a little birdy told me...

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my unofficial grip on reality.

My disease only masquerades as happiness, for I can never truly feel it, or trust that it is, in fact a real feeling....

Pt 1. Getting a grip.

Gripping my throat and holding tight, it pulls me under, forces me down and holds me under water until my head is light and dizzy.  I slip into unconsciousness for and unknown amount of time and awake, groggy, cold, confused.  What day is it?  Where have I been?  Why the hell is it freezing in this place? 

That sick feeling lingers in my stomach for days, maybe weeks.  I was forcefully drowned and taken advantage of, I feel it still on my skin, the guilt, the pain, the tremendous need to feel something -,  anything other than the physical pain of this depression that has raped my mind and body.

Distractions now become more prominent.  Hours spent indulging in video games, lucid ideas of what  I could do to make my apartment different than it is, anything to change everything that is current, but no action.  I distractedly choose between pink or grey, forcing myself to forget that inner disgust.  Constantly holding my breath hoping it will prevent the tears from pouring from my eyes.  Staring blankly at my computer screen lost in my thoughts, sinking further and further into a whirlwind of sadness and anger.

Finale; a time for rest.

Sleep comes, as my medicated eyes cannot control their movements any longer.  I drag myself to my pleasantly lit room, to start the beginning of the same movie I've tried to watch for three weeks, and drift quickly to a corpse like sleep, cold and dreamless.  It is over so quickly, almost as if it never happened.

Pt 2. The uncontrollable pursuit of happiness

I awake tired as always, forcing myself up and out of my only comfort.  After the morning wash I notice my eyes sparkling and the uncontrolled widening of my pupils.  A sudden warmth comes over me and my cheeks flush slightly.  A minor self indulgence takes place as I take in my reflection; feeling a sharp sudden jolt of infatuation.  Today I wear a blue shirt, bright and happy, with green birds, ever so joyfully placed around.  Pink scarf.  Primary green jacket, bright socks.  My makeup was effortless, and I'm excited for the day.  Excitedly running around and completing every task on my list, I've become productive.  My mind has become a less clouded raging torrent full of ideas and void of any emotion but this false happiness I have no control over.  I've force fed laughter out of myself into the world.  I'm smiling as though there is no control.  Now I want to paint and sing, maybe dance and visit a friend...after all, there is so much to discuss! Organization takes over, through wild bursts of energy.  I talk incessantly, with quick sporadic thoughts of life the universe and everything in between.

Pt 3. It's back...the one thing that never leaves me,

 the only thing that never forgets.

This effortless forced joy lasts for about eighteen hours before my throat is tightened yet again and I am forced to drown in the pool of unwanted sorrow.  I manically build a put off project for however long it's been sitting there, and from the time a song changes to another, my mascara has already stained my face, dripped to my shirt and I've began the vicious spiral of self loathing and pain.

I wonder how long it will last this time?

I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way...

Pt. 1 - Indulgence

Mid morning at my office, I'm sipping coffee.  Distracted, I try to focus.  But the lingering sensation of what has come to pass still tingles within me.  I can still smell him on my skin. I can taste his flesh still with each exhale. 

Turning to walk, the air fills my nostrils with his scent, and the reminder of what we did in the dark, early hours of the morning...

I'm filled with regret and hatred again, for allowing him to do this, but how can I not? How can I turn down the most amazing thing I've ever felt? Because I'm a good person? Because I have morals? NO, I cannot, for I am weak and frail and he is strong and tan and his smell, it's intoxicating...

I can't get his scent off of me.

It's as if they know, anyone, everyone, what was done this morning...all I can do is think of her, and why he's sneaking back to me a year later....for "fun".  She's not fun? Does she not fulfill you?

Apparently not, that was found out previously amid early morning haze and opening my eyes to see a picture of her on the nightstand and myself; naked, sprawled on him....

Guilt has not overwhelmed me yet, for I still smell him, and I can almost feel him again.  My hatred for him cannot distract from the flashbacks of a few hours ago, the explosions of pleasure between my thighs, and his eyes, reddened with a night of drinking, icy blue like my heart, looking back up at me..

The guilt I fear will not come.  There is no better lover than him.

Oh what have I done? 

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” 
― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma

Pt. 2 - Regret

Later, I look into the eyes of the one who is unattainable.  The one I pine after day after day like a school girl. Wanting to cook dinner with him, and watch movies, have grown up conversations and eat dinner with our grown up friends....oh what a silly thought, to have something substantial.  Thinking to myself, you dirty little slut, why would he ever want you?  The one who I would want to love, the model man to love me in return.  I have filled that void in my soul of wanting a good man to love - knowing full and damn well I cannot have - him by filling the void between my legs and covering up the fact I want love.

Then I ponder a quick love or sex thought.  If it were to boil down to me settling for one or the other, I'd choose sex, good sex.. 

Reasoning for this is beyond me, albeit my own. I've become accustomed to loneliness.  I almost revel in it.  I enjoy a quick romp in my princess pink room, rolling around in my flowered sheets with the boy of the moment.  It's become too easy...it's become to easy to be disconnected from any form of human emotion and delve deeper into the animalistic need for pleasure.

The worst part of it all, is I don't feel any remorse for my actions.  I'm just setting up my own catastrophe, but what a sexy, tingling, toe curling catastrophe it is.  It's hindering me from attaining the only thing I believe I cannot get... 

A vicious cycle I suppose I would stop if someone where to step up to the large plate that is loving me.

These thoughts rest not on my weary mind today....today, it's early morning guilt free pleasure from the one man that can ignite flames from within, and feeling myself fall limp.... Today it's his smell lingering on me...

Today, I wear him like the scarf around my neck.

Beyond Humbug

Merry Fucking Christmas.

The overwhelming sadness looming over my head and possessing every inch of my thought process is only a mere reminder it's that time of year again.  Holiday time.  The time of supposed joy filled giving and family love and all that holly jolly bullshit. 

I'm quite a cynic (I know you couldn't tell) and for me this is the biggest slap in the face time of year.  People fighting in stores over a stupid toaster, shopping until your account explodes, baking, entertaining, and faking a smile for the so called loved ones. 

Deep down it's a bitterness in everyone, a dreaded event, a false joy.  No one is truly happy until the event is actually arrived so they can witness their pride gift wrapped bow and ribbon, be shredded open to give 10.25 seconds of joy to someone who then proceeds to rip the next pride filled box.  We beam with joy at our glorious bounty while we wrap ever so carefully what we hope is happiness in a box.

Then there is the overzealous Christian-Christmas keep Christ in Christmas debate, blindly yelling about the birth of their sweet fairy tale baby, still not realizing this is a pagan holiday, even more so exaggerated by the amount of gifts we buy, not the amount of "praise" and "hallelujah" bullshit it's claimed to be about.  It's not about Jesus, folks.  It never was.  Get over it, and don't get me started on Jesus, or religion or the idea that a magic man is supposed to save me for being exactly how he created me - a spiteful, unlucky, bitch.

My happiness doesn't come in a box, nor from giving, since I've become so broke and in debt these days I can't afford my light bill much less giving other people what I cannot yet find myself.  My sadness however, sits around a beautifully lit tree, with sparkles and baubles strategically placed.  It lures in the couples strolling arm and arm two paces behind the shopping crowd while they enjoy their evening.  It sits empty under my tree I regretfully put up.  Its stronger, harder, and more intense like the bionic man of emotion.

It's the loneliness I feel when I bake my most delicious of creations, only to cut myself one slice and throw the rest away.  It's the pain in my heart when I wake to find the hopeful companion I brought home the night before has left.  It's the regret I feel missing out on my twenties.  No socialization, no friends to call, just a bitter old late twenty something woman and her dog.

It sneaks up on me at work while I sit with my plastic face that fakes a somewhat normal happiness, breaking my train of thought and sending me spiraling into a whirlwind of red-faced emotion.   It never leaves, it's always here, that sick reminder that I'm alone and have yet to even remotely find someone to talk to, but during the holidays, it's plastered all over every single shiny ornament, every neatly wrapped gift, and every fuzzy blanket I'll sit under alone.  It's worse.

Today is my company Christmas party.  People are walking around with excitement for the feasting and socializing.  Their loved ones and children will be here.  There's gonna be gifts and Santa and families.  And me, holding up the wall watching everyone else as I wallow in my self-loathing.

Hopefully there will be alcohol. 

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, a safe holiday, and all the joy I know I will never get.  I also wish you'd stop rubbing it in my damn face, because it's cold and tears burn more in the winter.

I'll wrap my drear miserable existence up in a bow and I'm gonna press on, and I'm gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney on Christmas, he's gonna find the jolliest neurotic manic depressed mess this side of the nuthouse.

Hallelujah!  Holy Shit.

Where's the Vicodin?

thoughts on overcoming my sadness....

"Don't just live your life, build one."

This was said by Ashton Kutcher at the Teen Choice Awards this year.  Now as I don't watch said awards, and it's been quite a while since I have, I did, however, come across this on the internet, on a forever a child type website, ironically.  

It stuck out to me, and I really liked the quote and the meaning behind it. I was semi proud of Ashton for making said quote as well, seeing as we all view him as some suedo stoner/dumbass.  The "Jobs" biopic must have really got to him.  Either way, I started to reflect inwardly and decided it was time to get my hammer and nails.

Three years ago, is when my life came tumbling down on me.  Fresh Prince of Bel-Air style, got flipped turned upside down. (I know you just sang that in your head, I did as I wrote it.)  It's been the hardest thing I've ever had to go through in my life, and has been an unintentional crutch for me as well.  While most things were directly related to that, I always seemed to fall back on it, not even for the negatives going on in my life, but the lack of positive things, and that's where it got me.

I blamed my failed relationships on it, my inability to succeed, my lack of friends, bad days, etc.  You see, I cannot trust myself to find another man, I'm too afraid.  If I didn't see such an awful thing right in front of my face, how will it be better next time?  I've started believing that I didn't deserve love, or happiness.  Mind you, I've been very emotionally traumatized, and have had a series of unfortunate events that preceeded my husband's going to prison, it was still no excuse to NOT fight for it.

The bitter pill I swallowed those three years ago has left an awful taste in my mouth, and I radiated pain and hatred with every spoken word.  It wasn't until my stepmother confronted me and my dad chimed in about my needing divorce recovery that it finally hit me.  I need to move the fuck on!

I didn't and still don't agree with their thoughts on it, I know it won't help, because I know myself and my thoughts.  I will sit there pissed because people can't get over being cheated on, or abused.  Hell my ex boyfriend smacked me around, and it was my first relationship I tried after my husband. It wouldn't help because my problem would always be worse in my mind, and no comfort could come from any of their advice.

I had to find solace in my own damn actions.  No man will bring it to me, and I don't expect them to.  Step one in my recovery, check.

I'm ready.  It's been a long shitty road, and I've made some of the worst decisions in my life following this sick turn of events.  I am going to fight for my happiness, because dammit, I do want it, and I do deserve it.  I'm building the life I want.  I'm doing it my way, and I'm going to love every tear stained, laugh filled, passionate moment that comes my way.  I refuse to let him and his lack of human decency dictate my future and/or emotions any longer. He's dead to me, and I'm letting that pain die with it.

I'm making a new journey, and the only bags to check are my clothes and my sweet, sweet Bella Magoo (my furchild).  It's already begun.  I've got a new, adorable apartment to start, and I am going to build it into my little sanctuary...I'm going to dance, I'm going to drink, and eat and love.  No looking back.

Here's to the life I'm going to build, the people I'm going to meet, and the goals I'm going to accomplish.  I refuse to sit back and let all the fun and joy pass me by while I weep silently in the corner.

It was a hard lesson, but I've finally learned it....

No one wants to hang with that girl, hell I don't want to hang with her.  I'm learning, and I'm finally evolving past the bitter, sad woman I had become, and that's the best thing I could have asked for.

It's Back

"The prettiest eyes have cried the most tears..."

What I've held to be mind numbing, has haunted me over these past few years.  It's a feeling like no other, something so awful, words seem inadequate when trying to put it together.  I've buried it deep within myself and locked it away, hidden it behind a facade; behind eyes that have lost their luster, behind a smile that's lost its meaning.  It's buried in the deepest depths of my soul, and hidden behind the person I've managed to fake becoming.

I remember it, so painfully overwhelming that it knocked me over.  I fell to the ground unable to stand and face my new fate, and the enormous feelings it was bringing along with it.  The world around me crumbled as I quickly withdrew from the reality surrounding me.  I laid there, crying for the world to see, not caring, not understanding, just breaking, rapidly.  I broke into a million pieces, and it was there, right then I lost my grip on everything I believed in and held true.

From then on a whirlwind of emotions ensued.  Over the next year, I would eventually grow to feel nothing.  It was the nothing I welcomed, the nothing I wanted.  I didn't want to feel or allow myself to feel that which I could not comprehend.  I allowed myself to be consumed with the nothing, like a warm liquid covering my body, drowning me and eventually snuffing out the very source of who I was.  I had become the nothing.

I've lived in my comfortable nothing for a good three years.  Dead to my memories, to myself, to anything remotely painful, or joyous - anything that could hurt me again. I continued by living life on auto pilot, and I was ok with that.  Up until this past weekend - where everything would come crashing down upon me, all over again.

It comes with a smell, or a sound.  Memories flash flood your brain whether you want them to or not, no matter how you've suppressed them, they will haunt you again.  For me it was a song that caused this mental rape of my carefully constructed reality. Half way through this particular song, I had managed to transport back to that broken little girl lying on the concrete, three years ago.  I was there right back in the horrific thing I've focused so hard on killing with my all consuming nothing.

It was everything - the loss of my husband, it was the memories of what I thought we had.  The six years I wasted on a man who never loved me. The feeling of being thrown away by someone who didn't want you.  The fact that you were a decoy in his sadistic adventure, it was all real, all happening - all at once all over again.  I was right back in that pit of despair looking up, waiting to be pulled out by someone who would never show up.

I drove while trying to fight back the flooding of my eyes, my emotions, and trying to urge those thoughts back, trying to push that pain back into its cavern.  But it had erupted from deep within me like  a sea monster exploding from the ocean; tearing the ocean in two and taking it's unsuspecting ships with it back down to the murky depths of the waters.

It came back again today.  It's trying to escape, and I cannot let it.  I've grown to love my nothingness.  I fear that if it escapes again, it will take me over, and not let me go.  It was an all encompassing pain that destroyed my mind, and my spirit.  So strong a pain that nothing I did - no drug, no drink, no amount of sex, or attention could dampen the echoes that it caused.

Still it echoes. It's pain, in the simplest of expressions.  It's very real, and very much still alive. It's the reminder of the horrific reality I had to wake up to those three years ago.

 "My husband is a rapist, he's going to prison, I'm going to lose him, and my life will never be the same."

And it hasn't.

Self imposed censorship

I picture it something like this...

...And now, more from my book, "How to behave like a lady: Lessons in Submission to the Male Counterpart". 

Ch. 3 Stroking a man's ego 

There is, believe it or not, a wrong way to make a man feel superior.  I will tell you the proper ways to stroke his beloved ego, as well as ways for you to cope with the effects. 

Lesson one: He is right - always. 

The male is always right.  Make sure to let him know that you know, and understand that he is right.  Smile and nod accordingly, look lovingly, and intriguingly into his eyes with utter fascination as he talks.  Then always say, "You're right,."  Make sure to repeat his name back to him, it affirms that you are in understanding of who the boss is in this situation, and that he is most definitely, right.

After you've done so, make sure to pat yourself on the back and enjoy a candy or a xanax, something soothing to help you deal with the fact that you're faking yet another thing to boost the fragile, male ego.

Note: When entered into an argument that you know you just cannot win (this will never happen if you follow the book, women DO NOT argue with the male, there is no need - he is right, always!), just end it abruptly with "You're right." Follow it with an example of something he may have mentioned or hinted to. "You're right, insert male's name here, I am a bat-shit crazy bitch." Make sure to say it with force so he knows he won.

This reminds me of something John Gregory wrote A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters in 1821.

See an excerpt below:

“Be even cautious in displaying your good sense. It will be thought you assume superiority over the rest of the company. But if you happen to have any learning, keep it a profound secret, especially from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding.”  

 (Read the article.  It is, quite awesome in helping you understand how to be awesome, as awesome as something without a  penis can possibly be!)

Don't think, ladies.  Don't be smart, educated, informed or opinionated, I mean, be those things, but don't let them  know you are.  Also don't be sexy, strong or anything, just be a naive, sickly virgin, because that's where it's at. Oh, and cook, or something.

I witnessed a slight crack in the male ego today, and then watched it get glued back together, two separate egos and instances, but still....

I proved my point, and his ignorance, and then it happened, the crack.  His face whitened and sank slightly, he quickly ignored the instance and moved onto other, more pressing matters that needed attention.

Jump to the glue.  I was in an argument with a man whom I've been trying to move on from.  I told him to leave me alone, basically, and that I was done hanging on to nothing.  After him going on and on about how I was "attacking" him, and then threatening me with his disappearance, (it was a serious threat, apparently, in my ladylike state, I would just wither away and die should this happen, he was sure of it.) I sarcastically said, "You're right insert jerk's name here". He then said "I know." Boom, glue.  Although I wasn't being sincere, he thought so, and it's all he needed.

You see, we can never be right, even when we are, still in 2013.  So to save my breath I just agree to disagree.  Plus, I could just care less at this point and really just want it all to be said and done!  I've also accepted the fact I will be forever alone.**

 **See forever alone/boyfriend pillow/ previous post, below:

Well back to work. Until next time....