender, emotional spaz. All  of this, packed inside my skull with no persona dominant or in control. It makes me feel as though my own body and brain were pulling me in every direction at once. Highs to lows. In and out. Back and forth. No control, no cohesiveness, no plan of attack. And so all I can do is drift along waiting for an inspiration to pull me out of the quagmire that can be my brain. It isn't easy. I can't stay focused on a task, my mind wanders the dark paths of my past, and at times my brain is filled with a nonsensical jabbering/singing as if it is attempting to block outside interference. It is mentally exhausting. And I don't know how to regain my focus. I try a hundred different plans and ideas with no benefit. Instead I must just let my many personas wear each other out, until only the strongest is left in control. But it is exhausting.