Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Fifteen – Instrumental

I think this is a post that has a long time to be written, especially now that I'm feeling a bit stronger than before. The act that I'm not writing this in the third person or trying to mask this in the veil of fiction is saying alot. I'm kind of proud of the bounds made so far in an astonished and disbelieving sort of mind. Being so long under a rain cloud that after a few days of sunshine I'm quite frighten at the fact that it's not there, not in any way saying that I would love to return to my mind filled with difficulty and a constant state of misery, but that if you remove anything/anyone from their natural state and place them in a complete and different environment you will have them marvel and often time recoil in some sort of minor horror that their existence can be different.

Don't believe? Feed a stray animal some moist chicken or beef from your own plate and they will enter a kind of epiphany where all their suffering has been worth that one moment and you will never be alone since they will stand by your side as companion and confidant. In fact, don't do so unless you are ready to look after them and take them in since that little sliver of hope and gratitude can crush their little heart quickly if you are not ready to have them into your life.

Huh.....that's what this is all about, isn't it? That sliver of hope that can crush us if it's unfed. Not like the first embers of what can be life giving fire it does not punish you for not being unless you count that lost opportunity to have it as grave. BBQ not so much, but in the wilderness with nothing else on your side you will understand that there is nothing more devastating that lost hope.

So yes, I'm here to plead my case, tell my tale and to offer confession to all who watch me now. I do not kneel to any deity but to the universe that spawned me and made me cry out into the coldness of the world. Ha.....no....no I can't blame people for what is done, no matter how much I may want to nor am I going to begin now. Sometimes shit just happens and we can choose to see it as it is or as it could have been. And yet, in my odd case I never had taken time to look at it, but simply force another step forward to this figurative place where I could finally arrive and lose my burdens.

Well, this is it. I'm there. To be honest, I never really believed I would get here. That eye of the storm or  the safe harbor where I can find enough solitude to feel.....safe. In fact, the idea of feeling safe has never occurred to me. I can not tell you how safe I finally feel and that work has been done not by my reluctant hands and numb hands, but the work of individuals who I love more than anything in the world. They have done much to offer me some sort of anchor to moor myself to and to finally feel that I am no on the run. Even nomads much know where home lies to travel away from it. And yet with my vagrant soul I had fond no peace or shelter. The last time I've held a concept of 'HOME' that was not chaotic, poisonous or heavy was in the years where I was young. At least early double digits.

Abuse spawns abuse which spawns abuse.

So I'm flying blind right now. I haven't found a song to accompany this or even a direction. I just know I have to say certain things that prose, verse or meter will not allow. I'm quite certain that words may fail me as it had failed me at times when I needed them most. In fact, the only thing I can say that I have intact in my very being is my name. I've been stripped from every bit of human need that can be and after a point, every thing left over, whole or tattered, was cut off by myself to ensure that nothing will ever hold me back again. I must move on. I must arrive to that mythical promise land that never is, was, or will be. And yet, I am here. Almost as if the lie I told myself to keep me from buckling and falling down for the last time has came true in some sort of cruel act.

If I can help you understand what I'm going through it would be that scene in Shawshank when the Older Man and Red get out of prison. Anyone would say that it's a good thing to leave, specially if prison is as horrible as it is said. You can even imagine that the freed individual  may even laugh and celebrate until something happens and they are sent back. Sometimes, sometimes you realize that your life has been molded by the horror you had endured for so long and not suffering leaves you alien and not understanding what is next. I've knew this day would come when I realized that I'm close. I never believed it, but I am not one to refuse research. I've looked into much and realized that I am, for the lack of a better word, institutionalized in a mind frame that can be dangerous. The natural thing to do is to run out from a situation where the pressure has been consistent only to fall down and die. Just like returning from the depths of the ocean you have to decompress so that you are able to survive without that constant pressure.

This in fact is my constant theme in everything I've written really. Lovecraft is haunted by the insanity of his parents. King by the lack of a father and the need to feel whole. I have lived a lifetimes worth of trauma and in many times continued to run back in to pull others out, even when they pull me back in, only to realize that I've never decompressed. I have not dealt with many things and it all hit one single nerve that is almost so prevalent that I've worn it upon my breast as my letter and raised it as a banner. My biggest weakness and the whole reason I've built enough defenses and protection and layers and inner circle and the ability to leave anything behind as a man would cut a finger off to survive gangrene. The ability to pile on suffering, hatred, mockery, and ridicule as a defense is that it is also my greatest weakness.

If you strip everything from someone. Anything and everything that they find value and joy, not just figuratively but physically, what do you have left?

Me.

You end up with me.

Except the only thing I had left in the worst moment of my life was my name and that was being torn apart as I sat with nothing left. I realized that this was the moment when most people would take their lives and simply be remembered as a sad story. A moral to scare insolent children from venturing out too far. The "you don't want to be like them/their child/him". I was my own after school special. Ha......if you asked me then if death was a mercy I would tell you it wasn't. And yet with nothing left but my name and that being sullied I had not choice but to take a step forward. It didn't even matter the direction. Just that I was moving forward in circles proved to many that I was still swinging. Back then you physically seen me as how I feel then and sometimes today. As someone said that there are moments when I'm beside myself. This is why.

In time, I've realize that I because the joke of the cosmos although my religious self called it God's Joke. And yet there is something in me that I still have today. Something that will strengthen me, push me, drive me, and make me move forward and give me patience if that movement was only inches: Rage. An anger took me. An insolent, disgruntled, and dismayed feeling that some would equate to tossing me off the mountain to see if I would claw up in survival. Well, I survived. I survived when only my rage fed me. I move forward when my anger was the only thing that kept me warm, safe, and in some sick sense positive. In the matter of over a decade I've finally arrived at the point when the act of me breathing is a huge "fuck you". I've made it and I've sacrificed anything and everything to get to this point to prove to others who have abandoned me in worse and have consoled me in mockery that I can do it.

And sadly, I am still angry. I'm angry to the point that it's killing me. I'm angry to the point that it's my primary feeling. I'm angry to the point that every other emotion is derived from anger. This is why I could not keep friends long. This is why I have a shelf life of two years as a lover and even as a father I could not console out of tenderness, but another manifestation of anger. I have done things with my hands that I have nightmares still and yet I can tell you that I done it out of survival, not as an excuse, but as explanation of my sickness. I am angry to the point that every breath in and is chaotic fuel for some change and entropy. It am the embodiment of what Rage can do for you.

And yet, I am very alone and I accept it fully. I know that swinging this weapon takes as much or not more from me than anyone else. That my anger kills me more than you would know. That my introverted ways comes from my own fear of hurting those around me if left too long around them. Like nuclear fuel, I feel spent and need to go away, even now, from those who make me happy because I feel I will in some way harm them. That my very being would bring chaos. It's not something that I take lightly because I've seen it time and time again. It's easier to pull away from others than to rick hurting them. I do what ever possible to make sure that, even if it means leaving them for some times when I'm the most happiest. I fear losing what little I've somehow managed to gather in this life.

And living many times in solitude I have the strength now to say I need others.

If you watch closely as some of you with keen eyes have already seen this anger does make me self sufficient, but there is a deep sorrow that dwells in me. A sorrow that proved the hardest moments that no one is going to help. No one is going to save you. The Calvary does not exist.Superman will not turn the planet back for you. You are nothing but a shrug in time. You are worthless. If someone dropped you as some spare change, they would not bother picking you back up.

I am not worth the trouble.

That is the feeling I wear all the time. I am not worth the trouble and no matter how you show me, tell me, or prove it to me, from what I've seen the majority of life I, as a human being and as someone who is trying to make life a bit more ....I don't know....I constantly feel that I do not have any value in this life, place, moment. I know my blood is valuable and can save lives. Take it. I know that my hair can help small children hide their sickness and offer some chance to normalcy. Take it. I know my body can do good while I'm here and that I can change the tide for others who may need someone to help them. I'm there. I have always been there. I stalk the human dumping grounds and pull people up and move them forward in hopes that they never need me or anyone else again, not using anger, but the belief that they are valuable. It's why I love you, you reading this now....I love you.....I love you so much that I would give what I have to make you feel loved.....so that no one else can feel what I feel, even if my love comes from my anger......or hurt....or sadness that I am not worth anything. Just because I paid a deep price, why must I leave others to suffer the same if I can just give a little bit more.

And that is who I am. Disposable. Unimportant. Worth a shot and then tossed aside. No one has ever came after me when I leave and I don't expect that they will, even if I look back stupidly. I'm used to it really, damn me to what ever hell you can find I'm used to it. I lift these banners high, with what pride I can muster if only to say I have some pride, as worthless as it is. I do not make attachments, because something disposable do not have that privilege. I do not make future plans because I've had moments, razor at hand and then smiling in the sun. I can not make many promises that I can not deliver under a small amount of time, because I am not promised tomorrow. I know that something may happen. I may fall somehow, and as happy as I am now I know real horror and despair that I know that I am more than capable to take my life and know that this works against me just as using anger to exist. I know I do not have a future and not only feel guilt for living this long when others I've lost could have had another day, but I know I'm in overtime. I know when I should have died. I know the moment and the second when I should have not been here to write this. I write this now not to justify my exit, but to let people understand why I struggle now and will probably struggle forever. I do not want to leave you with questions and I do not want any image of myself that is not true.

The truth must be exposed regardless of how it may paint us. And I say now that I am greatly flawed.

I didn't want to leave you thinking it was ever you. Any of you. I just struggle at times with something so much more greater than myself that I do not take our small times together for granted. I cherish it as the starved eat every grain of rice. Small sittings with nothing said may seem dull to you, but I savor them as my last taste ever. I love our meaningless moments and yes, even our misunderstandings and arguments. I'm sorry and I want to make amends quickly because I don't want to leave you in this state.

And so, with all of this I actually realize that my greatest windmill is not just existing or reaching some milestone, but to be happy.

Can you imagine me happy? Well, I have been happy on and off for  the past 5 months. It's in a way my last revenge: to actually live well. I know. It's backwards. I'm saying this because if something .....horrible.....happens, it's not because I was "sad" or "depressed' but struggling with surviving. I don't want people to cry that I am gone or that put a sad label on me that I was just hellbent or "lost". I want all of you to understand that I'm fighting to be happy. I'm trying my best to sustain myself not on sadness, worthlessness, or ever rage, but joy. I want you to remember me as someone who did everything in his ability to be happy. Even if I fail miserably. I want you to know that I'm happy now and I'm growing this little ember of hope as if my life depends on it, because it does. I'm gambling everything to make this work and if I fall to far I know I won't be able to get back up. I'm treating this as serious as it feels.

I've actually worked on my smiling muscles to hold a smile for a minute straight.

Really.

You should be proud of me, not sad because I'm going to hold it for two minutes next and then one day I'll forget that I ever had a problem with my face hurting when I finally smiled and then I won't look like I'm having a stroke.

Do you know how sad it is not being able to smile? That actually made me cry.

Well, fuck that. I may feel worthless, but I'm going to make my smile priceless.

Someone made me realize that.
It helped alot.
Alot.

.....

*smiles for a minute*

So yea.....see why I couldn't find a song to go with this?

So, yes. Even if I'm smiling at you, I feel worthless. I feel my anger at a low simmer that can boil over in times. I have the strongest feeling that if someone has to go I will vote myself off before giving others the idea that they should vote someone off. I am disposable and can withstand hell and suffering like no one you meet. And with that damnation I seek a kind of salvation that my weaknesses and fears can only offer me. I help those who need it, without thanks. I give what I can and will go hungry if possible. I rally others forward because I have no inner strength for myself, but all for those who even think about faltering. I cheer the loudest for you because I know what it's like to not only be cheerless, but also boo'ed.I know what it's like to be despised, hated, and feared. I'm a sacrifice that keeps on living and giving. What's not to love?!?!

ha ha....yea.....that's topic for another day. Not today. I don't want to hamper my happy too much. Just enough to let you on, but not today.

Ok.....I'm actually tired. I'm going to nap. Please don't commit me or have another fucking intervention. Spend time with me. Do what you always do and that will keep me happy. Do not do anything out of the ordinary or you will make me feel funny.


I'll leave you with this because.....why not? Hope and all.

"The antidote for 50 enemies is one friend" ~Aristotle 

You know who you are.

Thanks.

*goes outside and sit in the sun to fall asleep*

Shower Epiphany: Do not go gentle into that good night.

Ok, I'm going to repost this an add a bit more.

I've been suffering with depression since I was 25. At first I thought it was just my situation or the fact that I lived alot, but I'm starting to admit that this is heavier than me. There are moments when I have to work hard to care about getting up, going outside, and starting my days. Brushing my teeth is sometimes the hardest thing to do and if you honestly know me you know that I never back down from anything. There are times when I have to get away from people because I feel that I'm pulling them down with me. That I can not add anything to make things better or to offer others. There are moments that I have to get away from others and fight this on my own. 

Through the years I've used many things as my reason to get up and fight back. Mariama Alizor and Jahbril Justice Muhammad have always been my torch in the heaviness. David Tran has been one of my longest friends and have understood that there are moments that I need to be around others for my own and other times I need to get away from others. I've lost many friends and family along the way and buried many relationships. For years I've tried to find natural and unnatural ways to help me in this. Exercise helps. Eating meals every three hours helps. Sleeping helps greatly, but insomnia and caffeine can sabotage me greatly. So I have to keep on it. I have to be proactive and times I have to get outside and around supportive people unless I entertain thoughts.

I have to admit, I have thought about taking my life and the consensus is unless I can reason myself into it, I won't do it. There is too much of a fight in me even if I'm going to lose. I know I can't win each and every time, but I know I can spoil the joy of others easily. That's me sticking it to life. I refuse to let anything win and gloat. The day I do pass on, death is going to say "the bastard fought me tooth and nail and I think I lost out. The fucker made me hurt!" So I'm taking the first step in cheating death and losing out to depression by talking about it.

Watching this kid talk about it helped me understand that I can not go silent. I must do what I do best: Bitch, complain, drag my feet and make a huge stink  until I can beat this.

I'm not insane. I'm not cruel or on drugs. I do not over eat or drink and I try to keep my life as an example of what others can do, even without talent and everything against them. I'm a nice person when I'm able to smile, but the smiles hurt my face since the muscles atrophied and I refuse to fake any emotion. I love others more than me and will/have/still will give my last nickle to anyone and pull anyone from the hell they live. I value my life not on who I am but how much good I can go in a day. I figure if I can't be happy or just "normal" that I make someone else happy. 

You know. Give out what you want in hopes of getting it one day. One day.

I want to leave this life proving that even if the world is against you can make it your bitch. You can do anything and anyone who stand in your way will eat crow. SO in the same spirit I'm posting this again. I suffer from depression. I've been suffering from it for years. I'm not ashamed at all and I don't care what you think of me. I'm going to work to make life better and look for solutions. 

And if I lose out.........don't worry. I'm not going easy and I'm going to fight every step away like I always do. If I can't win I'm going to make the fight easier for others. I want to make sure my children do not suffer from the stigma. I want them to understand that genius comes with it's price and it doesn't have to take us like so many others before us. Marilyn Monroe, Stephen Fry, and people closer to me who have already pass on cause of this suffer/suffered from this. I don't want to be a silent chain anymore.

So, yea.....I suffer from depression. So.....yea.

P.S. If you don't like this, you can take a flying fuck. I may get depressed, but I know an asshole when I see one.




http://www.upworthy.com/this-kid-thinks-we-could-save-so-many-lives-if-only-it-was-okay-to-say-4-words?c=ufb1

Remembering Rustle Laidman

I'm going to ask you to forgive my clumsy fingers and scattered mind. Although I don't really pay too much attention how I express myself, more conscious on trying to bottle the lightning of my thoughts down for fear of losing them in an frustrated huff, I'm trying to address this gingerly, giving it the respect and honor that it deserves and wishing only that I do this justice. It's not for me. It's for someone greater than me.
Today, I found out that one of my teachers has passed on. His wife gathered a small collection of photos that they have taken the previous months and made an album in remembrance. Today had been a good day so far and yet reading over the post made I had that horrible feeling of mounting dread and the desire to sacrifice and trade in everything I have in order to get back lost time. It's a reflex to hearing someone passing on, somehow convincing me that in some sort of Groundhog's Day moment I can make things different if I was given an hour, a day, or a moment back. Having lost so many in my life, I can not help to carry some sort of guilt even now, somehow being responsible for a passing of a life that was not only well lived, but in truth perfect in many ways.
I've just lived moments in my life where death was a cruel bastard and not a meaningful end.
And after the initial shock and bearing the self imposed weight of notifying those around me, I've given myself time to process the meaning of it all. This is my attempt now in trying to sort this out. This is very new to me. This has been a good man. It has been someone who has lived well and as far as I know, died well. In attempt to make things as positive as possible, a trait that I only attempt when I've in the motion of damage control, I'm going to simply state what I know for fact and let that speak for itself.
Please forgive me in using the present tense. I'm still trying to come to terms.
Sensei Rustle is perhaps someone who I emulate greatly in a long series of men who I've have been given the honor to meet. I ended up meeting him in a time of my life where I've convinced myself that life was easier living it alone. And meeting him in that moment I have to admit that I was not the most social of people. And yet, my years with him have not only allowed me to soften my heart but it has allowed me to be a better person. We meet in the same judo class. We've both found the subject difficult as well as fascinating, since being tall men almost negated our ability to take full advantage of a sport/art that is best suited for a short woman. And yet, we've both worked our ability.
And yet it was that medium that made Rustle magnificent. He not only taken in the Principle of Judo to heart and made every effort and action focused on being a better person and not just a better Judoka, but he gave of himself as only a person bent of watching the world learn could. He gave his time to be there in class, he gave his free time to support our ventures, from creating the first BCPC class shirt to supporting the martial arts on campus with dvd's, books, lessons and his opinion. We've learned from each other and we taught what we learned. He not only helped others in Judo, but also helped a young Brazilian Jujitsu class as well as a secret Muy Thai, a Kempo class and any other venture in Martial Arts. He wanted to learn and he wanted to have others learn also.
Although he was older than most of the students, he could not have been a better partner. He understood the folly of youth that I was undertaking that strength came from withholding it and that grace and beauty came from a minimum effort in reaping the greatest reward. That Budo was not a lesson from the Ancients to deter greatness, but a method to develop the mind and soul to foster gentleness, cunning and quick mind. We've spent conversations discussion classes, life, and the Art in terms of what is and what was. We've both learn much from our experiences, but I have to say I learned most from him.
He was a person I could not disappoint. A moment when money was lost for work he had done for us led me to not only apologize for my lack of responsibility, but to correct my error with my remained of my bank account. I fear more in giving him the idea that he was ever being used or that his efforts were not appreciated. He has given more of his time than anyone else, taking time to support our tournaments, maintance of our lacking facilities, and always giving encouragement. To say Martial Arts was to mention Rustle Sensei in the same breath.
The day he was promoted to Sensei we not only understood that the title was late, but we knew that he was already in plans to move. We knew that our days with him would be numbered and I had taken full advantage of him here. Life takes us to separate places, but it never severs the connection between us all, a lesson that I am still learning. Being our unofficial "Judo Daddy", I understood that we benefited greatly from his presence and he leaving us has left great and big shoes to remain empty. The man who bleached and patched up our mat, who rode his bike on sunny days and rainy days left a great absence among us. Sadly, I've jumped into the role with much disappointment. I did not have his time, resources, or extra income. I simply had his desire. I mopped the mat clean and when we changed the mat I've taken the time to vacuum it clean. My role in Judo had been more of a teacher than that of a player. I've taken the time to build up others rather than lament my lack of interaction or my loss of ability due to injury. I've sparred with others to improve their performance rather than to satisfy a childish need. I've taken the extra effort to make our mat room more suitable to all the classes need even though many of them have no idea what I have done and know that most of them have taken actions to make things worse.
I've even taken up the honorary title of "Rustle". Our way of remembering someone who gave more than he probably should have. A good man.
His moving didn't end my connection to him. If anything it simply meant a chance to see him again. To see where else he had made a better place with is presence. I know today that he has made every place he has gone to better and have collected others in the same way he collected us. This is the natural order of life. You do not stop caring for others even though you moved away, but you care more. You recreate that place where you miss and love else where so that others may learn from it. Make their lives a better from it. It's the Principle of Judo. Making a better world one place at a time, one person at a time with only your desire as the catalyst.
Him leaving us is not only the natural order of life, but it creates our legends. It give my stories of him life and worth knowing that someone magnificent had touched our lives and pulled greatness out of all of us to manifest it simply because it is the order of all things. It leaves us empty because that person meant so much of us and demands us to give that kind of effort and dedication that has touched our lucky lives. I'm now responsible to make the lives and efforts of others just as great as he did.
And so, I've come to peace in his passing. I'm still saddened by it all and I still think I have a few tears to shed from it all. You can not help feeling lost after losing a good person from your life. You can either wallow in that hurt or you can indulge in that knowledge that the universe as gathered itself for a moment in time and space and offered you the greatness that dwell in all of us. And so I miss him greatly. A lot of people will miss him greatly. He had lived a great life and that challenges us all to celebrate that life rather than morn him. It's gong to take some time. Perhaps that time I can fill his large shoes a bit more on my side of the world. Perhaps I can continue his memory with good deeds and a kind word as he would.
Thank you, Sensei Rustle.
Thank you for everything.

 

......

Sorry, no blog today. Just found out that I lost a good friend today. Need to sort some thoughts out. I don't do death very well.

Tomorrow maybe, but no promises.

Handful of Dust: The fear of winning.

There is a certain peace in sitting in the dark that I've come to appreciate as an adult that would have terrified me as a child. Perhaps not a child, but perhaps in my early teens. I've come to realize now that I've always been afraid most of my life. Terrified really. A fear that seems to bind to the bone and refuses to let lose even onto death. the kind of terror that is given to a child when their minds are yet too mailable to hold to any thought at all. A primitive dread that is given to mother to child as I've come to discover. A dread that has in every way pulled me deep within the walls of my mind and kept me locked in for years.

The kind of dread that wakes you up at night and if there happens to be someone sharing you bed you burrow into them deep and hope that whatever holds you will let you go. Or if alone, you only pray that it never gets you alone. Then you count blessings or what small ritual that you have saved as a small child to protect you from the terrors.

I'm trying to prove a point with myself. Some would call it pulling the tiger's tail or even challenging God's wrath. I'm actually, as Salvador Dalli would hint to, attempting to submerge into my psyche as deep as possible in order to find what refuses to come to light. I'm feeling quite suicidal in fact. Not in the way youth would listen to an angst filled song and play with knives, but in a diving head first into an empty pool. By the end of this I plan on either understanding what still drags me back into the worst of myself or not see the morning.

I'm that determined.

I've always was fond of what Niche have said about staring into the abyss. How the greatest potential of evil always lies dormant within. The Jungian view would say that we gravitate to our symbols, choosing what we find as either talismans or even siguls that lay as warnings of greater things. We seem to find something to embody our terrors. My daughter has a terror of octopi. It comes to mind now since I would and have envied the concept of having something tangible to dread. Something to either physically run from or throw stones at. My terror is not as simple and yet it still grips me now as I try to meet what ever eyes it may have and force it to come to surface.

I'm having doubts even now as I wonder how I'm going to write this. Trying to find every corner in my mind where a thought may hide to may be hidden, I feel a bit of an arousal. The kind you get for walking into a pith dark room trying to remain calm and not run out screaming. I think this is why I love Lovecraft's work so much. The thought of some great overwhelming terror so huge that it renders the witness mute and limp as their mind enters some sort of insanity that arrives at the point where reality has fallen from it's hinges and the face of the terror that we all assumed we lies comes to be. It smiles into us, or so we think it does as we attempt to find some sort of handle that we can grasp and humanize it. The Olde Gods, the terrors that lies unseen in a flimsy vale that only offers holes into what we are almost able to bare. I adore those stories since in truth they do not frighten me in the least bit. The promise of Olde Gods tearing apart our world and making us feel once again that we are nothing but food to some, insignificant to the rest.

And yet, I've known horror. Not the kind with a monster or creature with some sort of mimicry of humanity, but from people itself. I've seen in my time on this world acts of horror that have cause me to bawl as a babe with no shame and cause me to pull hair out. I've seen individuals shamble about as one would turn in wretched fright someone who was torn asunder and attempt to pick up parts of themselves from the ground in an act of returning to a normal that is forever away from their grasp. Their, our, lives were never the same and we still stay up in the darkness of night wondering how a loving God could allow such horror to come true. How could civilized intellectuals simply allow in any part of their world. How such scars heal and leave so little unmarked flesh left of those who survived the ordeal. Some call us stronger or even survivors over those who were mangled in accidents and deserve pity. How our limbs still remain attached and how lucky we were to walk "unmarked", not "unharmed".

That horror.

And so, I look into myself and in my past and try to grasp that moment that I've became tainted with fear. I've always feared being weak or failing to do what is needed due to fear. Especially with so many depending on me. So many needing me to be whole and to carry on as if nothing has happened. I still walk hollowed time to time knowing that no one, but T.S. Eliot could understand such desolence. I understand now that most of my fear is given by those who meant well. Fear protects us and keeps us from doing foolish acts of stupidity in hopes of passing on our material to those who we will fill with fear also.

And yet, there is something within us all that yearns for rebellion against any tyrannical force that attempts to hold us down. I can feel it now deep within my loins how it plays with my fear. How it alters my self doubt and manipulate me with what I fear the most and what others may see. It drives me to stop writing and drink. It screams at me to get up and force my fist through the screen. It makes me run into the night and find any diversion to what I'm so close to unearthing. These are the moments are the point of time where we always turn away and cower in our skin or where we reach to hands onto the blade that menace us and grab hold. It will cut and tear us and the pain of it makes any of us cringe at the thought and yet U have to reach out and grab. Damned be my hands, I'm going to grab hold of it and shake it loose. I'm going to put fear of me into it.

I'm going to fight it on it's own terms: Dirty.

It does not care how long it has kept us frightened or terrified of what can be or will if we don't do this or that. Cross ourselves or say please or thank you. It tower over us and holds us down until it chooses when to let go and on what terms it will. Perhaps it's because of Avey or maybe I've simply lived enough hell to know that it can not be worse than this. Or maybe I've just realized I have nothing to lose if it bests me. Maybe I've come to realize that those who have "went down the street" have chosen to pull their trump card and meet the only terms of victory they have in the form of a stalemate only they can justify.

Damn it, I've done so much with my life and I've committed so much good and erred so severely in my youth.

I'm not a bad person. I'm never was a bad person. And yet, I can not let go of guilt of any errors. Guilt, the only thing I've gotten from Catholicism and I'm not catholic. My sense of shame from someone else and never mine at all. I'm amazed on how many battles I've fought and come to terms that it was never my battle in the first place. The costly sacrifices that I've paid only to realize that the battles won were of someone who never will fight them.

We are Hollowed.

And so I stare into the abyss and it stares back and it is me.

............

I once has an intervention. Seems that someone caught wind of what I wrote and tried to reach/understand/save me. I ended up laughing admitting that my face was sore since I do not laugh enough to have my face accustomed to it. they've asked why do I write it if not to ask for help. I told them that I write in hopes on not "going down the street". So that I don't feel suicidal and do something that I or more like others will regret. I stare over the edge not to plunge over, but to make sense of it. To understand what scares me I have to scare it back. If I do not keep it at bay it will come for me and drag me in. I've already had years lost to it as I somehow got turned loose and know that vigilance and quick and cruel action keeps it not only back, but may even give up some ground.

In truth, I write this because it seems as if I'm winning and it frightens me. I'm a creature of habit and I'm used to a struggle to the last second. I've never won anything by showing up and I do not expect to. And yet, I know that there may come a time soon that I can be at peace without worrying of what I say, how I act and what thoughts I entertain. There may come a time that I can live open and free from any fears that I've come to carry as a child or develop now. And to do so I have to challenge what ever lies silent and root it out.

.........and then again, I may not see the morning.

We will see.

I think I'm winning.

And that now scares me.

....Except Me and My Monkey *finished* or the Art of Acting

*Stares at the screen and after finishing coffee decided that it's time.*

The problem with me being over exposed is that it leaves me emotionally open to others. It gives me hope in the human family and that people honestly want to do what is right. Bullshit.

I have to be honest. I'm angry now and my defenses are back up and running. Anger is the best way to snap me back in my regular stride and to silence the optimist that think there is hope for humanity. Fuck humanity. I've learned long ago that if you're an optimist romantic the world will teach you to become a pessimist very quickly. There are only a few times the human spirit can take life kicking down it's sandcastle before it reaches over and strangles the destructive fucker.

It's the difference between reacting, acting, and being proactive.

I'll give you a perfect example.

When I went to campus yesterday to pick up my check, the shared joke is that we are all there for money. It's almost sad how a room full of people can be so petty and shallow if we forget to mention how we are paid so little for a service that not only calls for magnificence, an open spirit, and a dedication that leaves you open and often unprotected. Sadly, a good amount of us waited for our checks to arrive until we were all told that there was a fluke and checks either didn't exist or had to be remade.

I knew my check would only be ready on Friday. A week away from me being dirt poor. As the old joke used to go I'm Po' because I can't afford the "or" to be poor. I'm used to it, yet I knew deep inside that the lack of true leadership and vision or simply following through and allowing others to do things without checking up on them. I'm used to the vacuum of leadership. The fact that people who I'm supposed to take instruction from are those who do less than me and demand more from me than they are willing to do. That fact that they want me to conform to their ideal of what is best when in truth their best is mediocre on a good day.

Perhaps it's because I've been around true leaders at a young age. I've lived to hear the words, "Follow me" instead "do this". I known people who have given me an objective and a blank map and a deadline and allowed me to become innovative and brilliant as I now inspire anyone who ask me for time, advice and assistance on vision. I've learned the meaning of making things from nothing and to pull magnificence from failure. True leaders allow you to handle the work instead of looking over your shoulder. Real leaders support those they placed in the position to get the task on hand done while they take care of what matters like paychecks, hours recorded, materials and an honest answer to keep me on task. The best words you can tell someone is always, "I got this shit, keep doing what you're doing."

Instead I'm surrounded by those who react. They wait and sit staring at what is wrong with those they placed trust in. Micromanagement in a moment that demands leadership. The trust given to those who are supposed to deliver and take away worry has failed. Although I'm not sadden by the fact that I have to make non existent ends meet because it's not the first time and I'm in no way surprised. This is how an optimist becomes a pessimist. When you pull out all the daggers al la Cesar from your back and realize why you were abandoned, left in the open, abused and even mocked, ridiculed and slandered by those who you are suppposed to have faith in.

Sorry, but faith is for charlatans and liars.

To act on all of this I understand that I must be diplomatic and not hasty to respond. I must hold my tongue until it becomes civil and understand how I must always remain with a smile to counter act this. If I was a weak man I would have reacted and raised my voice and hell's fury with it. Instead I know that these are just the numerous sling and arrows of those who planned on getting back at me for one trespass or another. It's the price for having an auditorium filling with cheering people chanting your name or why I'm never foolish enough to take bows from a hungry audience whist my detractors and critics silently plot with cunning eyes. A moment in the sun only allows those to get a better aim at you and in truth is only for the shallow. Those who seek recognition instead of placing their all into what must be done. Those who would rather celebrate instead of toiling with you when it honestly counts.

That and I enjoy the fact that others will give me credit for making a difference instead of demanding attention. Are you getting any of this Kenye? Probably not.

So to act, I play the french role of looking unto the heaven with a small sigh and a "ce'la vi". I give no one their satisfaction of anguish and hurt. The bitter fruit of my suffering to those who have either plotted for it or who would simply enjoy taking a bite from it. Yes, life is going to be tough for the next few days, but I've lived harder. I seen difficulty and wept bitter tears for things that still stand as reminders and drive to never let happen again. I am poor for now, but not for tomorrows to come. I've earned my patience and know that time moves faster with busy hands rather than eyes focused on clocks.

There is still much to be done.

The secret of all is to be proactive. I think this is my optimist self surviving through my pessimist. It's that loving spirit that I protect so much that yearns to be free and to seek out those eyes of the storm that allows me to be as close to who I am. I'm not allowed to be who I am, cause to be who I am I'm easily one who gets hurt. I'm the one to sit and cry for the betrayals and lack of protection that was supposed to be given by my fellow species. Instead I picked up the works of Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, and Musashi in order to not only see through the fog of my personal war with ineptitude, cruelty and stupidity, but to plan ahead in strong places to prevent anyone from hurting me ever. I see those with ulterior motives or with just chaos in mind and prevent them from getting close. There are times when they do and much time is gathered in making sure they can not do so again. The more I remain proactive the more I smile in future moments.

For those who wanted to understand why my name was chanted in that auditorium and mayhps not theirs? It's because I shared with those around me this little truth. It's because not only did I help other find their voice and to know the value of it, but to ensure that they will always be heard not in reaction, but in proactive movement that unites us all and makes us better as a whole rather than divided and torn asunder by those who benefit from our hurt and suffering. I simply have paid forward to those who taught me, have died teaching me, and have left me alone with a task at hand.

I honor my dead by doing what is right and freeing as many minds as possible. To make equals if not those who will surpass me. To show them that they are valuable to me then the riches of the world and that anyone who have made them lowly have lied to them. I've loved everyone in my quick season before my end will come. I remain to do so until I can not hide anymore and my time to leave is reached. I live an eternal example of sacrifice that is too deep for the shallow minded and can not honestly see the value of blood spilt for an idea that frees and unify rather than binds and restricts.

Great men and women have done this. I only relive their memory of what they have given a worthless, ugly child lost in a world too sharp for his skin. All in the hopes that someone else will take my place when time arises.

Why?

Because I love you all. I love you in the same way those have loved me and I could not understand. I paid my dues and now understand that if you honestly love someone, give them freedom. You do not question who they are, but take part in finding out who they are. You nurture without reserve and offer an oasis in such a harsh world.

It's not my name that was chanted, but the name of those in a long line that have done what was needed to be done.

How I miss them.

....

Time to be who I need to be rather than who I am.

Saving a world not worth saving.

I honestly do not know how to start this. To be honest, I just rather not deal with this ever again, but it's not up to me. It's never up to me.

I was asked a while back if I believe in ghosts. I shook my head no, but I shared with them that some things, made of strong emotions, often do survive where or when we are. There are places that simply haunt us. There are things that happen that are so painful, moments in time when we realize what we really are and how fragile we can be, that the walls just soak up that energy, that emotion.

What am I talking about? Give me a moment. This is hard when sober for me. Why am I sober?

I held a friend tight once as we sat on the bathroom floor. She did something harsh to herself in the pursuit of ultimate joy when she realized that life was fragile in those moments. I held onto her as purged and cried. She told me her fears and what haunts her. She was honest for once in her damned life, as she began to tell me everything she believed that she needed to tell me. She believed she would not see the end of the night as her own Secret Wars waged within. She swore me to promises and exposed everything.

I simply held her. I held her and promised that she will return. I swore to keep the nightmares at bay and nothing would come of her. It was a sleepless night. There was no shame. And in the end she woke up in her own bed with me at her side. She picked up her tattered dignity and looked at me with accusing eyes. Nothing was said. Breakfast was served, small conversation was made as I left my hands to become busy cleaning any evidence of what may trespassed and left the next morning.

We were never really friends.

There have been many. I've had these moments myself. I've been there many times in fact. The feeling of lost control and knowing that this may be your last moments. The feeling of abandonment and horror.

How could you not reach out?

Avey was more then a mentor. Even now I miss him dearly. So much that I know I always get his name wrong and I hate myself for this. I hate myself a lot really when it comes to him. I'll get into that in a bit. I have to be careful walking this road. I've gotten lost many times here and no matter how many times I deal with this there is no resolution. There is no ending, but just .....

I can say that his presence in this world made my life not only easier back then, but it actually made me feel better about myself. He was someone I looked up to and wished to be like. He helped me not only understand life around me, but he actually taught me that thought proceed action. That actions not only affect me, those around me, but it creates an environment for things to come. That I'm connected to those everyone and everyone is connected to me. He taught me to think and choose my words carefully before speaking by thinking at least 7 times before speaking, something not only very valuable to me, but a skill that had taught me to know how to avoid trouble. A priceless gift when you are 17, naive and know that the choices that you made were not the wisest.

Time came when he moved away. I lost tract. I ended a life in some respects, but I always figured that I would be able to redeem myself and see him again. Kind of show him that I got things under control and that I turned out better than most would believe. Yet some years ago, around this time of year I was told that he died. No, no just died, but that he took his life. I got the news that somehow, my hero, this person who I looked up greatly to and helped me get my life in the right direction had committed suicide. It still feels not right. He had his doctorate in Psychology. He pulled a lot of people out of the mud. Not just me, but many others. He was a great man.

But, suicide? I still don't understand how. They told me he had troubles in his marriage. That things went bad for him somewhere. That he left his children behind. My daughter was his youngest son's playmate. I mentored his older son and secretly wished I would have a son like him. Sure, my life fell apart, but I would get things situated, placed in order and one day come back to see him to show that I was not a mistake. That I would prove myself to him. Show him that I made something of my self and he helped me do so.

But he is dead. He killed himself.

Where was I?

When I say unto the wicked, Thou shalt surely die; and thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand. Ezekiel 3:18

Meaningless words. Another life. A life that in some ways I was force to leave. It honestly does not matter really, but the lessons learned are still with me. I mean, the world was worth saving back then, wasn't it? I was going to save the world. I was young and optimistic. I would reach out for those who needed me the most. I would pull them out of their nightmares and give them a way out. Sure, some would be willing to leave the mud and some needed to be pulled extra hard and sometimes kicking, but they would be pulled out of the mud. If they choose to return to it once out, it was up to them, but I at least pulled them out.

I pulled many out. I even pulled someone I called brother out only to have him shove me in. He helped end my life then. He was the reason I had to go, but I pulled him out of the mud. Avey told me once that even if you pull someone out they may want to go back. He mentioned that some will pull you in with them in an act of fear to get themselves out. Some will even curse me for pulling them out.

My own "brother"?
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
Am I my brother's keeper?

So I started a new life, but old habits die hard. I'm not one to walk way. I'm not one to abandon anyone. I'm not one to quit simply because life was hard or the work great. I would push on. If someone needed me I would be there. If you needed help I'm on it. Old habits die hard. I'm too stubborn to give up.

So many helped. So many, but the world does not stay safe. The world must be saved everyday. It never stays safe no matter what. Dog warriors may be able to keep their circumference in check, but the world was huge. I pulled so many out. I held so many. I stayed the nightmares away, but.....

He killed himself. He killed himself. He fucking killed himself. What the fuck can I do now? He was not supposed to kill himself. He was supposed to stay strong and pull others out. He was supposed to be a rock. He was supposed to never fall or die.

He killed himself.

What could it had been? What was it? What the fuck got you? What pulled you down? What was it? What could have made you betray or give up what you taught me? Why did you give up? What crushed you? What made things so bad that you decided to just end it? What happened? Where where you? Who was there? Why didn't they do something?

He killed himself.

And where the fuck was I?

Where was I? Isn't that the real question? Where was I? What was I so selfishly doing that I could let him kill himself? What was I doing? Is it more important that his life? He helped me, why couldn't I help him? What the fuck is wrong with me? How did I fuck up this bad? How is it that I let this happen? Is it my fault?

Isn't it my fault?

The world is never safe. The world can not be saved. How is the world worth it now? Would I trade everyone I helped to be there? Would I give their lives up and leave people in their hell to get to him? To help him like he helped me? To repay a debt? To make sure that he can get out? To pull him out of the mud? To do what he taught me to do which I was not able to do?

Yes. I would let them all suffer. I would leave them on the floors, conscious or not, to get to him. his life is worth more than any of them. Some simply ran back. Others still don't have their shit together still and never will. Avey died somewhere alone and I helped some asshole just because he took one to fucken many hits from a bong.

Seriously?

I can't help to laugh really. I can't help to laugh cause I don't want to cry. How cruel can the world be? How can the world crush him? How can the world crush him and leave me feeling that I let him die. That I abandoned him. You call it hindsight? That does not make things better. It does not make me less ......lost.

I cut a lot of people out of my life recently. It was my survival that was in stake. I saved the world, but the world still needed to be saved. The world still needs to be saved even though I feel I lost track of what is needed. I save the world, but the world does not save me. The world seeks to pull me under.

I hate the world.

But I save it, still?

Yes.

I still pull people out. It's almost as if I attract the lost souls. As if they look for me with begging eyes to say something that will end their pain. Something that will make things right. Or they just want to know that what they feel, I feel.

Fucken world. I hate you more than anything. I almost hate you more than myself sometimes. I hate the world, because I know no matter what, I will never stop trying to save it. One day, I may even have to pay old debts and I understand that. I'm comfortable knowing that that day may come, but I still can not help it. I have to try.

The world needs to be saved.
We can not always save those who we need to.
We can not save ourselves nor would we try.
The world will always need to be saved.

I wish there is a better place.

I miss you Avey. I'm sorry I was not there. I'm sorry I failed you. I know there was nothing I could have done, but I still feel that I failed you. That I could have least done something to help you. I wish I can blame myself and be done with it, but it just does not cover it. It honestly does not cover it.

It's just fucked up.

The world is just fucked up.
It has to be saved.