Saturday, January 03, 2015

Is it really that wrong?

As I stood on the bridge looking down towards the water far below me, I couldn't help but think the crystal blue green water somehow looked more like air. Maybe it was the reflection of the puffy white clouds that made it look so inviting. It even looked warm enough that I thought when I leaped off the bridge, I would just begin swimming effortlessly. The softness would then surround my body and comfort me in ways that no human could ever comfort me.

In reality it was mid January, with temperatures the day before in the low 30s. But today was nice.  A warm front was pushing through ahead of another cold spell, sending the temperatures up into the 70s. It was just warm enough to give me the energy that I needed to put me where I was standing.

People jump off bridges for various reasons, but maybe it's because it's convenient. Death is right there, and will be over within seconds. But maybe it's the thought that if you do jump, you might live, so instead of you making the decision to whether you will live or die, fate will decide.  Even if I am trying to kill myself, if I jump at the right angle and velocity, I won't explode on impact, instead the cold January water will embrace me.

If I were 100% sure I wanted to die, I'm sure there are better ways to die. Such as a bullet to the head, pills, cutting deeply into my flesh, or even forcing someone else to do what I feel I'm too chicken to do. Even with all the possible methods of taking ones life, there still stands a chance that you survive. There's that tiny chance for a different kind of escape.

So as I stand there holding myself tightly against the railing, and trying not to cry. I stare down at the water, searching for an answer to why I felt like I was given such a raw deal in life, while others were blessed with things I could only dream about. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair.

Whenever I feel the blackness take hold, I often don't feel a thing. That is why I often cut myself; so I can feel again. During this time, I also tend to let my obsessions rule my life. I let my impulses take control, and whatever happens, happens. I don't try to stop it any more.

Anxious and angry is a bad combination. For whatever biological, or chemical reason, my brain had been stripped of all its usual defenses against life. I had some bad stuff going on, but none of it was bad enough to tip me over the way it did. Everything was suddenly more extreme than it had ever been—both my perception of the world and my reaction to it. Little things seemed big; big things seemed insurmountable. In my messed-up head, I felt I had been backed into a corner, surrounded by giants monsters that were attacking me from all angles.


To be continued... 

Thursday, January 01, 2015

Let me Write

Here I am with only 30 minutes left to fulfill a promise I made right before the new year; to write at least one page every day in January. I love writing and think about it everyday, but I never seem to squeeze in the time or the effort.  For the past 2 years I have struggled with the thoughts that I'm just not good enough, and would people want to read what I chose to write about. But like in my last post, I let doubt creep in, and that doubt stops me dead in my tracks. 
There is this little voice that has recently grown louder and calls to me in my sleep. I know how to silence that voice, but I continually question myself if this is the path I should walk. At my age now, I realize there is only so much time left to my life, so if I'm going to write, I need to do it now. My writing may turn out a little messy, chaotic, but I want/need to feel my body shiver as I think about other people reading my writing. I have to fill the void I feel in my life.
This is the start of day one. See you again tomorrow.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Do you ever wonder if you were truly meant to be a writer?


I found this article while surfing around the web looking for reasons why I don't think my writing is any good. I have so many doubts in my ability to do anything, that I often just give up. The older I get, the more I realize that if I am ever to finish writing my story, I will have to overcome those doubts. I also think I NEED to return to my writing in order to gain control over one of my other addictions that I have let rule me for the past couple of years. Through my writing, I was able to get one of my 'odd' behaviors under control, but when I closed that door, an old one re-opened. I've got to figure out how to close that door, even if it means returning to my old 'odd' behaviors.  

_________________________

Do you ever wonder if you were truly meant to be a writer?
Deep down you sense that it might just be so.
But then doubt creeps in, and you just aren’t sure.
You look at your writing. 
You realize that you aren’t where you want to be.
 Maybe you just aren’t good enough?
A great writer would be further along by now, right?
Wrong.
If you’re reading this, chances are you were meant to be a writer. 
You were meant to help change the world and impact people’s lives through your words.
Here are 8 signs that you were meant to be a word wizard.

1. Secret Dreams

You secretly dream about writing.
And if you already write, you dream about doing something bigger, like writing a novel, or scoring that big freelancing client.
You dream about more, bigger, better.
Deep inside you know you can do it, but that pesky little voice stops you.

2. Doubt

Yes, doubt is a sign that you were meant to be a writer.
If you didn’t have anything to say, you wouldn’t even think about writing, but you do have something to say, and you know it.
But doubt stops you.
However, doubt is just a thought popping up. It doesn’t feel great, but you can say hi, and keep taking tiny steps forward.
Why keep moving forward?
Because you were meant to be a writer.

3. Excuses

Your excuse for not hanging out with your friends is, “I have to write”.
You aren’t interested in what non-writers are interested in. They live a different life. They sometimes seem like a different species.
Embrace this.
Don’t give into peer pressure.
If you’re a new writer, you won’t be sure what to do with yourself, but trust your inner calling. Trust your heart.
It knows what you need.
If you have to write, you have to write.

4. Inspiration

Inspiration only comes to those who can use it.
If you’re a writer, you get inspired, but you also have to take advantage of that inspiration.
If you are inspired to write a novel, then start today. Don’t wait for perfection.
Let it be messy.
Let it be chaotic.
Let your thoughts go crazy and your body shiver with fear.
But start. Right now.

5. Perfectionism

When you truly care about something, you want it to be perfect.
I care about my writing. I want to help people. I want to help you when you read these very words.
And for that reason, I want it to be perfect, because in my head, I believe perfection equals value to you, but that isn’t always true.
Good enough can have a huge impact on someone’s life. Perfection is just an idea in my head. It has nothing to do with reality.
Wanting your writing to be perfect is a sign that you care, and that’s good, because it means you will put out exceptional work, even when you feel like it’s crap.
But you have to get your writing out there.

6. Admiration

You secretly admire great writers.
You want to talk about the elegant ways they craft their prose, but you often don’t have anyone to talk to, because your friends or family may not care about writing as much as you do.
This alone shows you how much attention you pay to words.
It shows you that you were meant to be a writer.
All you have to do is muster the courage to write and step up your game.
You are ready, even if you don’t feel it.
Step up to it and enjoy.

7. Lacking

When you don’t write, you feel like something is missing.
You need to write. You need to express yourself through prose.
You know you can make a difference, but you’re not sure. We all have doubts. They’re normal, but they don’t have to stop you.
Just keep moving forward. Keep putting words out there and let the universe take care of the rest.
The fruits of your labor are none of your business. All you can do is your best, so start putting your stuff out there, even if it freaks you out.

8. Yearning

Deep down, you feel this yearning to write.
It’s like someone is pulling a string that’s attached to your heart.
The string is pulling you toward greatness, but you are resisting. You’re afraid. You’re worried. You’re not sure what people will think.
Let that yearning take you to where you need to go.
Forget about what everyone else is doing and follow your calling. Embrace your uniqueness, your quirkiness and your style.
Results may not come instantly, but all is well when you follow your heart.
Listen to that yearning.
Let the string take you on the adventure of your life.

If You’ve Read This Far …

You were meant to be a writer.
I’ve been writing ever since I can remember.
I’ve scribbled down crazy stories about animals when I was 6. But lately, I’ve found myself writing articles like these.
Somehow this is what comes out of me. I just keep following my excitement. I write about what makes my heart sing.
And you should do the same, because what excites you is your internal GPS telling you that you need to pay attention to that.
I have doubts, fears and worries, like everyone else. But I know I was meant to do this, because doing anything else is torture.
So if you’ve read this far, you were meant to be a writer.
All you have to do is embrace it, because deep down you know you want to.

Thursday, February 27, 2014

My Moment

I love that moment when I alone on a long car ride listening to my favorite music, home reading or writing, and I completely zone out. Forgetting all my troubles, and everything that has been causing stress in my life. For that moment, I am focused on that one thing. I am content, and everything in my life seems peaceful. This is my moment.

Friday, January 24, 2014

An artist is a creature driven by demons.

I want to start writing again even if it means gaining back what I've lost, but to do that it means I need to start reading again. Stephen King has always been one of my favorite writers and recently I read a quote by him “The only requirement to be a writer, is the ability to remember every scar.” For me that shouldn't be hard, since I have more scars than I am willing to admit. Now all I have to do, is enter my wounds so I can confront them, and turn them into scars.

There is deep pain in my whole body when it turns this cold, leading me down this road of remembering moments that were dark and being held in spaces that are too small. Starting this weekend, I will attempt once again to tell the story of one of my scars. I need to feel the scars like a dull ache seeping up from my soul.

It's time to exercise some demons through the art of writing.



Thursday, August 29, 2013

Ten of the weirdest ways people deal with stress

~I know I've used several of these when trying to deal with my stress~

Stress is a normal human reaction to life's pressures and challenges. We spend most of our lives trying to figure out the best ways to avoid stress and keep it under control with exercise, sleep, a balanced diet and deep breathing exercises. But when those traditional stress relievers no longer work, people will find alternative and often unhealthy methods to cope with their stress. Here are the 10 weirdest ways that people manage stress:

   1. Gambling: Gambling may seem like a weird way to handle stress, but many people find comfort in playing against the odds. Those who have an insatiable urge to gamble, despite potentially negative consequences, are often classified as gambling addicts. Gambling provides an adrenaline rush and sense of euphoria when you win, therefore, someone who is depressed or burdened by a lot of stress might find solace in gambling.

   2. Self-Injury/Cutting: Some people relieve stress by deliberately hurting themselves. This self-induced pain is often done by cutting or burning the skin and engaging in dangerous activities. People who injure themselves aren't trying to commit suicide, but it could be fatal if the injuries are serious enough. Self-injury is often accompanied by several mental illnesses, such as depression, bipolar disorder and eating disorders. No matter the circumstance, deliberately harming oneself is an unhealthy way to cope with stress, emotional pain and anger.

   3. Hoarding: Hoarding is a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), in which individuals collect an excessive amount of items that are generally useless or of little value. Hoarding can also involve collecting animals. For many individuals, hoarding things is a way to relieve stress and overcome other issues. Hoarders feel safe and secure when they have their belongings nearby, yet it becomes an additional source of stress when it starts to interfere with their safety, health and social life.

   4. Hair Pulling: Hair pulling, also known as trichotillomania, is a disorder that causes people to excessively pull out their hair. This irresistible urge to pluck out hair from the scalp, eyebrows, eyelashes and other parts of the body can be a form of stress relief for certain individuals. Although the cause of trichotillomania is not clear, it's often associated with genetic and environmental factors or chemical imbalances. This disorder is not a normal way of managing stress and should not be taken lightly.

   5. Vomiting: Some people feel a sense of relief to vomit when they're stressed. Whether the stress has been brought on by nerves, an eating disorder or another form of pressure, forcing yourself to vomit is not a healthy way of coping with stress. Those who engage in self-induced vomiting may feel temporary relief, but this disordered behavior may lead to more sever eating disorders, malnutrition, extreme weight loss and other serious health problems.

   6. Tattoos: Getting tattoos is another odd way that people manage stress. Whether it's the touch of the needle, immense pain or increase of endorphins to the brain, the experience of getting tattoos can be very soothing to stressed individuals. Tattooing may also be a less obvious form of self-mutilation, which can be a cause for concern.

   7. Overworking: It's not uncommon for stressed individuals to try to manage their stress by increasing their workload and working overtime. Many people think they can manage their stress and that things will get easier if they just work longer and harder than normal. However, overworked people may end up making more mistakes and increasing their stress levels because they haven't allowed themselves to relax and get an adequate amount of rest needed to be efficient throughout the day.

   8. Not Dealing With It at All: Many people manage their stress by not dealing with it at all. These people turn a blind eye when they are faced with something stressful and put their problems on the back burner, hoping their issues will disappear or resolve themselves. Others may shut down completely and go into a catatonic state. Ignoring stress will only make it worse, and could lead to further problems.

   9. Spending: Compulsive shopping and spending is another weird way people manage their stress. Treating yourself to a nice bracelet or new pair of shoes may seem innocent enough, but this compulsive desire to regularly spend money that you probably don't have can become a very serious problem. Compulsive shoppers face several negative consequences, such as extreme debt, strained relationships, ruined credit history, anxiety and additional stress.

  10. Physically Fighting: Today, more and more people cope with their stress by physically fighting. Exercising is simply not enough for these adrenaline junkies, who need to let out their aggression on someone else or feel the pain of being hit. These people may be hotheads who are always picking fights, or an unsuspecting coworker who's a member of an underground fight club. No matter their preference, fighting is not a normal or healthy way of managing your stress. Not only are you inflicting injury on someone else, but you too could get severely hurt.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Memories

It crawls around on your skin, looking for a way to get inside you so it can eat you alive...Memories.

 


The older I get, the more things I begin to recall, from growing up in a place that I wish would vanish from my mind.

I recall being around the age of 10 the first time I thought seriously about sex, life and death. I’m sure I thought about it even before this age, but not as seriously as I did that summer that I began letting older boys have sex with me, and I began experimenting with life and death.

I hadn’t started my menstrual cycle yet, and I thought I knew enough about it, that I would not get pregnant. I was curious. I wanted to know what it was like. So, I did it, not once, not twice, but more times than can recall. Death was the same. I wanted to know. I shot animals with my Dad’s 22 rifle, and then I would stare at them until they no longer moved. Curiosity overtook my thoughts one day, and after shooting a wild cat, I split open its chest so I could watch its heart beat for the last time.

There was only a few weeks left until school started back for the year, when I was caught by my father having sex with one of his friends at their house. I was sitting on top of him, when my father grab the back of my ponytail and pulled him out of me. I quickly put my pants back on as my father began beating him repeatedly with his fist. Blood covered his face and my fathers fist. My father continued to hit him, even after he laid there motionless. I ran to the car and hid under an old dirty blanket that was laying in the backseat. I closed my eyes trying to make the images go away, but it was as if someone had branded the images across an invisible glass directly in front of my eyes. 

I awoke as the car turned up the driveway to the front gate. I laid there quietly as I listened to my father get out the car and open the gate. He then got back in the car, drove through, and got out again to close the gate. I waited for the sound of him opening the car door to get in, but instead he opened the door where I was laying.

My heart began to pound wildly in my chest, as fear of what he was going to do, took over all other thoughts. As I laid there pretending to be asleep, I felt him uncover my body, and then his hands began feeling around between my legs. When I made a low moaning sound, he told me to be quiet so he could just check me to make sure I wasn’t hurt.

He spread my legs, and pointed a flashlight directly at me as he pulled down my pants and underwear. I closed my eyes as tight as I could, and pulled the blanket back up over my head. I could feel the warmth of the flashlight shinning on my body, as his hands began spreading me open. He then put his fingers inside and began feeling around.  After a few minutes he said, “I don’t think he came inside of you and you’re not bleeding, so you should be okay.” He then raised his voice and said, “I don’t want you telling anyone about this. I already took care of him, so it won’t ever happen again.”

The truth was I liked what the guy was doing to me, but I didn’t dare tell my father. Instead, I began crying, so he hugged me, and whispered to me that everything was going to be okay. In my mind, all I could think about was wanting to kill him. The visions of everything I had seen that night, slammed into my brain with such pressure that it was hard trying to force myself to continue crying. I wanted to take the 22 rifle and shoot him in the head, and as he laid there bleeding, I would cut him open, just to see what was inside of him. I thought about doing something horrible to him everyday for the rest of that summer.

Thoughts flood my mind even more today.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Impulsive Acts

I sometimes act impulsively because it gives me immediate relief from my emotional pain.


I want to write about what happened to me on Wednesday the 7th, and say that was what caused me to dip into this out of control spiral, that I feel I have fallen into. But I’m not sure that would be the truth. I think it began several days before, but this time I just didn’t recognize the signs.   

Most of the time I come off as seemly ‘normal’. But then there are the times, especially when I’m under stress, that I can no longer hide behind my mask of sanity. I will completely lose all contact with reality, and during this time, I am unable to predict even my own behavior. I will feel rage instead of annoyance, and at other times I will turn that rage on myself.

After days of swinging back and forth on a giant swing, that holds mania at the peak and major depression going backwards, I’ve started thinking of unusually ways to regulate how I’m feeling. If I can’t regulate how I feel, I will shut down completely. At this moment, that is where I am at.

I want to cut myself deep enough that a part of me can be removed, then I can throw that part of me away, and hope something new will grow in its place. I wish it was that simple. With a effortless twist of shinny blade, all my defaults, errors, mistakes, could then be thrown into the garbage. 

Friday, August 09, 2013

~You should have never rocked the boat~

I’ve been quiet for many months now, dealing with my issues in my own way and for the most part leaving everyone alone. Which is exactly what I wanted everyone else to do in regards to me. Just leave me the fuck alone. But recently I have moved into the scary part of my ‘disorder’ where I have to deal with being in a ‘mixed’ state. It’s where I have depression and mania at the same time. The depression leaves me feeling suicidal/homicidal, and the mania gives me just enough energy to carry out any plans that could form.

In one of my stories I left the ‘others’ locked away in a small building surrounded by colossal size sunflowers, with heads so big that they leaned downwards as if they where bending down to whisper some secret in your ear. The others had to be left behind in order for me to move forward with my life, but for quite some time now, I feel like a part of me was gone. Today, I feel like I need them all here with me now, so I’m going to get them all and bring them out to see the sunflowers again. They are all a part of me, I have to learn how to deal with them, even if it means listening to them talk about ‘hunting this bitch and her children down. Making her watch as we kill her children and then force her to eat them.’ Yes, that is some sick shit, but the thought of revenge somehow makes it all seem okay.

I spent most of my day fantasizing about the various ways that a persons life could be taken in the most extreme fashion. I searched my mind for secret locations that I knew where a body could be placed and no one would ever be able to locate their remains. Even as I followed through with my daily routine of cleaning and gardening, the images repeat over and over in my mind with fleeting swiftness; and I smiled at the thoughts.

My mood has now changed and has become something else unknown to the average person you pass on the street. Paranoia creeps in and all thoughts turn into frightening, alarming thoughts. I want to silence my brain, but first I want to silence those who made my thoughts run so wild.



Friday, December 21, 2012

I can't kill myself tonight, because if I do I'll miss the end of the world

The actual fabric and worth of a story lie in how it's told -- the execution. If not performed correctly, you will not be believed, and the reader will not continue to read. 

Writing is an isolating job by its very nature. I tend to think of it as a long spell in solitary, with no time off for good behavior.  And for me, solitary could lead to a even more serious problem, especially when I go crawling around inside my own brain. But lately, I seem to be the master of excuses. I come up with more reasons why I should be doing something else, instead of writing.  I walk around all day long with these grand words so carefully constructed inside my head, but then I let some diversion take over and writing is pushed to the back of the line.

One of my biggest excuses is I don't think I really have the talent, but I've always wanted to write, and other people have always encouraged me to write.  One of my favorite quotes is, “never give up on anything that you can’t go a day without thinking about.”  But when I write, it tends to stir around something inside of me, that leaves me feeling with the need to escape. And if I can’t escape, the thoughts of killing others or myself consumes my every thought until I am forced to react on those thoughts.

There has always been this fight inside of me trying to decide if I should do what others expect of me, or doing the type of things that take me out at 2 in the morning. I feel like every time I get things under control, the world comes back around and tackles me to the ground.  As much understanding as I have of what to do and what not to do when this feeling occurs, it still feels more natural if I was out trying to rob an armor truck.

I guess I’m just at a point in my life, that it has begun to sink in that there is a last time for everything. So, I’ve been scramble to make sure I get done a few last things before my life is over. It has kept me up many nights, thinking about all the last times that have already passed in my life. There has been so many little moments, barriers crossed, that has passed before my eyes that I didn’t realize, that it was the last time. I don’t want that to happen to my writing. I want to continue to write, even if others tell me my writing serves no purpose, and I’m not really that talented. I just don’t want this to be my last time.

The others are still safely locked away on the other side, but as I stand there alone outside the narrow window, I realize I want them to escape.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Inside

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I would let you in, but I'm not sure you'd like what you see.

Friday, July 06, 2012

I shall soon return....

The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.


Saturday, June 23, 2012

And when you fall...

I will be here to pick you up again and again.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

15 Minutes to Live

Is it The End of the World?

According to some predictions I now have less than 2 hours to live, and out of all the things I could be doing, I have chosen to write down a few last thoughts.

I woke up around 9am after the pain in my arm began to become so severe, that I was forced out of bed to retrieve some over the counter pain medication. I swallowed the two pills with a sip a water from a bottle that sat on my dresser, then I sat down on the edge of my bed so I could put on my knee brace. I hate wearing the damn thing, but since it's my last day to live, I thought I would do one of the top things I enjoy doing in life, gardening. But, I can’t dig without having my knee supported, so I pulled the thing up over my calf muscle, up to my knee and tightened down the straps. 

I love planting flowers, especially the ones that can be cut and brought inside. But I also like the process of starting the plants from seed and the digging into the dark, rich soil with my bare hands. The aroma of the earth for me is intoxicating and so relaxing that I could almost lay down in it for a short nap. It’s almost better than the bubble bath that I always take after a long day of gardening.

Today felt strange the very second I walked out to my garden. Everybody in my neighborhood was outside doing something or the other, but I guess that is to be expected when the world is about to end. I could hear all of them chatting loudly to each other, but I could not make out what they were saying. I smiled as I briefly looked up at the beautiful sun shinning just above my head, and giggled a little at the idea that my life might be over in just a few short hours.

I pushed the thought away and began digging up the large flower bed that I share with my neighbor. The pills that had taken earlier had finally kicked in, making my arm feel numb to any pain, so I began pushing myself harder and faster as I dug up the earth. After digging up a corner section, I began bending down and breaking up the larger chunks of earth with my hands. The bending up and down quickly made me feel dizzy and I had to stop for a few minutes to recover.

I went inside for a drink of water and grabbed a washrag to wipe the sweat from my face. This Oklahoma heat had sweat pouring from all possible places on my body. I took a couple more sips and then I headed back out the door to do some more digging. The moment I stepped outside, I began hearing sirens blaring from a short distance away. I began digging in another corner of the garden as I continued to listen to the sounds echoing throughout town.  When one would stop, another would begin. I don’t know if there was some emergency nearby, or maybe they too were just preparing for the end of the world. Whatever it was, it was beginning to make me feel nauseous, but I pushed on though the discomfort I was feeling.

I spent a little over 2 hours digging up the soil and removing all the grass roots, before I was able to plant several packages of various sunflowers along the back of the garden. In the front of the sunflowers, I planted purple cone flowers, foxglove, asters, zinnias, dahlias, balsam, a variety of mixed cut flowers, and finally in front I placed several Lily's that I had started indoors a few months ago. If the predictions come true, I’ll never get to see what it will all looks like, but I still smile when I think about the possibilities.

I wanted to stay outside longer, but the sound of the sirens blaring loudly forced me to retreat inside for that nice relaxing bubble bath. I carefully removed the brace from my leg that was now soaked with sweat and let it drop on the floor with the dirty clothes I had already taken off. A jolt of pain ripped through my body as if I had been shocked. I massaged my knee gently, seeking some sort of relief from the intense pain, but I found no relief until I slipped into the warm relaxing tub of water. Instantly, I was able to block out all the distractions that were going on around me, which helped me to relax enough that the pain I was feeling finally stopped.

I laid in the tub until my body began to feel cold. It was then, that the sound of the sirens returned. From outside I could hear more sirens, sounding even closer than before. Over the sounds I could hear people shouting and screaming. Fears that maybe they were right about the world ending, I quickly got dressed and headed out my front door to find out what was going on.

Near my garden I could see my next door neighbor and other emergency personal standing around. There were two paramedics doing CPR on a woman laying on the ground. I rushed over to see what was going on. My neighbor had tears in her eyes, and several of the emergency people were starting to walk away, shaking their head sadly.

I started asking people what was going on, but no one seemed to know. They just stood there looking down at the woman on the ground. It was then that I looked down and saw the person on the ground. I began shaking my head back and forth. It couldn’t be true. I wasn’t suppose to die until 6pm with the rest of the world. I had a few more hours to live. It wasn’t fair.

The sound of the sirens stopped and the people outside went back to their homes. As a bright light appeared from the sky, I began floating slowly above the ground. I looked down at my garden and saw all the beautiful flowers and smiled.

I still wonder if the world when end  at 6pm... Guess I’ll never know.