Written Whispers

Author Archive

Real Sleep

January 25th, 2010

0

Oh, yes. My brain is so tired right now. I know my sleeping schedule is pretty strange to most people but I really think I’ve flubbed it up good for the night. Today, er- yesterday, I made plans to go hang out with awesome Xean at Borders so I tried not to stay up too late (as far as my definition of late is concerned). Well, I was laying there and I kept feeling myself drifting off but then at the last minute it’s like my brain kept turning on.

After awhile I got bored of just laying there, waiting for sleep to come and claim me, and took a glance at my cell phone because it seemed to be getting awfully bright out for so early in the morning… Turns out it wasn’t morning at all. My cell said it was about 12:46 pm.

Did I mention I had to be up at 1 pm? Yeah.

So, I’m not sure if I actually got any sleep or not. It felt/feels like I didn’t but for all I know I could have drifted off to a lite sleep and kept waking up and resuming whatever my current corrupted train of thought was.

The trip to Borders was awesome. I met some of Xean’s friends, swapped some anime DVDs, and bit her. :) We were loud, giggly, and social. Even Ree chimed in! So as you can imagine I was pretty tired by the time we got home even though we were only up there for a couple of hours. As soon as I made it through the door and sat down on the bed I was out. Hell, I’m amazed I even made it that far. :)

Woke up a few hours ago and I still feel sooo impossibly tired but if I sleep any more I’ll wake up with a huge headache that I just don’t need so I’ve been forcing myself to work on some of my smaller writing projects that aren’t likely to be too effected by my mood. :) I think I’ll try to stay up for a few more hours- if I can manage to avoid the allure of a cat nap, and then I’ll go lie down for some real sleep.

Then tomorrow I’m back to some serious editing. My novel, Kat’s Tail, may have felt like it wrote itself but editing certainly doesn’t. :)

Peace, love, and carpet cleaner!

Keyboard – 2nd Little Update

January 24th, 2010

2

Alright, I’ve installed FireFox, uploaded some of my more favored writing software, turned on my mp3 player, and changed that awful wallpaper. I think I’m ready to go. Still not used to the keyboard but I’m happy to say I found one that’s almost exactly like my laptop keyboard. Thin, shorter, and much less space between the keys. I’m already counting the days down till payday when I can pick it up.

Given- I do ‘need’ other things but I just don’t think I can survive with a keyboard like this. I’m a writer. It’s how I breathe and while others might choose a pen over buttons I still prefer this medium. I love to hand write but it’s hard on my eyes and I have trouble keeping up with my thoughts. I have trouble keeping up when I type too but it’s less of a constant.

Uhg. My fingers feel so tired after only a few short paragraphs… Oh, well. I’ve set everything up and I’m going to give it an honest go at trying to ignore this whole adjustment period and get some editing done. :) I do have to admit I’m sooooo happy to be back in my writing nest (the little nook in the living room that no other soul dares to enter). Don’t get me wrong- I love being able to play on my laptop next to the Hubby as I have been these past few weeks but I can’t focus without extreme effort if I think it’s possible someone can read what’s going on in my head ‘while’ I’m writing it. It’s okay if what I have to say is going to make an ass out of me provided I’ve completed the thought but if it’s all fragmented and… well, no. Let’s just say I don’t let it happen.

Anyways, off to edit. Peace, love, and pepper spray! I’ll catch up on comments hopefully later tonight.

Keyboard Too Big

January 23rd, 2010

2

Eee! This keyboard is too big. :( I’ve migrated from my laptop for the night and, well… it’s going to take more than a little getting used to. The keys are big and further apart, on top of that you have to push harder to get them to go down.

I’m not adapting well.

At all.

My screen is huge which is okay though I’m not certain I’ll ever get used to it for anything but gaming. Everything else I do on here I try to put into tiny little windows because on my laptop those would be full sized.

All that aside it’s a nice computer. It needs a new case (because I can’t stand white noise and at current we have a huge fan hooked up to it to prevent overheating and the wonderful random shut down that follows), an update- straight to Windows 7 preferably, and I’d muchly like it if I had some sort of sound… that’s a long story, but all that aside it’s not as bad as I make it sound and all together these are actually minor problems that my hubby is working on fixing. All of them are related to the new case issue.

*sigh* Anyways, I just wanted to make a test post with this keyboard to see how the typing went and let’s just say my fingers actually feel tired from all the extra work I’m doing. :( A new keyboard. My fishtank for a new keyboard!

Mmm, Peanuts – An Update On Life

January 18th, 2010

6

(Isn’t that a great title for a post? Eye catching.)

Blarg. My mind is awake- or as awake as it gets, but everything else feels so tired. My body aches, bones and muscles screaming abuse even though I’ve been rather gentle on them of late. My eyes feel heavy and my face burns- either a tooth, sinus infection, or both that have gone really bad.

But my mind is awake.

Awake. Awake. Awake.

Too awake.

I’ve been doing a lot of novel editing, more precisely plot, dialogue, and character editing. It’s fun on some level. The saddistic part of me that playfully calls itself ‘writer’ with a big toothy grin seems to enjoy taking apart my story and shaping it into something similar but slightly shinier. It cackles every time the inner editor comes out of the mental closet- where is usually belongs… until I need it.

Then there’s this other part of me, a much larger portion of myself that also calls itself ‘writer.’ It’s a proud creature dedicated to the craft of creation, seeing wisdom and light in every letter to the page, a new dance in every scene that comes together with plotful development- no matter how small. It also claws the walls and bangs it’s head fruitlessly ever single time the ‘oppressive’ red pen comes out to ‘put it down.’

Did I mention I used to be a protester of sorts? That second part of me would rather like me to mention that right now.

In short- I love and hate editing. Love it because I love story creation in general, hate it because,… well, many reasons. Not so much that I’m ‘editing’ the story but because editing is a tedious process that I’m still very new too.

Alas, as much as I hate it the second (larger) part of me (that has been throwing temper tantrums at the whole process) has to admit that a great story is a lot like a bonsai tree. It’s a beautiful living creature that wants to be shared with the universe. You might not want to prune it but in the end it can be a meditative task that will make it much more than just a simple tree.

Sadly, meditation still requires patience and a certain degree of discipline… I’m working on that.

In other news, before I get way off track, I joined the great evil known as FaceBook. I’m hopelessly addicted already but it’s still evil because it’s a social network and I have a personal vendetta against all things with the word social in them. I have other reasons I’m biased but this is a happy post and I don’t want to get into it right now.

So, yeah. Me – FaceBook – You go. – Click. Click. – Now.

In other news… I’m hoping to get my hair Barbied, re-purpled, and chopped before anyone else can see it. In English this means: I need to have it bleached, dyed, and cut before I work next. :)

Lastly, I’m still thinking about changing my username but I’ve been known as Spirit for so long… perhaps a new “pen” name for this new stage of life will do me good. I’ll still use Spirit in certain places because it’s who I am in those places but as I branch out with my writing I’m starting to feel a certain sense of longing for something else.

We’ll see where that leads. I gotta flow where my heart flows or the happy well of writerly spadunk runs dry and I start driving people (mainly myself) crazy and we just can’t have that now can we?

I’m off to go do more editing. Wish me luck… or foodles. I like foodles.

Peace, love, and peanuts!!!

~ Mmm, peanuts. ~

Diary Of An Edit #3

January 17th, 2010

2

More thoughts while editing. I’m not sure how but I really think that this is helping me. As before- each line is a separate thought. I actually spent more time editing today so this piece is a bit longer.

-

Found a new song to go with one of my characters. I’ll have to share it later. ‘Come Back Down’ from Lifehouse.

I’m not looking forward to editing this next part but once I get over it… maybe it won’t be so hard.

No! Don’t make me do it!

I’m so glad this isn’t my final edit ’cause this paragraph sucks big time.

*bangs head against wall*

Okay, I’m rewriting that.

Sucking less.

They need support groups for editing. Hmm, maybe that’s something I should look into making. I always need another project to keep me procrastinating.

I’m hating this process. Hate, hate, hate it.

Getting a little easier but I feel like I might be away from the point I was aiming for… but it’s alright if the flow is coming easy… right?

Going better than I thought.

Sucks less.

Still feel like I’m straying. Does coming full circle count in introductive scenes if it’s such a wide circle or am I just taking too long to get to the point?

That went well, now I have to work with this horrible transition.

Sometimes you have to scribble before you can paint.

*crying, loathing* Not fair.

I’ve been starring at the page too long. Time for a break.

Fave paragraph of the moment:

It was a place she had heard of half a dozen times and even passed by a few others but had never bothered to enter simply because it seemed to have an air all it’s own in comparison to all the other hot spots she’d seen. A good portion of the crowd was full of the usual wannabes, clubbers dressed to the nines in anything they thought might catch the doormen’s attention, loud people looking to have a good time… but these people were still a minority compared to the ‘others,’ the people between the people waiting in line.

The ones who watched everything.

Gone

January 16th, 2010

2

Wrote this on the way to work while I was trying to wake up. I kept having some train of thought or another and it kept going -poof!- … but even thought I kept losing my thoughts I knew I was losing them. I’d be sitting there going ‘now what was I thinking about…’ but I’d never get it back. :)

I think as far as some of my longer poetry goes I’ve completely given up on punctuation. At least for the time being. It’s distracting and tend to pull me from the meaning between words. Also, I can’t seem to pick a title for this so for now I’ll settle on…

Gone

lost thoughts swimming strange
through murky waters
listlessly
broken echos drift
between walls intangible
slipping away
left open
a gaping hole
wondering
what was

And another little bit, because the rhyme-monger in me just cant seem to help it, that I came up with while at work is:

over fire – under thunder
prey of shadows – sewn asunder
- humanity -

It reminds me of a little riddle or something one of my characters might toy with on and off. :)

Diary Of An Edit #2

January 16th, 2010

2

I think the writing thoughts down while I’ll edit thing is actually helping me a little bit… or maybe I just like having another thing to post about, it’s hard to tell. :) Either way here goes another one. Each line is roughly another random thought that popped up while editing.

-

Hahaha, it’s procrastination day. I’ve spent more time on FB than here.

This sucks, flows choppy.

Eww, the club scene is coming up. I hate trying to describe the club scene.

This really, really sucks.

Too much telling. Readers aren’t stupid and I don’t need to point out the obvious.

Some progress. It’s like tripping up a hill but I’m still going up.

Bring on the red pen like blood through my passionate words, every line a tear, and the space around the vowels my sweat. Self assured writing is nothing. Hard work gleams if for no other reason than I’ve poured my soul into it with a glitter marker.

Transition sucks. POV sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks.

Maybe I should take a break.

I’m not feeling the character.

Favorite snippet this round:

Kat didn’t wait for him to finish, snatching the folder from his fingers even as he ushered her none too gently into the vehicle. It smelled like fresh leather, just out of reach from that new car scent, the seat cool against her back. There weren’t any crumbs or sand from past occupants to be found in the carpet, no single candy wrapper or big slurp cup lodged in various corners. The windows unsmudged from fingers that had never been and the arm rests undented from the constant use they never saw.

Most importantly, there were no buttons, gadgets, or handles on her door. Nothing to roll the windows down or pop the locks. Nothing to open the door.

No way out.

Diary Of An Edit #1

January 15th, 2010

2

Perhaps it’s just another form of procrastination. Perhaps it’ll help me track my progress and nuke the more negative thoughts. Either way I’m going to try recording some of my thoughts while editing. Just random tidbits that cross my mind while I’m delving into my least favorite part of the writing world.

These are just what came through during yesterday’s edit. I had a separate writing program open while working. Each line or paragraph is a separate thought for the most part.

-

Man, this sucks. So many useless words hiding where they don’t need to be. Corny much?

Stop freaking over tiny words and get to the writing!

I hate editing.

I could change the flow of chapter one a hundred times and come out with something different and the same each and every damn time.

I can do this.

Butcher it a little less with each run through.

Procrastinative practice during editing makes it seem a little less lonely.

Favorite paragraphs of the day:

Kat smirked, unable to resist a final goodbye as they passed through the door. It was a toss up between flipping him the bird or blowing a kiss but she settled for a simple little wave and a sweet “Ta, ta!” on the tip of her tongue. She probably could have come up with something better if her hands weren’t bound but…

“I don’t recommend running, Ms. Doe.” That all too polite voice brushed past her ear, forcing a stutter into her thoughts as if he’d actually known them.

Blogging Since September 2007

January 12th, 2010

6

Wow, last year is over… yay! Finally. Don’t get me wrong- 2009 had it’s up points but I’m glad to see it gone. I was thinking about it on New Year’s night (at work obviously) when someone asked me how my day was going. At first I was going to say I was having a bad day but then I realized my day had lasted awhile. I almost said I was having a bad week, but that didn’t quite cover it either. Month? More like months.

It was just a bad year for me. It’s a good thing though- a blessing in disguise if you want to add a cliche to it, because it just means whatever happens this year I’ll have 2009 to look back on and say ‘well, it could be worse.’ :) Purple haired people such as myself tend to be optimistic if you haven’t noticed. Well, most of the time. Once I start down the darker path I’m gone but tonight isn’t one of those nights and the dark is just an old friend with an odd way of showing his companionship.

So what’s new for me this year? Nothing much. At least not yet. I’ll have to see what happens.

My resolution: To watch more television… No, seriously. I got the idea from a commercial. I’m going to watch more television. Not because I like television- I don’t, but because I need to sit around doing nothing a little more. Not that I don’t do that enough, I’m just usually trying to accomplish something and accomplishing nothing makes me feel worse. So I’m going to try for less projects, more relaxation, finishing the projects I have started.

Sounds simple, huh? Watch me fail at this one too, lol.

I suppose this is kind of late as far as New Year’s posts go but I’ve been busy at work and other places. Kei and I started a new blog together and I’ve been catching up with posting around some other places on the net so I’ve been slacking over here. Still, I feel pretty good at how much I’ve done.

- Started Abridged Coffee, a place for our web comics (and future graphic novels) and love of the anime social culture.

- Posted on the main part of WW, I’m still not sure what direction I’m going with that part of the site. I may end up moving my blog there and turning one of my old domains into a writing site. We’ll see.

- I’ve played a lot of Sims3… perhaps you don’t count that as an accomplishment but I do. It’s all part of that relaxing and finding controllable stress thing. :)

- I read the latest Karen Chance novel. She’s my favorite author and I’ve just been counting down the days to this more recent release. So awesome.

- I’ve been reading a bunch of everyone’s blogs even if I haven’t been commenting. I’m a bit anti-social that way but I’m resolving, somewhere inside my head where post it notes don’t always get lost, to start making more comments. Oh, and I’ll be replying to comments up here a little later tonight. I always reply just not in a timely fashion.

- Thinking about changing my blogging pen name to match my pen name I use for my writing in other places. Feeby Neko. Whatcha think?

I was tweaking my template some more recently- thinking about just designing my own, when I noticed my little archives widget way down at the bottom of my sidebar. Can you believe I’ve been blogging since 2007? Really! I have 365 posts including this one and close to 2000 comments including my own replies (which actually make up less than half because I used to reply to all commenters within a single comment before we had threading).

This blog has come a long way from where it began. :) I don’t know why or how but it has and I’m glad of that because as I look through my posts I see shards of myself I couldn’t be happier sharing. Even the darker stuff.

Happy New Year everyone. Peace, love, and peanuts!

Box In My Pocket

January 12th, 2010

4

i carry a box of words in my pocket
neat and tidy in their square confinement
stirring like smoke in lightless corners
breathing deep the magic beyond the void

they question and crow at the nature of their pointed world
built within the tranquil delicacy of pen to page
strong as stone and more fragile than the spider’s web
clawing at my senses with ephemeral curiousity

tearing through the empty spaces in my mind
leaving no broken ridge or plot hole ungrazed
as ravenous children through the candy store
running and eating- filled only by their hunger

beautiful and ugly, marvelous and terrible
as precious as sand and equal in number
glinting bold beneath the golden sun’s gaze
and glowing holy under at the feet of an imperfect moon

these are my words
carefully kept in a box well guarded
without a lid, without walls
because the universe just isn’t big enough

I’m not even sure I’d classify this as a poem or just a random assortment of words… it’s hard to tell the difference with me sometimes. :) Maybe it’s not very good but I still said what I said and that makes me happy.

Plea From The Falling – Explanation

January 12th, 2010

2

[Meant to post this the other day but I didn't want it as my most recent post (just because) so I waited. Enjoy my attempt at explaining some of mentality.]

I get really overwhelmed with anxiety sometimes. I mean, I’m an anxious person by nature but over time my body’s been trained to over react to perceived and imaginary threats (PTSD) so its quite a bit more than the run of the mill stressed out and fretful. I get caught in memories, fragments, and illogical situations inside my head where every rounded object is a knife waiting to cut me open- in short, I get afraid of very unlikely and sometimes really stupid things. Sometimes I’ll huddle in bed holding my breath as planes go overhead because inside my head they’re about to crash on our house and kill everyone but me (greatest fear: being left alone). Sometimes I see a tiny spear of light shining through the dark and sleeping house and if I’m having a really bad day with lots of thoughts of the past I’ll think it’s a certain someone with one of those guns with the little laser on them (in the past this actually was a real threat-  once).

So, I think it’s needless to say at this point if I’m starting to feel anxious I don’t get much sleep. I have to keep myself busy at all times, my mind can not be left idle- at all! So as I lay there I have try to distract myself.

For as long as I can remember I’ve been telling myself bedtime stories. Don’t laugh I’m serious. When I was a little girl I told myself bedtime stories every night and acted them out in ‘plays’ during the day. I still do this though now it’s called ‘working on stories’ or ‘mentally writing.’ Sometimes when I do this I can distract myself from the anxiety… sometimes my anxiety twists the stories as they drift from one part of my mind to another. It’s like falling into a circle and sometimes I can’t help myself.

Most of you here probably don’t know but I have a small side hobby in the writing world called fanfiction- mind you I’m not about to admit this a second time. It’s where you take a pre-existing story (from book, movie, Tv, or other) or set of pre-existing characters and apply new plots to them solely because you love that story but wonder what would have happened if… etc. People write them and post them up (with disclaimer stating non-ownership of everything but the elusive plot bunny that started you down that path in the first place) on sites specifically for fanfiction so other fans might enjoy those wonderful ‘what ifs’. I am no exception (*cough* I do have a fanfiction blog but I’m not about to state where *cough*) to this though I do write and read far less than most people because I just have so many of my own stories eating away at what little non-attention deficit space I have left inside my head.

Occasionally I work on some of these stories to fall asleep. That’s what I was doing last night. I’m not going to state which fandom (if you guess don’t say it) I was working through because it’ll up the self-strange’ness I reveal here just a notch above my comfort level. To sum it up there are these two characters, Character A: a reclusive and bad tempered romance novelist (you see why I like it already) jaded by life and Character B: a naive and innocent singer on their way to becoming a rock star- muchly hyper-active. They’re pure opposites but they’re in love most of the time.

My anxiety warped my mental bedtime story so that CharB wasn’t doing so well. He changed everything about himself so CharA would love him more, so people wouldn’t complain about his wonderfully cheerful and occasionally grating personality, so that he’d never be a burden and he’d never be left alone. He decided he wouldn’t be loud, wouldn’t ask for anything, would always go to work early, and never ever do anything to disturb CharA.

He managed it alright for awhile. The only thing people noticed was it seemed like he was ‘growing up.’ CharA wondered occasionally if something was wrong but CharB always whined and cried over the smallest thing so if there was something he would have said it by then- the only problem being that he didn’t.

For months.

CharB is a rock star in progress. He has lyrics he has to write, songs to sing, concerts to deal with and fans to please. That’s a whole lot of stress. We’ve all heard of a stage persona and that’s fine at work but trying to keep it up at home too and the stress finally starts to take it’s toll. He goes whole days without speaking without being spoken too, which means he never speaks at home and CharA doesn’t notice because he’s  -always- locked in his office.

CharA has a brother (CharC) in the music industry, CharB’s manager, who gives him a call one day. CharC doesn’t much like CharB but he puts up with him because he’s a ‘good investment’ to the business. As a good investment he’s not about to stand by and let something like that crumble. He’s also a very observant person who knows music better than anyone and he’s noticed the changes, oh so subtle and not so much so, in CharB and that lately all his lyrics are starting to sound a lot alike. They’re happy and bouncy but they’re just… wrong. Music is nothing if you don’t feel it.

So, he meddles and calls CharA (who refuses to listen to any of CharB’s music- stating disinterest for everything in the music industry) and asks him to help CharB with the latest lyrics. CharA reluctantly agrees but takes a look at the sheet music anyway. He’s always been cruel stating that his lyrics stink (as a novelist he can’t help but hold things up to a different literary level,… that and he’s a cynical ass) but he has to agree that these poppy sunshiney lyrics all sound the same. Nothing is fresh, nothing is felt, and something is terribly wrong.

He confronts CharB and in the progress of the conversation finally notices the changes. CharB is quiet, too quiet. He finally gets it out of him that several months ago he made a decision to change who he was and no one noticed. They got more work done, the fans keep coming, the two of them fight less and everyone seems to like him more. CharB just shrugs with a smile as he states all this and adds, so it must mean I’m better like this.

CharA could’ve slapped him but one problem to a time (and I don’t want to tell the whole story in this post just a specific part of it). The lyrics stink. He asks why he’s not writing what he feels anymore. CharB says music has to be beautiful in some sense or no one listens to it. None of the words he has right now are beautiful. He doesn’t feel anything. CharA tells him to write about that. CharB says but that’s an ugly thing, no one wants to hear about that.

CharA walks away and comes back with a beaten shoe box of papers and asks he thinks his writing is ever ugly. CharB perks up instantly saying no, besides he’s a bestseller, how could anything like that be ugly- especially in romance novels. CharA nods, true, but then holds out the stack of papers saying- read these and tell me if they’re ugly.

See, CharA is a jaded reclusive character who does NOT talk about the past, himself, or anything sappy. For a romance novelist he’s notoriously unromantic, blunt, and just plain unfriendly. He’s always unwilling to share the inner part of himself with CharB so this is a momentous moment even as he walks away to let the other read.

The words are black, white and gray. Speaking of a time when all he felt was numb. It was poetry- something no one would ever expect CharA to write, and it was beautiful. Long story short, CharB learns to let some of the more ugly things seep into his lyric writing and is all the better for it. The rest of the mental story is irrelevant to this post. :)

While working on this story in my head I briefly took a moment to think what would CharA put into poetry… and what would CharB take away from it for his lyrics? The first two lines hit me like a brick to the face.

Tell me a darker story, bathed in broken glory.

That’s about when I popped the laptop open, the version above is diff from the final just because the flow changed as I went. As I wrote it down the poem was less about them and more about me. It was like I was asking my pen (I know I’m on the laptop but I still view all things written as channeled through a pen) to heal the darkness for me by bringing it out into the light.

Which spawns another idea that I’ll have to relate in a totally different post. :) Cause this one is long enough!

Plea From The Falling

January 5th, 2010

2

So, I’ve been trying to stay away from rhyming poetry as of late because I find it so easy to fall back on and because I often lose sight of my message till I’ve found ‘just’ the ‘right’ words- even though we should all know by now that the right words don’t exist. The art is in painting a beautiful picture with all the wrong ones and letting it shine with crooked light. :)

Last night I woke to find myself at my laptop frantically trying to open some program or another just to type these words- the few quickly becoming the many in just a few short lines. Images assailed me from a particular handful of ideas but as I wrote it morphed and turned on me. This morning as I opened my laptop and skimmed those solid lines I found things I hadn’t seen. It was beautiful.

I’ll tell you what the poem’s based on in a second post because I’m probably going to ramble and I know people tend to avoid longer ones, so if you read nothing else please at least skim my poem. I know my rhyming scheme is a bit childish but the greatest beauty I’ve found in writing comes from not caring about anything but the under-script.

Plea From The Falling

Tell me a darker story
bathed in broken glory,
of opened wounds
and sealed tombs,
tinted with the shadow’s touch.

Whisper to me
my secrets to be freed,
from the hellish twist
of love with a fist,
and dogs for better mothers.

Relive the once forgotten
no more the ill begotten,
with tears and ink
bleeding what we truly think,
before gravity shreds another angel’s wings.

I know it’s not great but I felt compelled to share it. :)

Poisoned Breath

December 31st, 2009

4

Each poem a purple prayer,

Prayed through weeping lips,

Burning my tongue with sour hope,

Poisoned by the sweetest bliss.

~Spirit~

Breathe it through the ink.

Testimate to the Violets 1.0

December 21st, 2009

2

Taking some advice from my writerly buddy Jessie I’ve decided to put this ‘word in progress’ up for a few days. I’d really love to know what everyone thinks of it. I do have a rough direction I want to take it but it’s all still vague in my head. Likewise, I’d also love to know what anyone takes from my words. The title and last line hold particular meaning to me but I don’t want to give it away and bias others. :) Enjoy.

PS, if you’re curious about what spawned my total change in style (as I perceive it) you might be interested in reading this post.

I am a dance never ceasing
a constant flow of little moments
strung together in time
dewdrops on a spider’s web
glistening and reflecting
experiences of the internal story

I am a song yet to be sung
born in the rhythm of flying rain
whispered to the blackened night
notes never play too in sync
surging through veins
the tempo in my lone heart beat

I am wings hardly used
seldom soaring
on feathers once plucked
toeing at the cliff tops
the taste of blood on the wind
a memory of delight

I am a path seldom taken
exotic to the senses
and unknown to the touch
soft sand never broken
by crushing waves
of society’s firm paw

I am this poem
beyond punctuation
written with a different ink
penned beneath tired eyes
and pulled beyond it’s structure
a testimate to the violets

Not Sure But Not Happy

December 21st, 2009

8

Post removed- why? Because I can.

This is the first post I’ve ever removed because of something related to the content. I just felt like it was a good idea to take it down.

Purple Words

December 19th, 2009

2

purpleeye2Picked up a book the other day, PoemCrazy (it’s one word on the cover) by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge and let me just tell you right now- it’s absolutely awesome. I don’t tend to consider myself much of a poet for many reasons, the main one being something you probably wouldn’t think.

Some baser reasons being that I’ve had it hard coded into my mind by teachers of old that poems are short pieces that often rhyme… This is not true. Not in the least! Nevertheless, the urge to shorten things and force a certain flow still exists within me. Don’t get me wrong, I like to rhyme but I know that’s not what the poetry is about and my need to find the ‘thing that sounds right’ often leads me away from the message my words were aiming at in the first place.

Another reason is that I never really, really like my poetry unless it’s written in the moment of some deep emotion. It always seems so ‘on the surface’ if I write it any other time, like it’s not meant to be. The other side of this being that when written in the moment my words often carry a darker flavor on my tongue- these are usually the ones I like even more but life experiences have built a slight flinch response in me wherever that taste is present. No matter how much I may enjoy it.

These two reasons together almost equal the third. The one main reason I don’t quite call myself a poet- even though the words in me prose differently.

I haven’t yet been willing to break enough rules.

That’s changing though thanks to the influence of some wonderful writing buddies and a few good books. Beyond that though- words will come when they want to. You can try to put them in a fish tank or behind a brilliant wall but like water (Taoism!) poetry can flow over all things. Over glass, under sand, carefully eroding stone away with time. All I need to do is keep the flow going and eventually even I won’t be able to stop the purple prose from doing what it wants. :)

Peace, love, and purple words!

My Nonsensical Diatribe

December 17th, 2009

6

confused-sae-copySo, I’m back. I had a great little trip and despite it I’ve decided to never ride in any kind of vehicle with my sister- Cat, and her husband ever again! It’s not that he’s a bad driver. No, not at all. It’s more that they’re both very vocal and argumentative people, which I’m sure explains why they fell in love in the first place. They constantly acted like each car held a terrible driver, cursing them out and then explaining to my poor frazzled nerves how they could have killed us.

The irony of this situation?

I have a borderline phobia of riding in cars that includes much flinching, a straight back, teeth grinding, and eventually just squeezing my eyes closed and hoping it will all go away. It didn’t much help things that my sister had to go and tell me they’d disabled the air bags- oh, and did I mention there were no back seats?

Yes. My nerves are shot. Thankfully on the ride back I not only had my MP3 player cranked to the nines but I also had some very nice sleeping pills. They may not have knocked me out but it’s my understanding that not only was I very entertaining but I was also very ‘mellow.’

All that jazz aside it really was a great visit. No asthma attacks or fighting. It really was great to get out of the house and see everyone- especially now that the snow’s falling and work’s picked up (i.e. I probably won’t be able to visit again until Spring). Some bad news though…

I forgot my glasses.

Glasses I need.

Really, really need.

I don’t use them at the computer because I get this weird sort of headache and I can go and just turn the font up anyways but for things like work, my appointments (I have one tomorrow), READING ANYTHING that’s not on the computer. Yeah. Not good. I’m hoping I can convince sis to bring them up to TC- the half way point in the four hour drive it takes to get from here to there and back again, sometime for me.

On another topic, I’m feeling a bit anxious right now. I don’t know if it’s my usual random anxious that’s part of the PTSD junk or if it’s just because I know I start with the new therapist tomorrow. Maybe it’s both, either way despite how tired I am I feel jittery enough to run a marathon. My brain has this huge file system for different self tortures and right now it’s rather keen on pulling up useless fretting and a few perfectly illogical tragedies to worry about.

It’s just peachy.

I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Some people think it’s all in my head. Some people think there really is wrong with me. What do I think? I think there is something wrong with me and it’s in my head!

I’m feeling a very literal urge to bang my head against something. That and the above aside I think I’m in a pretty good mood. It’s hard to tell sometimes but I guess I feel good. I’m sooooo glad to be home. I missed my Hubby so much even though I was only gone for a couple of days.

My thoughts are jumbled. I’ll probably post again in a few hours- hopefully catch up on some blog reading now that I can’t read books (until I get my glasses back- funny how my Hubby finds his ((gone for 6 months)) right when I lose mine). :) Night.

New word of the day: Conflubercated [con-floob-er-kate-ed]

Note

December 14th, 2009

3

Hmm, that anxious feeling is back. I’m not at all fond of it but what can I do? *mental sigh*

Anyways, I’m going to be gone until about Friday’ish. I’ll actually be back by Thursday but I know for a fact I’m going to want to pass out by the time I get back so no one will hear from me until Friday and even then… I work. Not muchly excited about that as we have the wonderful and well dubbed ‘hell week’ coming up. I hate working holidays.

I was hoping to get either Yule, Christmas, or New Year’s off but neither look like they’re going to happen. It’s alright I suppose seeing as we do need the money. I’m just not looking forward to being on the clock till five in the morning again.

Anyways, this was just supposed to be a quick post. Not going to be here. Peace.

Words Are Beautiful, Damnit!

December 12th, 2009

2

bswag08

My veins are buzzing. Logic fuzzing. The rules of plausibility blurring together. The pen meets the paper as the teller to story, all on a night neither dark nor stormy.

Can you feel my heart beating life into these words? See my blood upon the page? Do you hear my shadow’s dance rhythmically tapping away at the insides of your skull?

Well, do you?

If you can’t then you need not feel harder. You need not look harder, nor listen with more rapt attention. If I haven’t caught you in the web so deeply woven in both word and soul then I need to try harder, crack my chest open wider, and shake my head faster until the grey goop between my ears is twitching and all the little neurotransmitters are firing off in all the necessary directions.

Words are more than just letters printed and tried be they digitalized or penned in pretty script. They’re more than just tools of a language meant to be spoken and thunk. They’re more than just- just!

They are the very relief of expression.

A breath outward and a step in the sand. Tasting the sun on your tongue and feeling the green in the grass. Words are all these things and more.

Every song sung must first be written even if the lyrics never reach the paper. Instrumentals are composed in a language of beats, strings, and notes. Every tree that grows must follow the instructions penned so significantly in every single length of genetic code or be at a loss of a composition all together.

As fire burns and stars shine, even the indomitable elements are little to us without language of the universe. The wind blows and we don’t see it but we still find, know, accept, feel, and everything else it. Without words, even the unspoken sort, the wind wouldn’t even be a concept. A concept wouldn’t be a concept!

Even nothing must become nothing through the expression of nothing.

So, let me sit with you now, the pen in my mind and ink boiling away in my veins. Let me bring my story to life within you. Let me tell it and yell it, and shout it from the rooftops. Let me dance it and sing it, and  paint it and string it.

For the love of the universe let me express it.

Because I am a writer and that’s what I do. :)

~Writer’s block- you’ve got nothing on this tender heart.~

Grandpa’s House

December 8th, 2009

2

Lilting whispers- the music behind the memory. It calls me like the sun calls specks of dust from between the bookshelves. A delicate mixture of old and new found only in the quiet moments where counted time cannot reach me.

I remember.

A gentle darkness resides in everything. Sinking into the carpet and crawling up the walls with thin, grasping, tendrils. They gather and sleep behind corner bound cobwebs. Dreaming dreams only shadows keep.

It smells old here. Like once loved books- the reader long gone, and relics of another life. Bones, stones, and vases. Paintings and poetry. Rough hewn textures and the after-scent of sweet, sweet tobacco.

A jade horse upon the mantle piece and a chest of rosin wood carved in half a thousand beautiful stories. Little golden boxes with curling feet, hollowed out for secret treasures and simple presents. Maps of the far east and turning tides, fantastical places beyond my perceptions.

Touches from a world outside these molding walls, yet no place could be more comforting to me in the wee hours between night and day.

Fragment

December 8th, 2009

2

My head is full of thoughts tonight.

I am remembering things. Fractured sort of things that leave a bitter, burning sensation in my stomach. It’s like walking in a spider’s web full of broken glass. I can’t help but get caught in sticky silken threads, following one or another until I brush a sharp bit of mirror or window. Sometimes the pain of the memory redirects me to another, sometimes I find myself transported at random, and sometimes all the broken glass just forces me to try another thread- wading through ghosts of the past till I find my way out.

Happy Birthday Me!

December 7th, 2009

6

bday-cupcake*singsong voice* It’s my birthday and I’ll write if I want to. :D

Happy birthday to me. Today, er… technically yesterday, I turned 21!

Amazing isn’t it? I certainly think so. I don’t think anywhere throughout the few short years I’ve already lived I ever once thought I would make it this far. It’s a little daunting but it makes me happy to know… well, some things just can’t be explained and I’m feeling too good to go into the details. :)

*nudge wink* If anyone out there wants to buy me anything I have an Amazon Wishlist (I don’t mind used items!) or you could help feed my MP3 player by getting me a $5 Amazon Gift Card. Lol, I’m not actually expecting anything but it can never hurt to try. If you do happen to by me anything though- I thank you. :)

While I’m at it I just want to shoot a general thank you out into the universe for all you wonderful people. Many of you may not know it but without your presence in my life, however fleeting it might have seemed to you, I may not have been here today. I wouldn’t be the person I am and I’m not sure I’d ever have been this happy.

Thank you. :)

~PS, before anyone asks- No. I don’t drink and I don’t plan on breaking that for the ‘turning 21′ tradition that everyone else seems to believe in. :)

More

December 7th, 2009

1

[I've gotten into this bad habit of late- writing posts and then not putting them up for one reason or another. So, this is me trying to break that. This post is from a few days back.]

I feel like I’m in a state of perpetual between. Sometimes I feel alright and sometimes I feel very not alright. I don’t seem to ever feel ‘alright’ enough to —- and I even when I feel pretty crappy I don’t feel it in a way that clues me in on what’s going on in my own head, you know what I mean?

I feel off balance but stuck in the middle all the same. I’m never going any which way long enough (or in a direct enough line) to know what the heck’s going on. Sometimes it’s maddening and other times it’s just depressing and whenever I feel like I’ve made some progress I feel pretty happy but it’s so fleeting because either I fall harder the next time or I spend my happiness afraid of the moment when I fall.

Hmm. Feeling so lost but I know I’m moving forward. Everything is a contradiction of sorts. This can only mean one thing…

I need to write more.

Why Again?

November 30th, 2009

2

Sitting in the corner, knees drawn up tight with salty tracks weaving their way down her face. The banging gets louder. Her heart flutters like a weak in a steal trap and she can’t help the broken sob that escapes her with each hollow thud on the door.

“Why?”

It’s impossible not to ask. Impossible not to hope it will make everything all better.

No one is there but the voiceless sentiment of children long before:

What will happen cannot be stopped, little one.

[small][AnimePaper]scans_Memories-Off_clarings__THISRES__113203They will come for you.

Take you and break you.

Torment you and bruise you.

They will wreck your heart and spit on the remains.

No. What will happen cannot be stopped.

But you can still survive.

“Why?”

Because someone has to be the voice of hope.

Related to the post ‘Why?’

Origami Unfolding

November 29th, 2009

6

Single stage. Empty handed.
The crowd deaf and willing.
Holding hope like origami,
A paper crane with paper cut wings.
Lifted high. The lights go bright.
Curtain drawn. Waiting. Wishing.

A cricket’s chirp. The shift of seat.
Soundless criticism from mice unworthy of the cat.
Held up higher. Teetering.
Testing the wind with a tongue of color.
Crowd sits forward. Unmoved.
Missing the greatest thing never seen.

Torn wings take flight.
Beyond light. Beyond dark.
Through shadow and glow.
Above the dust specks.
Headlong into the rafters.

Gasp. Blind eyes blink.
A child shouts “It’ll get trapped!”
And then…

We two stood watching,
As the ceiling opened up.
Cobwebs shaken. Plaster raining.
Paper cut wings freed.
A broken poem rising into the deep blue of night.

And all the crowd saw was me.
Holding up a crinkled piece of paper.
A sacrifice to the false lights of the stage.
All sitting forward. Deaf, dumb, and willing.
Oblivious to the gaping hole in their theatre.

While the child and I watched
The origami of this world
Turned inside out.

~Spirit~

Sleepless Nights and Tumbling Thoughts

November 29th, 2009

0

I sat down and told myself I’d go around and leave comments on all my favorite blogs- as I’ve been muchly lax lately, but alas I’m tired and all I want to do is write so I can get some sleep tonight. I have some thoughts I need to deal with and as therapy is… on the fence right now I think I’ll stick to trusted and true as far as venting goes and just make a post about it.sleeping anime girl

I’m not sure I’m doing alright.

I’ve had these weird crying fits the past three nights. The first night I was listening to my MP3 player- just some soft music to help me wind down, and then suddenly I was half paralyzed with things I was afraid of and circular thoughts that wouldn’t let me go. I think I cried more out of frustration than anything. It was just a brief quiet sob to myself to let some of the pressure out and then… well, it didn’t make me feel better. It clogged up my sinuses but I kept flipping through my music till I found something monotonous enough to lull me to sleep.

The next night was probably my fault in some sense. I was mentally working on some story ideas- again, lying there to go to sleep, as I tend to do some nights when the creative juices are flowing exceedingly well, and I’m pretty sure I stumbled onto a trigger (for those who don’t know, a trigger is something, anything, that ‘triggers’ traumatic memories or PTSD episodes). Suddenly I found my brain going back and forth- for a moment my mind would be on the emotions my character was going through and then I would be transported back to my own past for a moment. Another second later and I’d be working on the character again.

I don’t know how to explain just how weird it was but I honestly couldn’t escape the little cycle. I knew my own thoughts were hurting me, that working on that bit of that story was hurting me but I couldn’t turn away from it or focus on anything else. My brain was playing ping pong and going back and forth so fast I couldn’t do anything but hang on let alone try to figure out how to stop it.

I think part of it has to do with my old habits of self punishment- where I felt I deserved to be in pain. The memories I was having had to do with that- the times I was trying to be good by punishing myself. It was like reliving it all over again and that horrible despairing feeling, and worse- the acceptance on such despair, was enough to make me cry again. When I was done with that bout of silent sobbing I was so tired I just laid there kind of numb until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.

Last night was different. It was a few hours before I even planed on sleeping- I was in my shower and then I just started crying suddenly. It was so weird I stood there in shock for a moment before asking myself out loud “What am I crying for?” The more my mind reeled the more the tears came. After that my poor husband had to spend about an hour and a half convincing me I didn’t get nearly as much sleep as I needed earlier (so exhausted from the previous night I had to cat nap) and should go to bed.

I don’t know why I kept trying to stay up. I mean I have plenty of reasons to choose from but I’m not really sure if those are ‘the’ reasons. I don’t mind crying. I believe there’s nothing wrong with a perfectly good cry- provided my sinuses are up to the extra abuse so I know that’s not the reason. I get some pretty horrid nightmares sometimes but this doesn’t feel like the anxiety I have for sleeping that comes after a particularly terrible one.

The more I think about it the more I think it has something to do with that moment of ‘empty space.’ To clarify- before I go to sleep, during my showers, and a few other unguarded moments in my day I have little going through my mind. I’m relaxed and there’s all this free space for me to think about different things. I can avoid that when I’m wide awake. I’ve learned how to read a short story, listen to some new lyrics, keep up with a television show, hold a chat conversation, mentally work out some codes for a new web design AND play Tetris all at once. This is the equivalent of my moment by moment every day lately. I can’t not be busy because my mind takes off without me and once it’s gone so am I.

*sigh* I’m tired right now. I’m half falling asleep right now but something in me is tempted to write some more about the specific memories from the other night though I think that’s part in procrastination and part in self harm- neither of which are good for me so I’ll just end this post here.

I wish I understood.

I Remember: The Hate Me Journal

November 26th, 2009

0

Warning: This piece might be unhealthy to read for those suffering from self abuse, severe depression, or darker memories in general.

I remember…

I remember a dark journal bursting with words over shadowed lines- scribbled as if by another hand. It spoke of missing people who never were and ending the existence of the dreamer who dreamt them up in the first place.

Pictures drawn over proclamations of loathing. Little daggers dipped in ink and knives between the pages. It hated so very much,… hated me though the pen rested in my hand. I never remember writing any of it, the script so morbid to my own, but it was my journal after all.

“I hate myself.”

I know those words too well. Spoken, screamed, babbled, murmured, cried, whispered and worshipped. Those numb little words that were once such a part of myself. I won’t remember when they started. I don’t remember when they stopped.

“I hate you.”

But I can’t forget that voice.

My voice.

“Hate me?”

I still hear it from time to time, wearing tread marks in my mind, but it’s no longer mine. It rings and roars in my head, echoing back from the days of that dark little journal. Screaming and stinging with blackness and guilt.

“Help me?”

Half Woken Yrteop

November 25th, 2009

2

The sleeping dragon in my soul,
Awaits the darkness
At bid and toll.

Voices in me bellow deep,
What the old have sown
So shall I reap.

Thunder rings,
Lightning sings,
Static clings.

Open my wings.

Poetry flies from finger and tongue,
Holding out hope-
One day to be sung.

Standing at the end of time,
Lost and lingering,
With no hope but to rhyme.

I wrote it after waking up from a drug induced (sinus meds) slumber so give me a little credit that it at least has some semblance of flow. :) It’s not meant to be good, it’s not meant to be great. It’s just a bunch of words thrown together in a semi-happy little pile.

Update 2 (Woot!)

November 25th, 2009

3

Cool, all my software is up to date- a true feat if you’re trying to keep up with as much as I am with the attention span of an imaginary tick. Playing with a few new plugins (I loves the last.FM one though I’m not sure why since it just shows what I’ve been listening to) and going through all my spam comments to make sure nothing good got dumped as that tends to happen from time to time. It’s rare but I’d rather be safe than sorry and some of the spam I get is just sooooo funny.

I mean honestly- what the heck am I going to do with Viagra? Shove it up my nose?

Anyways, I’ve been lax on comments this past month so I’m going to get around to modding and replying to them all here in a moment. Before it slips my mind though I want to send a big thank you to all of your out there in the blogosphere who sent me well wishes and advice. I appreciate it. I won’t always admit I need it- but I do appreciate it.

Have a blessed Turkey day all!

Update

November 22nd, 2009

0

Ooo, in my time ‘away’ it seems my software updated without me and I need to do some mandatory tweaks which includes turning some of my stuff off for a moment. Please bear with me if a: the site looks funky for a moment or b: things go a little wonky.

Getting To Know Myself Again

November 20th, 2009

7

I feel like my old self. Not ‘old’ as in how I was a few months ago before I started having all the flash backs and other PTSD junk but old as in how I felt when I first started to feel- when I first started to think of myself as a person.

The long story aside- after I moved out of the bio parent’s house when I was 15, a friend’s mom (whom I now call mom) took guardianship of me, I went through this phase of… discovery and change. Change being the bigger concept- discovery being what pushed it along.

I didn’t know the name of certain emotions. I cried so many times when I felt so happy because it was so strange to me. Now I have so many words- sometimes too many and I find myself working to use them all at once hoping to bring the same things out in others.

emo-animeI didn’t know I had a favorite color, food, or music. I remember being asked for the very first time what my favorite food was and not having a single answer. They asked me what my favorite color was and I responded with the color I had always been told was my favorite- pink. They asked why I didn’t wear any of my pink clothing. My response ‘Cause I hate it.’ And music,… music was an exquisite challenge to discover and pinpoint just what I liked. There was so much I’d never contemplated before. I did certain things, collected certain things and avoided many other certain things and yet I never knew these were likes and dislikes.

I had always worn what was available- regardless of cleanliness, size, how many times it had been worn, and how absolutely horrible it looked. Then I was thrust into a department store and told to pick out things to help make me look however I wanted to look. That was an interesting experience.

All these memories- fond, sad, scary, and exhilarating, are all filed under the same word. Discovery. From each of these discoveries I began to change. They taught me that I was a person- I really mean this and I can’t stress it enough. Looking back I don’t honestly think I ever saw myself as a person and once I learned that I was… well, it’s been an interesting process figuring out who that person was.

You know you’ve changed when a school bully trips you one day- you cry and he laughs…

And two months later you give him the verbal dressing down of his life (even the teacher laughed) for bad mouthing a friend and he asks- “Why are you so different now?”

I’m getting off track. I said long story aside and for the most part I’ve avoided the longer story- to digress. I feel like the person I discovered I was. I mean, I’m always changing- that’s a given, we all are but it’s something else. When I went back into foster hell (foster care) I tried desperately to hold on to the nearly secure person I had become. I continued to fight for my opinions, seek out things I loved and avoid what I didn’t. I continued to look within and have long talks with myself- a process used to figure things out like ‘How do I feel about this and what about that?’

But even rocks can be worn down by the tide and I was hardly a pebble at the time. They broke me- not as bad as others had and I stood firm till the end as far as the important things went but a part of me still broke. It was a familiar feeling I had lived with far too often in a time when I had no names for the things I felt so to protect myself I cut off that wonderful bit of me that was always trying to figure out who I was. The curious child who was too open for her own good.

I was still me but only by a half.

Now though, that time of my life is over. I’m safe, happy, relatively healthy, and loved. I have to remind myself of this more than I’d like to but the facts still stand. Now I’m starting to remember, starting to get back on that rocky but exhilarating path of internal morphing and discovery.

I’m getting to know me again.

One Waiting

November 20th, 2009

2

[Edit: I wrote this some months ago and then forgot to post it. Part of me was undecided about putting it up here but then I said what the heck- and totally forgot about it. :) I think there was a reason for that though because as I came back to it today and read over words that I don't expect anyone else to understand I find I understand them even more then when I wrote them in the first place. Enjoy.]

There is this memory lost to childhood- caught between fragments of imagination and the wisdom only children bear. It pulls me to remember. Not always, though young each new year brings me both closer and farther away. Closer in that the logic is evolving, farther in that the world consumes us each a little more each day and the view point of innocence is constantly corrupting.

This memory- or mayhaps memories… it pulls the heart with an unknown emotion and pulls the mind with distorted curiosities.

The sweet sacrifice of the winged chorus.

Music to my soul’s long deprived ears.

I hear. I listen.

And I know elusive truths- like spiderwebs in the wind, they are supported by my faith alone that what is meant to be shall be.

AnimeAngel3But I must wait.

A little longer.

The door is opening. A crack of light around the edges has always seeped through- inescapable to my attention but the knob has since turned, my knocks long past echoing. Now the door is no longer a door. It’s ajar- not open, but wrapped in a verb.

Opening.

I am small- how long must the verb be before I can slip through?

Like little bubbles floating in the void- spheres litter the cosmos. Glossy film swiveling over the surface both providing beauty and blinding us from the unknown on the outside- so much beauty protecting us from equal beauty that we would fear.

They sing. Ring true with the vibrations of possibility. Breath and they hum. Step and they dance. Spread your wings and they as a whole become the ultimate goal.

Breath, step, wings at the ready. Standing upon the precipice and tilting over the edge.

Waiting.

I’ve seen the phases of the moon play upon my own face long enough to know this:

One smile will light up another. One sphere singing and the entire universe will ring. One child dancing in solitude- and the story will be told.

Back In Many Ways

November 20th, 2009

2

I’m back and in more ways than one.

I feel great. Mildly inarticulate but still absolutely wonderful. It’s difficult to put into words- lately when I’ve felt ‘Okay’ it was usually preceding a moment of extremely ‘Not okay’ and every time I felt like everything might be alright, like maybe there wasn’t something actually wrong with me- I was quickly proven wrong.

This time though- things are different. I feel wonderful. More than content but less than… not sure. I am happy though. I don’t feel as if everything will be alright or nothing is wrong- those still linger in me like a bad taste but while I don’t feel like it will be alright I feel alright. Hmm… told you I was a bit inarticulate. To sum it up: I feel happy and I’m at peace with knowing I’m still a bit broken.

Last night I had a long talk with myself- quite literally and came upon a revelation of sorts. It’s still a bit new, rattling around inside my head, but it’s there and taking root in every place it touches. Between my spirituality (not religion) and writing I think I’ve figured something out. It might not be the light at the end of the tunnel but at least I know what the tunnel looks like now and in what rough direction it’s heading. That’s definitely something in my book.

I think… I’ve made a little bit of sense out of what’s wrong with me. I mean- don’t get me wrong there’s a plethora of things wrong with me just like every other person but it’s this specific set of issues that I’ve been having so much trouble with these past few months.

But I’m making sense of it. I think in some way I’ve been making sense of it for so long but I didn’t even know it… so complicated. So confusing.

So wonderful.

NaNoWriMo, PTSD, Therapy and Junk

November 3rd, 2009

8

I can’t believe I’m going to say this but… I”m having a bit of trouble… writing.

LookingInTheSunsetTalked to my therapist the other day. We discussed that I have some really good coping mechanisms for all the stuff that’s going wrong inside my head and that I’m actually doing pretty good as far as that’s concerned but at the same time the coping mechanisms I have right now… well, it’s like I’ve outgrown them. I’m not sure that’s quite the right way to put it but it’ll have to do.

One of my CMs is to switch gears as soon as my mind starts going down darker paths. Sounds good, right? Not always.

Sometimes when I find myself writing particularly depressing stuff that I know is going to leave me hurting in the end more so than the venting thereof will have helped I switch gears and go work on another project. Then once I’ve found my groove in the midst of that project there’s room for the mental malfunctions to seep in again and I have to switch to something new- again!

It is a great CM, in moderation but I’ve gotten to the point (at home, at work, and sadly in my writing) where I’m having to switch so many times that not only am I running myself ragged but I’m not actually getting anything done and if I am I most certainly don’t feel like it.

At work I start in one kitchen and then make an excuse to run to the other kitchen for awhile before running back to the other one or- hell, even another totally different one! Let’s face it my job is monotonous, as any job as, and it gets to the point that I can do it on autopilot and my mind begins to wander… and then I have to run off and disturb the autopilot.

At home I feel like I can’t sit still because there aren’t enough ways for me to distract myself. My home has been carefully cultivate so I can spend all the time I want drifting in and out of days dreams which is just wonderful to the ever creative side of me but the rest of me, which is too quickly overshadowing much else, doesn’t do so well with spare moments to think. We spend out time in our hobbies (he gaming, she drawing, me writing) and when we’re not doing that we’re taking drives through the forest or nice long walks. All of these are wonderful but they don’t give me that temporary off switch I need for my brain. That moment of changing from one action to the next where the mind is entirely occupied with processing the change for just a split second. This makes enjoying happy moments very hard. It makes loving the silent contemplative moments I’ve not been able to love quite so much with any others a bit of a strain.

It’s sucking all the pretty colors out of my rainbows, damnit!

This mental cancer of mine is spreading. I’ll deny it for twenty-three hours out of my every day but for at least one hour, once a day, I have to admit that I can see it slowly spreading. I don’t want to admit this- it feels like accepting but it’s something that demands acknowledgement. I can see it spreading to every facet of my life and now… now it’s hit me where I really hurt.

It’s attacked my writing.

I’m sad to say that I have noticed that most of my writing has been focused on this crap lately. Usually my blog posts are sporadic but now… it’s like I have this one long running theme I can’t break myself of. I’m not sure if I’m peeved or distressed more but it’s a combination of the two.

My poetry has gotten better if only because I’m hurting in a way that feels fresh. My non-fiction has reached a new level if only because the details have become so much more vivid and bright. My journaling is going in ever smaller circles if only because my mind has already carved out the well woven path and it’s so hard to climb out of a rut when it’s been worn so far. My short fiction has become fractured if only because the little stories are so heart breaking I can’t bear to tell a whole one at length.

I can survive these. These are intimately effected by me like the reflection in the mirror. If I break I expect them to break too even if I’m not too fond of the resulting glass in need of cleaning up and the bleeding fingers that will follow soon after.

What I’m having trouble dealing with is my stories. Half of them aren’t written so much as they are played out in my head. Huge beautiful plots put together as a painter with her canvas. I love sitting down and just staring at a wall with my own mental television projecting things I’ve never seen. I love how I can take myself away, how the characters come to life, and how mysteries I don’t fathom my own creation of unravel and restitch themselves into extraordinary masterpieces. These are the things I try to write about. Everything else is mere expression but this is expression and creation. Everything else requires giving and giving but this- this bit of creation is like giving back to myself. It’s the art I gave up in foster care only because I didn’t think I’d live another month.

It is the very air I breathe and the process of lungs pulling in and out. It’s tides churning and the sun moving across the sky. It’s the blood bringing my body to life and the colors in my eyes. It’s a kiss in the dark and a dance under the moon. It’s been with me longer than any parental figure or friend…

And now I can’t visit this beautiful world without monsters hunting me down. I can’t work on one of my novels without having to change to another one after less than three pages. I’m no longer fleshing world out but running in for a quick look before being ruthlessly yanked out again before I get caught.

It doesn’t bode well for NaNoWriMo.

Writing puts me in this special place… Did you know I can type whole stories with my eyes closed? I don’t do it on purpose, sometimes it just happens as I see everything unfold before me. It’s like meditation of the most lucid kind but in these moments, where my body is moving on it’s own and my brain is left unguarded… things go wrong. I get the flashbacks and memories which require an entirely different set of coping skills but then because of what they do to me my body over reacts in much the same way it did to create the PTSD in the first place. My flight or fight response becomes hypersensitive and tries to be hyper-aware of when these ‘dangerous’ moments are going to happen again.

So, the second my mind has a chance to relax- fight or flight, random unexplainable terrifying feelings, or whatever the hell it is, forces me to change gears. To enter a new world that I have to re-get used to and the second I’ve found my rhythm it has to happen all over again.

First day of NaNo I went from really happy to unbearably and seemingly unreasonably depressed because these things, all this crap going on inside of me, wouldn’t let me sit still and work on just one thing. The depression passed and I went back to it but it was so forced it made me want to gag. My solution? I’m now working on three projects. It’ the coping skill needed to keep me from feeling either depressed or panicked but in the end I don’t finish anything which leaves me feeling even more like crap.

In far fewer words- because I’m a much less verbal person than you might expect from reading this, I told this to my therapist. She was pretty understanding and helped clarify a few things that I think I already knew but didn’t understand quite as well until someone else said them. She told me that maybe until I got a bit better with everything else I shouldn’t expect quite so much from myself… to lower my expectations…

I feel like I’ve already done that a little bit. I am going easier on myself. Taking more breaks, treating myself nice and all that jazz but at the same thing if I’m completing nothing than to expect less… I don’t know. I know where that thoughts going but I can’t shed light on it yet. I’m hurting, I’m tired- though I seem to do little else but sleep lately, and I just don’t feel like doing anything.

Later tonight I will sit down and I will write for NaNo. I don’t know what I’ll write or on what project but I will do it. Not because I’m expecting anything from myself, at this point I’m not sure I see myself completing my word count, but because I need to write. I need to embrace the familiarity of sunshine even if I have to imagine it and even if my imagination stakes it so far away. I need to achieve something slightly above the nothing line to know this stuff hasn’t taken over my life because to let anything else happen would be giving up and I’ve put myself through enough damn trouble in life being stubborn for what I wanted and needed to let something intangible kick my ass.

PS. I am reading all your wonderful comments- thank you so much and please know I do plan on responding to all of them as I always do though during this month it might take me more than the handful of days. Peace, hugs, and slugs.

NaNoWriMo!

October 31st, 2009

9

Yesh! It’s that time of year again. Usually I’ve made a god ten posts about it by nownano_09_blk_participant_120x240.png but what with everything else going on it’s been more of a sub-focus instead of a main thought like usual but never fear! I’ve still been spazzing, buying NaNo-wear, collecting writer buddies, and mentally plotting the great awesomeness that will soon be known as my second novel.

I’ve been a tad worried as of late how my current ‘stuff’ would effect my writing and so far the worry has been warranted on and off so hopefully it doesn’t get in the way of NaNoing. There have been a few times these past two months where I even questioned if I would participate this year. Can you believe that? I’ve been very careful though. I know loss of interest, or feeling apathetic towards former interests is a bad sign- it’s usually a prelude to depression which would be really, really bad on top of everything else I have going on. I know I love to write. I know I feel like crap when I don’t write so when I start feeling like I don’t want to but I ‘do’ still want to… I know it’s time to start pushing myself in a better direction.

In other words. NaNo couldn’t have come at a better time of the year for me.

Now, I’m not participating in the forums so much and while I plan on meeting other NaNos I’m not going to be organizing or even trying to organize little writer’s groups. I just don’t have the energy I had last year for the complex social exercises I find beyond my own door. Sad but true. Hopefully that’s only temporary but for now I can bear to push myself.

Anyways, I’m thinking of catching a nap since Ree and I are NaNoing right at midnight. Feel free to click the image and add me or read my synopsis. I’d love some support- especially this year. Thankies and peace!

ABCs Survey of Me

October 29th, 2009

8

Awesome Nikka over at ‘The Life and Time of a Stitch Witch‘ has tagged me with the ABCs survey of me meme so here it goes. :)

A – Age: 20 (21 in two months.)
B – Bed size: Queen (It’s new!)
C – Chore you hate: Dishes. Obviously.
D – Dog’s name: N/A (Had one named Kitty though)
E – Essential start your day item: Laptop. Must check email before I can comprehend my day.
F – Favorite color: Oh, tough one. It’s between purple and green.
G – Gold or Silver: Silver.
H – Height: Not enough. Five one… if I’m lucky.
I – I am: A wife, novelist, web designer, weirdo.
J – Job: Writing and dishes (sad but true).
K – Kids: Do cats count?
L – Living arrangements: In a house.
M – Mom’s name: Ha, ha, ha. :)
N – Nicknames: Spirit
O – Overnight hospital stay other than birth: None.
P – Pet Peeve: Idiots and child abusers. Sadly they’re not always the same thing though perhaps that’s a good thing since there seems to already be a large mass of both.
Q – Quote from a movie: None come to mine. Overall fave quote “Writing is the only socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.” by E.L. Doctrow (possibly mispelled).
R – Right or left handed: Right.
T – Time you wake up: Every four or so hours.
U- Underwear: Who needs underwear? ;)
V – Vegetable you dislike: Cauliflower though I do eat it oddly enough.
W – Ways you run late: Forgetting to set the alarm.
X – X-rays you’ve had: Spine, right hip, both ankles, right calf, left toes, right shoulder, neck. Probably more than that but it’s hard to remember.
Y – Yummy food you make: Spinach pizza with mozzarella cheese.
Z – Zoo favorite: Lions!

And in return I tag the wonderful following people:

Xean (who needs to blog more!) at Xean-chan’s Writing Corner

Jessie of 58 Inches

Chibi of Chibi Doucet

LisaB of Dancing with Pens

Quill of Quill’s Place

Willow of The Ranting Willow

And  Esahc from Your Predator :)

Sometimes

October 29th, 2009

13

There is a little girl inside of me.

I don’t know how old she is but sometimes I can hear her crying out.

Sometimes she asks the world to hate her because that’s all she’s ever been taught…
Sometimes she asks the world to love her because that’s all she really wants.

Sometimes she goes ‘La, la, la. I can’t hear you!’ to make the monsters go away…
Sometimes she sings and hums so they can’t get their way.

Sometimes she’s screaming so loud it echos here and there…
And sometimes she’s so quiet I forget she’s really there.

Sometimes she asks me why they broke her…
And sometimes she curses who they were.

Sometimes all she can do is remember…
When all I want to do is forget.

Because sometimes she is me…
And sometimes I am her.

Sometimes.

Get Some Feeling

October 29th, 2009

2

Going back over my most recent posts I find myself a little more than a little disgruntled at how down a lot of my writing seems lately. Even if my style is gaining strength I’m not certain I’m willing to take such a trade off for the positivity that usually rages through my words but I can’t fake it. I’d love nothing more than to sit here and write something about how I feel like I’m overcoming all this stuff but I’d be such a liar.

I know I will.

[I know I haven't posted too much lately but I have still been writing- it's just that a lot of my stuff is floating on the more negative side from occasion and it hurts me to look at it more than once so I haven't been posting everything. Should be back to regular posting here petty soon though. Until then please enjoy my ever random musings. I hope they help someone else much as working through them helps me.]

I know that but that doesn’t change how I feel. I want to fix this. To pull myself back together and stand strong against these dark winds and I know that’s exactly what I’m doing because if I wasn’t I sure as hell wouldn’t be writing this- but at the same time… I don’t feel like that’s what I’m doing. As I’m standing strong I feel like I’m falling down and down. As I work every moment to pull these fractured pieces of myself together I also feel like more and more is chipping apart and the smaller the bits get I’m not always so sure I can be repaired again…

Even though I know I can.

Even though I know these things… my own words don’t comfort my heart. There are so many times I’ve rallied against the inner darkness that strikes everyone from time to time and I’ve pulled myself out of it and I KNOW I will do it this time but I want to FEEL it.

Knowledge is nothing without feeling. Others will think different but if life has taught me one thing it is that. There are times when, despite my knowing elsewise, people less inclined to look after my own interests have convinced me of things. Taken my knowing and twisted it until it was used against me and you know why it worked? Because I didn’t feel it.

There have been times when everyone I was surrounded with told me a liar- I knew better but they would have been able to convince me (I know this too) if I hadn’t felt the truth in my own words. Felt the conviction. Felt what was right.

Now I know that everything will be alright in the end and I can keep telling myself that but it won’t work. Until I find the words I need to make myself feel like I’ll be alright in the end I think I’ll be wallowing just a bit longer. I know I can do this. I just need to feel it now.

Medicine Bottle Blues

October 21st, 2009

1

I wrote this some months ago during a venting moment. I’ve considered not posting it because the writing process was enough to get some of it out of my system but… I feel that if I don’t set it free into the universe the writing thereof won’t mean quite as much as I need it to. Maybe this will show others they’re not entirely alone.

Warning: Mentions of child abuse, drinking, bad thoughts, and manic depression.

~

I sat alone in a place that, until a week before, I’d so easily been able to call my home. A week ago,… things were different and yet so much of it was the same. Perhaps that’s why it hurt the way it did when I watched her walk out the door like she had so many nights before.

It was still early December, just a few short days after my 15th birthday… and the incident.

She’d shouted at me many times before. With reason and without. She’d backed me into corners, verbally pinned me to the wall. She had threatened and roared. She’d walk out left me to my own devices time and time again. She had even pulled my hair once.

None of it had been beyond normal in my perspective until the day she crossed some invisible line that I didn’t even know existed until it was already torn asunder.

Reacting badly to the booze in her system and all the people in our house, having used my birthday party as an excuse to invite all her little buddies over, she was manic. Flipping quickly between cheerful and cheerfully angry as easily as one flips a coin she managed to leave me alone until I drew attention to her by pausing the movie during one of her tirades.

Never before had I called her out. Sure, I’d held school protests, told an ex-step-father off, and even stuck to my opinion despite the ass kicking it granted me from several other girls in my class. That’s all easy stuff. Never before had I stood against her.

Just as I’d never called her out before- she’d never backed me into a corner in front of other before, proving just how far gone she was. Never had she grabbed at me quite like that, a bony hand clasping hard enough to hurt. Some will say she never did it. Others will say she merely held my chin. More still will say for that one moment she held me by my throat.

She shouted things I still can’t remember. Whatever had upset her was pointless and as quickly as it began it ended with her hand back in her pocket. She turned to my friends, cheerfully telling them that this happened every full moon- as if absolutely nothing about that comment was strange, and I pressed the play button for the nearly forgotten movie. I didn’t move from my spot for the rest of the night.

That was nearly a week ago.

I sat there in my too silent house, alone as I had been so many times before and wept freely. Sobbing until I was nothing more than a spasming mess on the floor. No one could hear me. No one ever did and that realization on it’s own was enough to force something unknown to rise up in me. Months later I would learn to call it betrayal but until then I would know it as an increasingly familiar hole eating me from the inside out.

I laid on the living room floor long after the tears had stopped. I had no desire to move, it was only eleven after all and she wouldn’t be back till three- if she came back at all. I’d left the television and radio off even though they were my usual and ever constant companions when she was gone. I needed the noise because the silence scared me. It had ever since she’d been awarded custody of me. The foster homes were loud and raucous to the point of another side of fear but with her… there was this sense of nothingness as potent as seeing the sun after years locked away in a darkened room.

It hurt me.

Even still- I didn’t turn my companions on. I didn’t want the false something.

I wanted… something else. Something I had no name for. There were so many of those then and later I would learn they had so many names and variations… What I wanted was comfort. I wanted to cry and be heard. I wanted to scream and be asked why? I wanted to be told what it was inside of me that I had no way of expressing.

I wanted to be with another person, any person. They could scream at me, drunkenly tell me I was a bad kid or just plain hurt me. It didn’t matter so long as they didn’t leave me alone.

Another hour passed before I finally pulled myself up off the floor. My hip hurt from laying there so long in combination with the winter chill rolling through the house. Cold air didn’t tend to be too kind on my little body ever since a group of girls had chased me down, one of them knocking me off my bike and onto the pavement. Long story short I had more than a few hip and back problems.

There was a bottle of Tylenol sitting in front of me on the counter and as I looked at it thoughts of reducing said pain flew out the window to be replace by another, slipperier sort of idea.

If I took them all how long would I sleep? When I woke up would this feeling be gone?

It was the first time I’d thought something like that and it both frightened and intrigued me far too much for my own good. By both nature and nurture I’d resented everything about pills ever since I was little, having had far too many of them forced on me at such a tender age. I knew they could kill me, they almost had once upon a time, but I didn’t need to take that many… just enough to find the comfort of darkness and yet another scar upon my soul.

It seemed like a great idea at the time.

Until I realized there was no one around to open the bottle for me.

Jitters

October 21st, 2009

4

Not doing so great at the moment. It’s starting to happen more and more often. This feeling of being absolutely terrified for no reason. My heart rate jumps. Adrenalin pumps into my veins. My stomach burns and it’s like I can’t keep still. I’m not shaking but it’s… it’s weird. I can’t sit still. I just can’t.

Last night I lay next to my husband, the two of us trying to sleep and about half an hour into my ‘lay there for three hours and try to fall asleep’ ritual it started. I don’t actually shake but I do jitter. I tap my fingers and toes and I flick my wrist- I do that a lot when I get agitated. The shaky feeling, it’s like I’m shaking inside. I feel like something awful is going to happen or like I’m about to be chased and it’s horrible. Looking back over the nightmares in my life the ones that lingered the longest were the ones where I was being chased.

I can’t stop it and I can’t really explain it. Not to my own satisfaction.

It’s worse when I’m alone. Most of my… stuff, for lack of a better word, centers around being alone. It’s a huge trigger for my PTSD which is a bit extra sucky because I rather like my quiet life but at the same time it offers so many opportunities for those dark things to sneak in.

Lately some of the stuff has been happening even when I’m not alone. We’ll all be sitting there watching a movie and then bam! It starts. The movie doesn’t have to be related to any of the past stuff either. I think I might have figured some of it out though just like I figured out that the ‘mental-whispers-of-doom’ start just after severe flashbacks or when I’m alone I think the jitters and feeling of something horrible about to happen starts whenever my mind isn’t occupied enough.

I’ve been trying, hard, to keep myself busy but it’s so easy to pick a task and then set your mind on autopilot while your body moves to complete it. It’s not even something conscious. I try to work on my stories all the time but I’m not one to chance a burn out. Mental puzzles, anything to take up all the empty space within. Where there’s space there are memories or nameless shadows gasping at me from some deep dark crevice.

*sigh* Anyways, I think the writing of it has helped me. Time to work on one of my projects.

Papercut Wings

October 19th, 2009

4

This one is actually part of three random and somehow interconnected poems I came up with while I had the flu. I should be posting the other two soon but I’m in no rush. There’s another version of this one I have and while I’m sure it’s better- in some sense of the word, it grates against my style wherein this one flows so much more effectively in my mind. :)

Art by Keiyou, as always. ©2009 Click for a larger (awesome) view. Click here to check out her DeviantArt. Enjoy.

I Am PenPaper cut wings
Stained lovingly dark.
Folded and torn,
Bookmarked and burned.
A swirling mass,
Of flurry and swoop.
A thousand words to a feather
As every pen a new page.

A world unfolding
And folding much still.
A universe born
On those paper cut wings.
Carried and flown.
Hope, hatred, and love.
Molting in verse-
Innocence and pain.
Opposite unto opposite,
And everything in between.

Adventure and romance,
Comedia and le ole horror.
Buried deep down,
And bleeding out to the tips.
The feather’s edge-
A perfect pen.
Bearing no better message
Than this:

No cover can hold
This Dear Bird within.
Like bars to a cage
The song still carries true.
For each book is a bird
As you are it’s wings.

How far have you flown?

Categories

October 19th, 2009

4

It’s a multi-posting night. Obviously.

I went through my recent posts because I’ve this new obsession of attempting to vaguely (because that’s all that can be hoped for) categorize some of the things I write. Not for my sake really because, honestly, no amount of organization in any part of my life is about to make a difference to me but because I want people who are looking for certain things on this blog to be able to find them.

I want my fellow story tellers to be able to find my creative writing. My fellow poets to find my feeble attempts at poetry. My fellow NaNoers to be able to find my stressed ramblings. My fellow Taoists to be able to find my Tao when it finds me.

And recently, those who also deal with PTSD (among other things)… I’d like them to be able to find the posts I’ve written in relation to that. Then they’ll see they have someone to relate to and if they comment I will too. :) I suppose.

Think’ily Broken

October 19th, 2009

6

The first part of this is something I wrote while I was sick. The second part is more a realization I had while writing it that I expanded on when coming back to actually post it. I don’t expect it to make sense to anyone but if you’re a usual reader then you don’t expect that either.

Think’ily Broken

The big room. The little room.
The rocking back and forth.
Hand twitch and nails itch.
Silence the noise and noise the silence.

The static. The fuzz.
Filtering into all the cracks in my brain.
Pulling newly stable pieces apart.

Tapping and tweaking.
Pacing and stewing.
Can’t shut it off.
Like drugs- drawing me back down.

The masochistic child.
Picking at me with a sharp pair of tweezers.
Pick. Pick. Pick.

I think, perhaps, that I’m making progress. Or at least, that something has changed. I’ve gone through life telling people about things from my past- the more prominent, slightly unavoidable topics that just come up like when I’m asked where my ‘parents’ are. In these moments I’ve been known to say some rather blunt things;

“He shot himself.”
“She was a drunk.”
“When I was little…”

And then when people react strongly;

“Oh, my goodness!”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have asked…”

I tell them;

“Oh, I didn’t really know him so it’s okay.”
“No, no. It’s alright. I’ve repeated it half a thousand times.”
“It doesn’t effect me anymore.”

Because that’s how it’s always been to me. It’s something I tell people and it’s at a distance. It happened and now it’s in the past. You can’t change the past. You can only move on from it and for the most part that ‘is’ true…

Except when you lack control over your brain and neurotransmitters are shooting off in random directions. When images rush up so harshly it’s almost as if you’re back in the moment and no matter how much you claw at the inside of your skull you can’t escape. When the past effects the happiness of the present and being a generally optimistic person doesn’t do me half as much good as I will it.

Then the past matters but back to my point- even though I feel worse, I think somehow that’s part of me getting better. These things effect me more, hurt me more, right now. Yes, that sucks, but in bringing the wound closer to the surface maybe I’ll finally be able to take care of the scars. In these moments when the hurt feels so fresh I find myself no longer brushing flecks of past blood away.

I don’t say things like;

“It happened and it’s done.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“No, I’m fine.  It happened years ago.”

Now I say;

“It happened and it hurts.”

Because it does.

I don’t look at it like I”m looking back through some window. I don’t look back as a strong person who has miraculously made it through this thing untouched. I look back as a broken child who some how survived and even though it hurts more than the former- perhaps I’m stronger for it? I’d like to think so. The writer in me who forever seeks the resolved ending, holding onto cliche like a crutch, would like to think so though in my darker moments… even those used to limping can trip over their safe-guards.

Reaffirm

October 19th, 2009

2

Stop.

Stop it.

Sometimes too much. Sometimes so little I convince myself it’s not. I’ve become superstitious to the thinking that if I ever once have hope it’s gone- it will come back thrice as badly. Sometimes that’s how it seems to work. The shadows are gone and as soon as I bask in the wonderful feeling of being without an echo in my thoughts… they return with a force I’d rather not think on.

Sometimes I find myself sitting in a quiet place just so I can hear myself say ‘Stop it’ aloud to all the noise between my ears. Sometimes I find myself repeating these words over and over again as if to reaffirm that I, who wields words as a shield and sword, still have power over my own little mental universe. I can’t let anything convince me otherwise. I can’t let the everything make me lose hope.

Even if I’m afraid of being the trickster locked in the mirror behind my eyes.

Stop.

Stop it.

Be gone.

[Replying to comments as soon as I catch up on my venting. ;)]

It’s The Flu…

October 16th, 2009

6

Recovering from the flu. Will return shortly to reply to comments and post all the wonderful words that have been building up in my brain. Almost over it but still having trouble breathing. Peace. :)

Not Here

October 5th, 2009

4

Not going to be anywhere online until Thursday night. Kei and I are going up to visit our families for a few days and thus won’t have any internet connection at all so if you’re looking for me (email, chat, etc), well, I’m just not here. :) Peace out and everyone have a wonderful middle of the week weekend!

Here’s hoping my skull doesn’t implode too noticeably. :)

Screaming Beneath Skin Deep

October 4th, 2009

4

WarpAlright, this is my attempt at taking myself out of the direct explanations. Letting the words speak for themselves and for me instead of me speaking for them. It’s like a free write except I had to keep an eye on myself because sometimes I get too tempted to fall into habits of old while I’m trying to learn new ones.

Art by Mari Keiyou specifically for this piece. Click for original size view. :)

~

Screaming Beneath Skin Deep

Pressure building.
Bones creaking under the effort.
Bowing, bending, breaking.
The ribcage for the heart? No.
The chest plate for the soul? Never.
The brain.
The brain box!
My skull.
It’s breaking and quaking, and sparking and smoking.
Embers fall from ears to hair.
Purple highlights catching beautiful fire.
Throat shuddering a voiceless scream-
“Stop in the sanity!”
With wild eyes reflected in the mirror and mouth most firmly shut.
Pop, snap, slap.
Nails bared, clawing over scalp and face.
Pull away this mask of isolated fragments!
Tears burn in blood, salting wounds on the border of not.
Tendons, muscle, flesh and bone.
Ripping, tearing, dripping.
Soaked into the earth.
Fall forward and away.
Sinking beneath skin deep into a place no mirror can see.

Today Sucked

October 4th, 2009

4

Just a rant. Read at your own risk.

Today sucked.

There really isn’t more to it than that. I’m to the point where I’m not putting my all into my job anymore and I’m not sure what I’m disappointed in more- myself for burning out or them for just being the way people are. Either way I know I can’t continue on with the way things are right now. I’m supposed to be relaxed or ‘de-stressing’ as I’ve been told and while it is possible at work it’s just not happening right now. People have gotten used to me being the reliable one and as much as I’m proud of that title I’m tired of getting stuck with all the crap work.

I’m also tired of people lying to me to get me to do what they want. I’m a good worker and I’ve proven that fact time and time again. They know all they need to do is ask me and I’ll do what I can but no. Instead they lie as persuasion and as far as telling my ‘boss’… well, his response to my ‘complain’ came under the lines of ‘So?’

Yes. I’m supposed to be relaxing.

Yes. Relaxing excludes dealing with the normal every day stresses of life that can’t be avoided.

Unfortunately for me the stress that’s happening every day isn’t on normal levels.

One of the things I hate the most about what’s going on inside my head right now (flashbacks and mental screaming aside) is the way even little bits of stress suddenly effect me like big bits of stress. For example, Kei and I came in at our normal time and set to working on our stuff right away like we usually do. We don’t goof off and then settle into our routine unless someone has taken off with the radio again.

Well, not even five minutes after we were all set with what we were doing one of the cooks asked me to peel 220 potatoes. Okay, that’s actually not bad. I like prep work personally. It’s a change of pace and I love working with food even if it’s only that but we had two functions (main restaurant buffet of 111 people and a wedding reception next door for 110) going on and we still had stuff on our station that needed to be done. We always have a full counter of stuff to do before the other kitchens start calling us away but to have to help someone else with their stuff too… it gets a little hard when there’s only Kei and I. We’re expected to help everyone else out but no one comes in and helps us do our job which is understandable- cleaning, running, washing, fixing, and finding is tedious and occasionally disgusting work no one wants to do.

So I told the cook he’d have to wait until we were caught up but he still persisted. Eventually I got him to wait till Kei and I were halfway caught up and then one of us would come peel while the other kept up the kitchen but then she got called away to the wedding reception and I was left by myself to peel the potatoes and do the dishes. I kept telling him I needed to go take care of my dish room but then he had to tell me he needed all those potatoes within an hour and a half.

So… I peeled potatoes because it’s in my nature to feel sympathy for people in a pinch. I would have helped anyway but it would have waited till I actually had time.

An hour later he told one of the servers he told me it had to be done in that time but it really didn’t have to be done till tomorrow. I was so upset and then all these people started running in and telling me they were all out of plates and I could literally hear the things stacking up in my dish room but he still wouldn’t let me go back saying ‘oh, it won’t be that bad. You’ll catch up.’ and I tried explain to him how I’m so sick of people asking me why I’m always at work so late at night but he kept saying it wasn’t that bad- keep in mind he was standing where he could see my dish room while I was barricaded with boxes of potatoes where I couldn’t.

Then him and another cook both splashed me in the face with potato water (unintentionally though they way they laughed about it was irritating as hell) one right after the other and kept trying to make absolutely useless conversation with me. No, I don’t give a crap that you had to fix your van radio!!!

Normally when I have days like this I grit my teeth and bear it. Complain to the proper people when I get a chance i it’s worth it and then trudge through my work no matter how late it takes me till. I might be grouchy and mentally cursing but I find a way to get through it without too many curse words or thrown pans. Today was different. Today, five potatoes left and four different people needing my attention I just stood there and started crying.

If only because I couldn’t scream.

It was ridiculous. This was pretty normal as far as bad days go but I literally just broke under all of it. I’ve cried before under stress, not too often but a few times but usually I can keep it under wraps until I’ve gotten a decent distance away from people even if it means I need to walk away while they’re talking. This time I was down and out before I even knew it and I had to run upstairs to the locker room and ball for a good ten minutes- literally just sobbing against the wall like it was something so much more than 200 some odd stupid potatoes and a bunch of potato-brained people.

Usually I can take a deep breath, remember some Tao, or quickly imagine the most absolutely rude thing I could say to them to make it up to my angry inner child but this time I just couldn’t shut it off and afterwards I didn’t even feel better. Instead of crying being a release I felt even worse; numb, cold, shaky.

I don’t know what’s going wrong with me but I need to fix it soon. Something has to give or change or just flat out stop because I don’t know how to handle any of what’s going on with me anymore and I’m sick of ‘okay, now take a breath’ because that doesn’t work anymore. It’s worked for years but right now my brain is just seriously malfunctioning.

That brings me to another thing. When I talk about constantly seeing and reliving the past to the point where I’m crawling the walls within my own skull- I get awfully sick and tired of hearing people say ‘leave the past in the past’ because you know what? I did and it followed me. I can’t turn it off. I’m not just ‘thinking’ about it, it’s re-happening to me over and over again.

I want to scream.

I want to shiver.

I want to cry.

And too many times I want to lie down and let it all suck me down but none of that will make me feel better. I know. I’ve tried it all. I just need an off switch for things within that are beyond my control. These little malfunctions and shorts within the wires of my brain just need to stop. I need to be able to think clearly again and feel like my head is my own.

Pulled Back

September 30th, 2009

2

This is my attempt at explaining some of what’s been going on. Getting pulled back to another time and place or having ‘flashbacks’ of bad experiences is part of the PTSD so I wanted to try to put some of what that’s like into what words because I had a really hard time explaining it to the lady at the clinic.

~

Sitting quietly surrounded by the comforts of life, a warm cup of tea in my hands and shadows stirring in the corners of the house. My loved ones snore nearby and cats grace every available perch but their presence isn’t enough to drive away the force that pulls me inward. The warmth of my home seeps away, sounds fade and colors are lost- my senses escape to another time and place.

I’m there again, the moment calling me like a siren on the rocks. I know I’ll crash but I couldn’t pull away even if I knew how. Adrenalin rises and suddenly I’m no longer in the present, traveling back over a once trodden path where thorns lay in wait for my returning heart.

I’d pinch myself to pull away from the moment but I know the pain will only spur it on, add a physical layer to the phantom sensations echoing against my skull.

It’s never just one to any present time. It’s many. The thousand facets from a shattered stone, no more worthy than the coal it once was but twice as precious even as it draws blood from my fingers when I try to pick up the pieces. Each piece a story too complex too truly tell. Each piece a barb that should never have been placed.

But I suppose even piercings can be beautiful.

I’m going back, farther and farther till I no longer remember the now. No longer the strong woman I am but once more the little girl crying out for figments- knowing her mother would never come.

I am once more the silent watcher, frozen in horror as he holds the hammer above her head.

I am once more the rider in the dark, wondering if it would really be so bad to get hit by the car if only it would take me away from the darkness of the night.

I am once more the sleeper awakened by the cops.

I am once more the nothing she made me be. A lonely child cowering as she yelled and spit, my hair in her fists and running up the stairs.

And then, through it all,…

I am once more the child too innocent to know that this sunshine painted world will hurt me so. Dancing in the flowers and singing nonsense songs. It is this memory that hurts me most, drawing tears like trails of crimson from the deepest wound I had ever known.

Their faces, all in the same day, the same moment, under the same roof. Never again would this happen and though clouds brewed between every other moment, an intricate and sticky web binding them together and apart, I would be kept separate.

Left to play in the light with my characters. Untouched by darkness. A blessing and a curse.

I double over with a pain no doctor will find as I am pulled back through the years. Images blur pass me and though I once more find myself in the present it will be a long few moments before I find myself truly here- before I am once again who I am, the shadow of who I was lost to the past where it belongs.

My lungs heave with breaths held too long, knees weak and tea cold. Cats laying undisturbed atop their respective humans who still snore in pleasant dreams. The television has been left on again but I don’t hear it as I hold myself tight, pleading the sun to rise just a little sooner as I spend another sleepless night gazing out into the darkness.

Home On The Highway

September 30th, 2009

6

872059-002This one is… a few different experiences combined together. Three that come together more fluidly in my mind than any other. One of the times I ran away- along the highway on my bike, a time I went out to buy lunch before school- it was dark and I was riding my bike along that same highway, and then the third time was late at night through a mixture of snow and rain- on my bike, on that same highway after Christmas shopping.

Each of these memories is precious and terrifying. Thinking about it makes my adrenalin rush and my hands jitter but I can’t stop the memories. I might do more with this piece but until I do maybe I’ll just let it ruminate here on my blog for a little bit.

By the way, while I’m at it I want to thank Jessie and Lisa who’ve both inspired me to go chasing after my inner poet. :)

Home On The Highway

Heart pounding and tears flowing.
The wheels on my bike turn faster and faster.

The street ever moving,
Each car a danger and a friend.
Invisible eyes haunt me from every window
But all I can do is peddle.

Lights from the town burn like a child’s candle,
The only thing keeping my fear in check.

Puddles pulse and splatter beneath me
As the snow steadily replaces rain.
Chill on the air and ice under tires.

Headlights coming closer.
Grip tightening.
Fear rising.
My breath rushes out.

Home is no shelter.

It feels choppy like I need to do a lot more with it but, oh, well. It’ll get there when it’s ready. :)

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