Thursday, September 27, 2012


    Complex not Complicated. Enduring not Erratic. Caring not Careless. Comfort not Conflict. Nurturing not Negative. Partners not Protagonists.
    Is this too much to ask? Do I expect too much? Am I such an Introvert and Isolationist that I set the bar too high? Erect walls, build moats, set up a defensive perimeter, hide in defilade. I make forays out into the world, lower my guard, test the waters, and then retreat to my fortress of solitude. Are my expectations of an ally unreasonable? I like to think not. But it seems when I open the gate, lower the drawbridge and invite company inside so begins the inevitable assault from within. My fortress is sheer stone wall on the impenetrable exterior, but the interior is soft, crumbling shale, easily broken, shattered and crushed beneath careless boots. Do I refuse entry? Do I set a vanguard, suspicious of any who may ask entrance? Shackle visitors? Disarm them? Hold them at bay? Or should I continue to give them free access to all the nooks and crannnies, dark corners, hidden passages?
    I have become quite the expert at renovation, remodeling and repair. My internal skills grow with each encounter. I sweep up the debris, carefully patch breaches, rebrick, replace mortar, repaint, hang tapestries over scars. After each rejuvenation I have a period of time when I do not want any visitors bespoiling the freshly renewed interior, but this phase does not last long. The rooms and hallways are quiet, empty, cold and lonely, so I know I will risk it all over again. I just have to convince myself to open the gate.


Birds on the wires.
Staggered like staccato quarter notes on a treble clef.
What song? Sleepy nocturne? Lullaby? Sweet symphony? 
I think wild Jazz jam session. 
Freeform Fusion. 
Waiting to erupt into soaring solos.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Self Awareness

    I have written endlessly about my obsessive need to self-analyze, self-flagellate, dissect my psyche in full view of the public. Many would, and do, say it is not healthy to be quite so self-critical. Mebbe Yes. Mebbe No. It does give me a better than average self-awareness. I understand myself, my actions, reactions, and even my insanities. I understand them even if there are times when I feel powerless to do anything about it. But I am Self-Aware. I have begun to realize, rather late in life, that Self-Awareness seems even less common than common sense, though one would think that to be impossible. So many go through their lives acting and reacting to events that transpire, with little or no understanding of why they do what they do. And worse yet, they do not care. Most people are very content with their blithe reactions. Along with a lack of awareness comes the strange skill of being able to see all the flaws in others, as well as projecting their own shortcomings. It is the Great Denial. As flawed as each of us can be, few are willing to see, understand and accept or change their flaws.
    Of course I know I am flawed. Flawed. Cracked. Scarred. Lunatic. Manic. Spastic. I know most of my shortcomings and embrace them as part of the creature that is me. True, some flaws need attention. Some need medication. But most meld together to make me the unique individual that I am. I am Self-Aware. I have scrutinized my psyche through a magnifying glass, a jeweler's loupe, an electron microscope. I know me. And love me none the less. But I am all too often confronted by those who's self view is myopic at best, blind more likely. They act and react without any understanding of the cause or effect. I have been blamed, accused, ridiculed by those who would see my flaws and project their own. I bite my tongue, knowing the futility of reason, or, god forbid, retaliation with truths and analysis. No one wants to hear me opine their causal connections between act and react. No matter if I be right or wrong, though especially if I am right. I have a decent understanding of base psychology, I can see the hurt child behind the grown up temper. But no one wants to think they are at fault in any way. And so I often accept the blame, withstand the assault, excuse the behaviors.
    My wish? To find the rare individual that sees my flaws as I do, part of the complication that is me, without rebuke. Someone who is Self-Aware to understand and accept their own perfect imperfections. We are all imperfect. I have said this time and time again, Perfectly Imperfect. To find another that truly understands this. It is easy for others to allow me to accept them for who they are, but to have the tables turned? To meet one who can see me through understanding, accepting, Self-Aware eyes.

Monday, September 24, 2012

My Future/Past Stranger

    Some days, such as today, beat me to a pulp. I feel fractured, bruised, lacerated, flayed wide open with salt in the wounds. On days such as these, I find myself reading my own writings, and oddly, taking strength from the words as if they were written by a stranger but written specifically for me. As if a stranger from my future and past has written words of encouragement to guide me through days such as today. I  know that today was self inflicted, it was of my own doing, and left havoc in the wake. I know that I am the one who damaged, hurt, betrayed. It was not intended. Not planned. Poorly executed. I accept the blame and wear it like a hair cloak, a cilice, my guilt. It is never my intent to do harm, one of the mores of my beliefs is, "Harm None." And I try, I do. I try with all my heart, which is why my failure is all the more painful and shameful. No, there was no evil intent, no desire to inflict pain and suffering, but I must take responsibility for my actions, deeds, words. And I do. I accept responsibility. It is on me. Mine. I claim it.
    And so I read my own words back to myself. Roll them around in my skull. Take some measure of comfort from the stranger in my future/past who was wise enough to assemble letters into words into understandable phrases into life lessons. I try to gather some strength to send out a prayer of healing, though I am sure it will fall short, and fall on deaf ears. I must glean a measure of power from the future/past stranger and resist the urge to crawl into my shell, hibernate, hide until spring when I can uncurl slowly like a seedling seeking the warmth of the sun.
    I read my words. Tales of tragedy, triumph, Mania, Melancholy, elation, deflation. Tales that are mine. Stories I understand. Parables with meaning. The Saga of life, My Life. The words support me, shore up my flagging spirits, bolster my courage, ease my torment. I am glad of my future/past stranger and what she has done, will do for me. She keeps me upright and moving forward, or at least upright and not sliding back. I do still feel the cool air that rises from the abyss. I know of its existence. But I also know that I will not revisit that darkness. That is past, and written, to be remembered, but not dwelled upon. I am stronger than I was, stronger than I have ever been. I know my strength, my energy, my power. I know that even alone, I am strength personified. I do not fear the abyss, the darkness. My future/past stranger is my light, showing the way ahead by revealing the past. I understand her words. I understand me.

Friday, September 21, 2012


    The grey skies roll in and I feel their oppression. My heart becomes heavy, Melancholy threatens. I feel alone. Melancholy is like a deserted island in a sea of people. I am trapped on the island, thirsty, all around is water that I cannot drink of. My Strange Aloneness returns, and it seems there is little I can do to change the course of events. I stay busy, working myself into exhaustion. I forge ahead, maintaining my level of activity, setting up events to force me out into the public, out amongst friendly folk, out into the sea of people where I can either sink or swim. I flounder about, gasping for air, choking on salty water, trying to stay afloat. I do not concern myself with making headway, just in keeping my head above water. The Aloneness traps me, assaults my confidence, saps my energy, drains my spirit. True, I am comfortable with being alone, I am good at being alone, I have had years of practice. But it is the loneliness that creeps into my heart that I have little defense against. Weeks alone, missing a warm touch, contact, a corresponding puzzle piece. Far away, but not gone, just away. But loneliness has seeped into my soul. I know I can make it pass, force it into a dark corner of my heart, I have years of practice. I know it is just for the moment, the loneliness will come to an end, I am not truly alone, just lonely.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Catch Me If You can

    Catch Me If You Can! I awoke with a vibrant optimism that cannot be reined in or rained on. Despite the negative forces assaulting me on every side, my optimism is like an impenetrable shield. True, it may very well be the launch of Mania. But honestly, I don't care what it is. It could be the onset of a delusional episode, dementia, or just  the result of a good night's sleep. I don't care. It feels fabulous. It feels as though light is radiating from within, casting a golden glow, illuminating the darkness that seeps out from those around me. I will not let myself be affected by their gloom and doom, their pessimism, depression, negativity. It will not be allowed.
    Today I am looking to the future. My future. I know there are changes in the air that will affect my current financial situation, and we're not talking happy windfall. I know that I am on the verge of joining the rank and file of the unemployed. Yeah, sure, it has been something that I have been watching and anticipating for the better part of four years, but each business dip goes a little deeper, and never rises back to it's previous level. It has the ups and downs of a rollercoaster; the inner machinations pulling the cars to the highest pinnacle, then the heart in throat first drop, each rise is just a little lower, inertia carries the ride forward but with gravity taking its toll forward momentum naturally slows, slower and lower until it grinds to a halt and everyone disembarks on shaky legs. But I have decided to take the ride, hands in the air, and shouting with glee. It is either that or be vomiting out the side from sheer stress and vertigo. Today I choose glee.
    The last few years have shown me that I am the hand on the till. My life is my own to steer where I will. Yes, there are outside forces that effect my course, my need for a source of income being one of them. But I know that I can either sit back and wait, hoping that situations will resolve themselves, wait and be miserable with inertia, allow life to roll me along like a log in the surf, tumble me, cast me ashore randomly, drag me under with a riptide, or I can fight back. I know those who are willing to be the log, and bemoan their fate, end up beached, stranded, buried in the sand. I am not the log. I choose to take control, make choices, look at options, cast about for ideas. I will let my imagination run rampant and wild with possibilities. I will face challenges, see them as opportunities.
    For all that has happened this last year, for as far as I have come, as beautifully as life has blossomed, I know it is jut the beginning. I have laid the groundwork, gained confidence, feel aglow with potential. Now I can look forward to an exciting future. An uncertain future, true, but exciting none the less. I am off an another epic, whirlwind journey; Catch Me If You Can.

Monday, September 17, 2012


    Recently, an anniversary came and went without fanfare. The one year anniversary of me making a life altering decision. It was not a decision made lightly, or without ample forewarning, it was thought out and executed despite the fact that I knew it would cause me a mountain of grief and suffering. I was not wrong. The grieving process lasted a solid 8 months. I went through all the stages: Denial; Anger; Bargaining; Depression; and Acceptance. Some stages I went through several times. Some became nearly a way of life for a period of time. Some were definitely more painful than others. At times I felt damaged beyond redemption, wrecked, ruined. I knew what I would likely go through, but made the tough choice to save my own soul. I had to make the tough choices, because no one would have done it for me. It was my decision. My life-saving choice. True, I lost friends and connections, some had to choose sides, and I do not begrudge them that. But I survived it, came out stronger, saner, healthier than ever before. I feel as if I were cleansed by the fire, all the negativity that was holding me back was burned away, and I was finally allowed to flower, change, metamorph, thrive, truly live my own life as it was meant to be lived. This has truly been a summer of change, on every level. Yes, I am still the person I have always been, but am now far more true to myself than I have ever been. I am at the zenith of my life with no sign of it letting up. Yes, the pace does get exhausting at times, but it is a justified, physical exhaustion, not the fatigue of mental and emotional drain.
    Six months ago, I would have thought it impossible that this anniversary would go past unnoticed, even by me. But today I realized just that, it had indeed come and gone, and I did not even notice. I was too busy living my life, enjoying my day to day existence, looking ahead to growth, changes, challenges, and constant betterment of myself and my life. The joyful journey that is Me.  


    Is it so surprising that I relate far better to animals than to humans? All my life I have been more comfortable in the company of the four-legged sentient life forms than the bipedal humanoids. It far more natural for me to read and understand the body language and actions of my beasts than to comprehend human nature. My animals are predictable in their actions and reactions, their love for me, their interactions with each other. They never doubt my feelings for them, and are very perceptive to my moods. I have written, a number of times, about their companionship, and empathy during the darkest days of this last winter. They were my tether to reality, my lifeline to prevent freefall into the abyss. They were there for me, when I felt no one else was. True, my family kept in touch, kept me in their hearts, but they have their own lives and I would never expect them to be at my side for days on end. My animals and I understand each other, trust each other, never doubt each other. That is a true gift. My dogs are honest and forthright, even in their guilt. Granted, my cats are a little less trustworthy, in that feline, "I really want you to pet me, but I kinda wanna bite you" way, especially His Shitness, Homer. But they still are affectionate, loving, and desirous to be in my company. How many humans can I say this of, day in and day out? I confess to a ridiculous attachment to my animals, their quirky personalities, each one a rare individual. I know that their attachment to me goes beyond She Who Feeds, especially my dogs. My dogs prefer to keep me in sight when I am home, and according to sources, are rather quiet and uninterested in much when I am gone. I know their exuberance at my homecoming is always excited, happy, delirious even. And after a long day, when I feel like the whole world has assaulted me emotionally and mentally, their slobbery, gleeful welcome helps me shed some of the cares of the world. Relaxing, alone, in the evenings, I look around my living room and see every one of my animals within a six foot invisible bubble, most within arms reach, some in physical contact. To have Hellcat sprawled across my lap, vibrating with his insanely loud purr, Elliot draped across the back of the chair with one massive paw resting on my shoulder, Luna curled regally at my left side in her ranking spot of Queen, Homer exhibiting his mild fetish for my sheepskin slippers. Hugo lays at my feet, watching me with loving eyes, Tonks slumbering contentedly nearby, twitching with Wolfhoundy dreams. Peace radiates out from this mass of fur, a peace and acceptance that I find no where else. Is this wrong? Am I approaching crazy animal lady status as my pack increases? I just know that I understand them, I do not worry that they will ever doubt me, suspect me, question my love and attachment. True, they are not great conversationalists, but they are great listeners.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Changeling Eyes

    When I feel the outcast, the alien, isolated and alone, I need to remind myself that I am merely seeing the world through different eyes. But there are days when I feel I wake with different eyes. As if during the night Eye Gnomes have slipped into my room, pried open my lids and replaced the current, accustomed orbs with Changeling Eyes. I feel the difference even in my sleep, with violent visions, perspicacious perceptions, sagacious scenarios. Upon awakening, even the light feels wrong, colors are twisted, depth perception is skewed. Like wearing new bifocals, I stumble through days adjusting to the new vision, trying to ignore the throb of Brain strain, pretending to the world around me that all is well. Inside my skull, Brain is scrambling at double time in an attempt to return my world to a comprehensive amalgam. Days will pass when so much around me does not make sense. Only routine keeps me moving ahead, as I can decipher what was once my "normal" reality, force it to make sense. They say that one need only be able to understand on in five words of a paragraph in order to comprehend the gist, that is my world as I struggle to regain focus through altered eyes, Changeling Eyes.
    I cannot despise the Eye Gnomes and their malicious pranks, for it does give me ample opportunity to fill my mind with visions unseen by others. To remind me that the world is always in a state of flux, fluid, motile, emotive, evolving, revolving. We are passengers with ever changing scenery. I watch the world through Changeling Eyes flash past the window of my train, colors altered, landscape skewed, green sky, blue waters, verdant grass. Overtinted, old photograph with lurid tones changing innocent face to harlequin. It has an amusement all its own. A circus parade only I can see. It is entertaining, when not distressing. I chose to find the amusement, overlook the trauma, as best I can. These Changeling Eyes, they are mine. These Changeling eyes are my view into an unknown and unknowing new landscape.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


    Once again, standing on the threshold, the cusp of new and exciting. So many pathways are laying before me. At times I feel near to panic with the overwhelming immensity of it all. The wild and glorious potential of my life. The stars are aligning. Karma is smiling on me. Pieces of the Puzzle of Me are slipping into place. Even as I feel solitary and alone, I also feel a sense of community, acceptance, love, friendship, new Kith and Kin.
    Even when alone I do not feel lonely, except for in the dark of the night, when I would reach out for warmth, knowing my warmth is thousands of miles away. But that is okay. The warmth will return, the connection is not broken by miles. For now, thoughts and dreams, brief messages, knowing, fills the void. Another corresponding piece of the Puzzle of Me.
    Brain, Body and Spirit begin to feel aligned. At least for today. For the Now. And that is where my Mind's Eye focuses, the Here and Now. True, Brain is scattered, spacey, languorous in thought, sleepy in execution, meandering in a luxurious mental landscape. But Body and Spirit are strong and aimed arrow-straight at goals, adventures, dreams. My Dreams, held before me as a guiding chalice, a Grail, the treasure beneath the sand. My Dreams coming to fruition, nearly ready to be plucked. It is amazing where I can travel within my Dreams, my Reality, my Life. It has all become one: DreamRealityLife.
    At times, I feel that part of my Isolationism comes from Dreams becoming Reality, and my unshakeable belief that it can and will happen. I have been ridiculed and shamed in the past, for Dreams. Made to think that they were less than fantasy, less viable than opium induced pipe-dreams. Made to feel an outcast, scorned for being a Dreamer. But I am a Dreamer. The Dreams were Mine, and I held onto them with a child-like belief, the innocence of wishing on a star, the Dream whispered to the favorite stuffed animal, written in scrawling hand on scraps of paper. I believed. I still believe. My Dreams. My Reality. My Life.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012


    I have been feeling isolated again. I know this is internal, not external. But I so often feel set apart from the world around me. Even as I join new endeavors, meet new people, step out into the world, it is rare that I feel like I truly belong in the norm of the human race. I also realize that my new endeavors also tend to set me apart from the population a bit and place me in small sub-cultures. Is this a subconscious choice? Do I choose the path less traveled so that I can walk it alone? Am I such an Isolationist that even my attempts at "joining" only make the gap that much wider? I don't know. Or is it merely my mental state that alters my perception? Again, I don't know. I do know that so many days I move through the world feeling like a visitor, an observer, a tourist. An alien hiding behind the facade of being "one of us." I wear the mask of belonging to avoid feeling completely alone. I wear my skin like the costume of a superhero, to protect my true identity and help me feel impervious to attack. There are days though, when the supersuit feels frayed, splitting at the seams, tattered, thin. Days when my true identity bubbles to surface and I am under threat of exposure. When my carefully constructed protection splits and gaps, allowing pain and injury. These are the days when I fall back into my Fortress of Solitude, mentally, physically. It is when I see the world through alien eyes. When I feel surrounded by the unfamiliar, uncomfortable, unknown. These are the days when not only do I feel isolated, but also when I must rely on superhuman effort to stay the course, to remain in the public eye, to go out into the alien landscape. I must not withdraw into my protective shell, and this is truly a superhuman effort. I must not hide myself away, avoiding all contact. The effort is great, heroic, painful. I feel flayed and delicate, nerves raw and exposed. But I know I have the Heart, Strength, Fortitude to fight against my own inner workings. I can keep treading the path I have chosen, even though it is the road less traveled, and find a few like-minded travelers. And if not, I will continue on alone, pursuing my dreams and goals, knowing that there are a few fellow aliens nearby. Yes, I do know I am not alone, even on these days when I feel it most poignantly. I am not alone.

Sunday, September 2, 2012

It Hurts

    Fragility of psyche. It has been the bane of my existence, my Achilles's Heel. Tough exterior, delicate interior. Days pass when I feel invincible, powerful, in control. During such days I hope, in vain, that I have finally managed to reach a level of internal fortitude that will carry me though all the rest of my days. But I know it is not the truth. The truth is, those days are more the exception than the rule. The feeling of emotional invincibility is fleeting at best. Truth be told though, it is so much a part of who I am that I don't know if I would be remotely the same person without my delicate, fragile nature. My tough exterior should not harbor a tough interior. I feel that if that were the case I would be cold, distant, uncaring, jaded, detached. Honestly, with what life has thrown at me over the last years, I would be fully justified to have become the crass, cold, damaged shell of myself. I would be fully justified to see the world through skeptical eyes and closed heart. But that is not who I am. My heart is an open book, open and tender. My heart feels emotions on a grand and epic scale, often to my own chagrin and dismay. I wish I could protect myself, wrap my heart in armor, make it bullet-proof, a Kevlar Heart. That would be so much less painful. So much easier. It would make maneuvering through life simple, painless, bland, cold, and bitter. I choose to allow myself the luxury of tears, the warmth of joy, the giddiness of elation, the heat of passion. But I pay a heavy price. I pay the price of dark days, sleepless nights, tear stained pillow. My Aloneness, as I hide from the world, sheltering myself during fragile moments. My Life Unhinged. I feel the need for a rock, stability, safe harbor, but it is always kept from me. I feel kept apart from all that makes life easy for others. I strive to maintain my footing, to not crumble before the onslaught, to keep mind and body strong, powerful, protective. Yes, we shelter fragile Psyche as best we can, but some things just have to be felt to be understood. And so it is, my Life. My Path. My Destiny. To feel deeply, to lead with my heart, to take it on the chin. It is who I am. I cry. I laugh. I love. It is who I am. But it hurts.   

Saturday, September 1, 2012

The Best Thing

    Sometimes I feel as if I am the only person in the world happy and willing to accept things for what they are. I do not seek perfection. I appreciate what I have. As the song says, "It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you've got." I think I follow this adage quite well. For those who seek perfection, they will always find disappointment. Dissatisfaction. They will see the flaws and not the beauty. They will find the reason why it won't work, not see the ways in which it does. I have always been able to see the beauty hidden beneath the dents, rust, scratches. I actually see beauty in those same dents, rust and scratches. I chose to look ahead, see the potential, set goals, find ways. I do not look at the now, curse the roadblocks, cry over inequities, buckle under difficulties. I look to the future, seek routes around the roadblocks or bull my way over top of them, become stronger as I face and beat down the difficulties. I do not cast blame, aspersions, doubt. I stand tall and look to the horizon. Even from the depths of the abyss I managed to look ahead, see what needed to be done, fought through darkness, was burned by fire. Even then, I looked ahead. I still do, look ahead. I see potential in the now, as a seed holds the potential for life and growth. I know that with tender care the seed will burst forth, full of potential, fruitful. But I also look at now, and appreciate where I am, who I am with, what I have, who I am. I revel in today. I hold what I have in warm, careful hands, knowing the value, wanting what I have. Having what I hold. Yes, I do look to the future, strive to better myself, my world. But I see the glory in now. I do not need perfection. I do not expect everything to fall into easy little molds. My life is not about Easy, never has been, never will. My life is not about trying to find the perfect fit, the perfect life, the perfect relationship. Nothing is perfect. To hope for perfection is a recipe for failure. But, to strive towards tomorrow, to build upon what I have today, to desire that tomorrow I am a better person than I am today. That is a recipe for happiness, contentment, fulfillment. And I know it is the best thing I can do. The best thing.