Transforming a Stumble to a Running Start or Get Off Your Asses and Get Back to Work!

Tried to write. 

I got nothing. Not only because I have nothing to say because I said it, but because I have nothing at the moment. I am at a loss of anything creative. I'm in Damage Control mode.

I'm busy thinking, questioning, listening and trying to take it all in so that we can make a plan rather than blame one group, unfounded fears, or just moving in the wrong direction. 

I don't have much to express. I'm a bit lost at least in my head. They say there were two types of Samurai. The one who mastered combat on the battlefield and were drenched in the blood of war and the other who studied Zen, wrote poetry, practice methods of combat, refining what they know and trying to understand the working of politics. 

The change from Jitsu to Do. The change from Action to Practice. The killing to sparring. The change from War to Peace.

Well, I'm not very poetic at the moment. I'm not in the mood to project thought to reach, inspire, and cause reflection. I'm not that person anymore. I'm not the one who can relax. I'm not the one to be positive, optimistic, or nieve. 

Life has already beat that shit out of me.

I'm being proactive. I'm rallying moral. I'm reaching out to those from losing hope. I'm speaking with Kids who will vote in two and four years for the next set of elections. I'm demanding people who are busy bitching into becoming diligent, not lethargic. Reminding people that politics is not a chachki that you can just set and forget, but something you have to diligently monitor and speak out constantly. Just because you like Bernie doesn't mean you can let him handle it. You have to keep in contact with the people you sent. 

I'm not interested in poetry. I'm not going to paint. I'm not going to write wax philosophically. This is not the time to lay down and give up but to start mobilizing and minimize the damage.

This is not the time we give up. We must remember the train wreck of the Electorial College and know when we have the upper hand we must change it. There are not only better systems of voting, but they've been modified to prevent such disasters such as our. And much realize if the table were turned people would be speaking up for the Electorial College. Damn it, it cost democratic two elections in 20 years! Get on that shit!

Vote for people who we want. You love Bernie? Why? What was it? Can we multiply that? Can we speak louder? A third party isn't needed in presidential elections, but smaller ones to grow the base. You can't just jump into it, but foster it and grow it from the grassroots. 

We have two years!

I'm going to hold you, us, all of us to that. We have two years to change things and we need to step up our game. It's easy to blame, but damn it we must not. We must analyze and keep planning our next step. IF we win, we plan our next step. IF we lose, we plan our next step. IF things go well, we plan our next step. IF we won and have nothing else to do, we plan our next step. This isn't fucking Disney. There are no happy endings you did not work towards. Even with our work we will fail. That means we push harder until there is no chance to defeat and we push harder until we always win and then we push harder until it's a humiliation and WE REMAIN DILIGENT!

Fucking hell, people. Wake the fuck up, take responsibility and let's get to work.

We have two years and I don't know if that's enough time.

Relapsing from Jane's Addiction or Knowing the Truth of What She Said about Human Interaction

I'm going with a new font and size. I need glasses and I realize I hate proof reading because I can't see a thing. I know, it's dumb, but sometimes I don't see the easy solution in front of me when I can just build the newest Acme Rube Goldberg device approved by Willie Coyote.  

Ok, not important, really......it is sort of, but not the point....get with the point...what's a thesis again?

*takes in breath and begins*

My sessions with the Crazy Doc has been inching me through some of the roots of my mistrust of people for some time, although I can tell he's been trying to get close enough to some of the elephants in the room that I may or may not understand or even see. I say this not being the type of person to deny someone's understanding of their craft and practice. I'm usually the first person to allow myself physically to trust someone's intuition and action. When I get a hair cut from from one who know how to cut hair I usually question their ability with difficult hair, considering that every hair cut I've ever received that was not a short length usually looks entirely different then what was intended. The present person who cuts my hair does such a great job at it I actually wait until she can cut it again. She calls it a "free cut". I call it just looking human after the cut. 

I'm not going to beat around the bush, I know I'm difficult even though I honestly don't mean to be. Often time I try to understand what I'm either lacking or perhaps I happen to carry something extra that prevents me from sometimes fitting in. Considering that I've lived my life as an only child and missed out on a lot of social interaction with other people my age, I've learned that I have to be my best playmate. Something about having another child in the function that helps you realize that you are one, you are not the center of the universe and two, that you're connected to others and your actions affect them as much as it affects you. It's funny I write that now since I always thought that I understand that. I'm always thinking about everyone else that I realize I never been the topic of my own focus or that I also need something along the way. 

I'm going to assume you already know what my roots are to this because I'm sure fucking tired of even explaining it, but in a short summery that annoys me more then anything here it goes. Long line of family trauma. Grandfather died when mother was 9 she had to take over the livelihood of the family as well as raising siblings and a mother prone to fainting spells? Hell, she past away two years ago or so and I still don't know what happened with her considering that there must be a cabal ritual I have to pass to get any answer that I at this point stop caring about. Yet all this paranoia, fear and even self doubt and pessimism has more then affected me in an almost needy/militant way of caring for others or just not caring for myself. At least my father's contribution of sarcastic asshole with puckish sense of humor who should never be allowed to be bored help balance the train wreck I call a life. Yea, so part of me want to nurse and look after others. Another part of me want to say "fuck it", and just lay on the ground as the world goes by. 

Fun. 

Huh....still beating around the bush. I'm going to cut to the bone now. Right or wrong, I never built up this thick skin that allows me not to care about people to the degree that I wonder why I'm not in their lives or even important to them. I know it has something to do with not having boundaries and basically a lot and I mean a lot of shit people have gotten their way with me. I think this part hurts the most because I've had my moments when I'm cradling broken people in my arms while they sob heavy to having to restrain others for something stupid they did or took until they regain their fucking senses, some of them molesting me, another part of them beating me up, an odd chuck of them almost too big to assume that I didn't get a overly generous portion of people who do both. Yet I always call it "doing the right thing at the right time". I never am the one who mutters, "not my monkeys, not my zoo" and walks away, especially since I'm just learning to walk away. 

I guess the idea that germinated with me was from a friend who mentions she may have gained a bit of my personality where I'm too open, too blatant, and at the point where my fucks have been given away and my shoulders are tired from shrugs. Giving it more thought I realize I see the world's people as a gamble. There are moments where I don't know if I'm going to be entertained or on duty with most people that I usually carry an aura of malice to just scare off the world in hopes of the bad people not getting near me. The second is a blatant, nonchalant attachment to people. I know at a certain point that if I don't connect with people I can walk away. Yet once I remember their name and a bit about themselves I seem to carry them with me. Some people I carry sweet and loving moments and other the last sip of cold coffee not realizing someone has placed their butts in the mug and you just had that going down your throat. So my most important line of defense is malice aura and just being distant. 

It's here where I can't understand. If someone wants to get a hold of you, they will cross hell and back and do whatever they can to spend 5 minutes with you. Those people who do not you can not move mountains for a second of their time. They disappear and they even try to remove the shadow of themselves. Being someone who has some history of picking out diamonds from excrement I know that its a crap shoot. The friends that I do have are worth more then the world to me and are precious. Yet there are times where we do not sync up. Some have families. Other amazing careers. Some have their finger on the pulse of the world and others are just popping up as they pop out. So I have a "live it up now because we die tomorrow" mentality when it comes to my friends. I often feel like I won't get all of their time or even that this already is an allotment that they are going to regret so I savor it as much as I would blue rare steak and caviar. I know these things are not every day things and I have no issue indulging, especially when I live on sawdust and mist. I don't even scarf them down. I want to savor the moment and burn the memory into as much detail possible so that I can least retell the moment to live it once more while I suffocate on my sawdust.

If I honestly give it some more thought I realize that the person I gain this fucked up mantra was probably the first person I should have stayed away from. To dance around the issue that somehow feel way to fucking raw for the time passed I was almost something forbidden. Most surely taboo to them as they realize that I was the most needful thing they have come upon, almost as if realizing that you are now focusing on your own breathing sort of way. I never really felt important, even though I have been spoiled, I never felt as if I mattered to anyone, even now, and I think this might be why. Meeting someone who find you as the most needed thing in the world is beyond intoxicating. It's the best fucking hit of anything, speaking as someone who loves coffee, yet never had anything stronger then prescription opiates. The idea of someone scarfing the essence of you down, that disparity is almost erotic to me if I think about it. That need that someone has for you that they grab you and pull you down, not realizing they're hurting you. That desperate need for this thing is a rush. And yet, I can not help to realize how empty it is. To pull from Jane's Addiction, I honestly only know when someone wants me. 

Not even going to begin to figure it out if this is an issue with love or need or whatever. Too messy and I don't have a headlamp and guide. I have to remain functional and I don't have a lick of booze to call my own. I will dance on the edge as I always do since I do have that suicidal tendency of living as close to the cut. 

So I know what a fucked up relationship in all of it's aspects and shades. I understand all of the difficulties and trappings and yet, you'd think I'd master what IS a good one from just going the other direction. Not as easy as you'd imagine. Sometimes it's the difference between a degree where you either freeze or fry. So here, I can honestly say that I had adventure, many I did not want. Some have left scars on me that don't heal and others just phantom pains reminding that I can never really fit in. The hard look always gives me away and much like birds of a same feather,  I'm attracted to the haunting look of pain in other people's eyes, hoping that someone understand what my wound is as much as I want to understand theirs. It never works out that way. I usually become a temporary bandage that holds for the time, yet there comes a moment where the wearer finds me in disgust of having served my duty and then pulls me away in revulsion and tosses me aside as one would something useless. 

Useless, if there ever was a loaded word as this. 

So I know when someone wants me and when they don't. It's hard to build a life with anyone like that, and I don't even mean sexually or romantically. I just mean routine. I'm as fucked up as most, but give me a routine and I'll use it as a staff to keep me upright. I'll live up to it and even make it flourish, hiding the moments I fall and break. And yet, I can say that I do try to be courteous to the needs for others, as previously mentioned. I know I can be abrasive so I go away. I return when they ask and not of my own volition. I'm just too used to being tossed aside to have that self esteem. I'd rather return with request then to chance people with getting rid of me. 

There are times when I attract the Doe eyes of fascination. Innocent, almost fan-girl attraction where I mean something, I don't know? At this age, I think it's daddy issues if the people who come near me try to justify their proximity with, "I'm mature". This is where the self realization comes in. I know they're easy prey and I can just take the fluff offered as a kind of sacrifice and recreate myself. Everyone does it. Hell, I'm still cougar bait, oddly enough. I've even met some young hard eye vamps who somehow figured age is nothing, need is more. Either way, I keep a healthy distance between them and I. I know, I fucking know! There ARE those moments where I do say, "ok, wow....those are nice....and they look so much fun and I'm not hesitant in not doing so because of that, but I need to warn you that I might ruin you as a person as someone ruined me SO.....yea.....please put your top back on, please?"

You will never get so much of a physical and mental "what the fuck" from your inner self then these moments where you did the right thing because it's right, but seriously! So yes, there are many of these and I do smash my head into the mirror in regret trying to utter, "you did what's best". Guilt is a bitch. I can not feed on you people like the predator when I see Bambi's eyes. I know, fuck me. I have a conscious. A loud, fucking annoying one that prevents me from getting laid and just being fucking care free, but a conscious all the same.

.....give me a moment.....

ok. 

So, yea....I have trust issues and I know I am bothersome as much I am tempting at times, as if I am the last soda in the desert, even when I feel like I'm strawberry soda.....which is gross....that shit is wrong among wrong. I honestly feel I should be lucky with what I have and if I get myself ok enough, I'd like a dog also. That's as much as I can expect. House with picket fence? Nope. Monogamous relationship without any negativity. Not going to hold my breath or wait for Sandy Claws. Hell, open relationship with various people enough to keep the boredom away, yet fulfilling enough to keep one satisfied? I have the hunch the moment I get near it it would implode. So, yea. If I can manage coffee while walking a dog, I'm happy. I'll take that as a victory. 

..........and yet, I can't help to miss people. Not as a particular person or group, just as a norm. I mean, to have a friend that stays a friend after a year or so or at least till the newness leave me is what I'm used to. After a point I realize that I'm straining to just see people and even like this I'm not going to be important in your life. I'm not even going to be an afterthought. So...why bother. I pull away easy. I regress to my youth where I had to find my own enjoyment with what I had and just keep me ok. I talk to myself, sometimes even argue. I read and do whatever I can to pass the time. I nap a lot, you can 't be sad when you nap. I walk and sometimes I even chance the crowd and blend in just to see where it goes. There's freedom in not being important. No one notices you and you often see people as they really are. It's jading, sure. Yet it's honest. I'm too used to this bluntness. It's why people think I'm carefree. I'm not. I just know I'm not even close to being important to others and the I know if I am important I'm only important as the image they made me to be. Some intangible character who I never was, will, or going to be instead of who I really am. And to them, that's more then enough. Then I become a fetish. I become what they want and I feel dirty and I realize I don't want people. I will go away. I will sit in my closet. I may even shed a tear, if possible. 

Somehow I come to realize I was always someone's fetish instead of who I am. I think that's how I lose myself trying to make them happy with what I never was.

So this is why I keep away. If lucky, I will discover a friend who means the world to me. Someone who I love wholeheartedly and can be myself with. These are the oasis that make me question my existence. I'm fine with this or being a fetish, but when you realize that both existences clash and that you can honestly be one of your choosing, you wonder why you can't. There is nothing more refreshing then a great friend, almost like your favorite song or food. You even ration them to keep that special magic of them in hopes of never losing it or even becoming a burden to them. Like I keep saying, I'm hard to live with or at least that's what I hear. It may be true or not, but I'm not going to ever chance it. Losing people that see me as nothing takes a toll and I realize I should have enough of a thick skin to protect me, but I don't. I can't even imagine losing these precious people.....oh, wait.....I can.

Never mind.

.....so, yea.

How do I even recap this?

I don't......I leave it as empty and unfulfilling as anything else. That's the thing, there is no closure to this. There is only something then nothing. No end or even reason. Just.....nothing but doubt and confusion.

Like now.

Sorry.

Recounting a Lost Bird Song of Poetry and Love in Search of What Once Was

There are moments in my life where I awaken from slumber and the shadows of who I once was quickly retake me if only for a moment. There are prices in which we must all pay on order to survive, many of which are in itself their own penance. For those of us who walk among you with hard earned hollow eye which only hint of horrors past, we can probably find moments within our past where we were someone else, someone who once lived with a lighter heart and less weighted burden. Moments like these haunt us, reminding us of who we once were and what we once have been before reaching a certain crossroads where the toll to continue would not weigh upon us until we had already bargained and paid.

These moments haunt us of our own naivety and even a wide eyed trust among those who we believed walked among us with kind hearts and loving minds. We see those fools we were once and we mock our lack of knowledge as if we could have foreseen any such explosion of madness from others so volatile enough to deceive us to believe we were at fault. If approached we would say we abhor the fool, attempting to distance ourselves from such idiocy. And yet, if allowed respite and a silent moment to hide from the harsh eyes of a cruel world, we would all fall to our knees and embrace longingly and lovingly a version of ourselves torn asunder why a miscalculated action of trust.

This night is one of these as I look up what I was so many years ago, decades ago at a fool who loved poetry, believe that good would vanquish the dark sullen night, and everyone has some redemptive source of good within. Such a Romantic lad, who uttered verse in order to understand rhythm and bounce of words believing that everything can be expressed and that if given enough time he would woo the world with a song of love, a moment of contemplation,  and a ballad of great ones who committed themselves upon Herculean feats. That his will as his carefully chosen words could convey any emotion and thought and would never fail him as long as he had breath within and dreamed of worlds that limits were only that of his own foreseen limitations.

I look upon that boy, so trusting and innocent wondering how he could have survived in such a place. Where his trust among everyone only allowed cruel and conniving to make mark of him. Where those who were made lame by others for whatever reason would take hold of him and also remove from him what they lacked since they could not inspire love. It is easier to mock and ridicule those who attempt to make their place in the world a bit kinder and colorful rather then take such an impossible task of making life better for all. Those who were crippled before cripple, not out of immense cruelty but simply committing a repeat horror to justify their own loss as something that must be. Hollow and cruel spawn others to wallow in self hatred and abandoned hope rather then protect those who have what they too lost within.

Emotional undead tearing away life from those who still hold it dear, increasing their ranks and creating a colder world.

And few of us who survive, even torn apart refuse to partake such acts. We hold dear the belief that such a cycle of hatred and anguish must end within ourselves. We attempt to express our loss with the same talent we had to convey beauty as a honk of pain escapes from each of us than the song of love. A wretched sound that catches us unguarded and within horror as a bird flops downwards with broken wing, still making attempts to return to skys wide and glorious. We fear our deaths, yet we learn that death would be merciful. We are forced to walk if not crawl on grounds unfit for our bodies. We were once creatures of the heavens, marveled at our majesty.

So we, grounded creatures walk among creatures more suited to live on lands not of our own and we either perish from the disadvantage or we evolve into cruel things with sinister means under the guise of survival. We walk among the miserable life of ground, to hunt or flee. To leave deep and heavy tracks or to offer fear to those who would seek us as an easy meal. We find sanctuary in lethal methods and numbing lies to believe we were always suited for such a life. That we were never to soar but to struggle on cold earth.

We survive and create a broken and harsh world among ourselves. We flock to each other to display wounds and sing song of our wretched battles. In our weaker moments, under medicinal vice we break down in weeping woes and lost bird song we all once sang. Such glorious yet dooms songs that once lifted spirits only to remind what cruel the world is to force us to ground. The weaker of us choose their end and those of us suffering from madness become creature to rip those asunder, hating ourselves for being torn once.

We ask you not for your woe nor pity. We can not be reached in any such manner. Yet, if given a small moment to sing our bird song, we shall if only to hear it once more ourselves. At times our song attracts our kind who do whatever available to return us to their flock. They find us and give us what we could only wish for. We can not understand such gifts and we let them go sallow without return. Many leave. Broken ones stay to be among us in our broken states until they to become us or return to the skys in fearful shock. We are abandoned and we see not how we force other to when we secretly cry our songs for love and aid.

I see myself once more and I remember poetry. I remember art and music and lively boisterous joy. I remember a childe which once reveled among close friends and loved ones and not one who forces all away. I see a fool by my standards and a time lost within my grasp. I see innocence unsullied and a heart open to anyone who wishes to share such a gift.

I walked his footsteps. I remembered him for a song bird once more. I reminisced of whole healthy wings strong enough to life my hurt body into skys. I remember song never mocked and  love given freely. I was bird once, not creature of harsh land. I was one who sang to those left below and yearned for their return. I loved freely, openly and shamelessly. I wanted nothing then to sing my song with many and to life the hearts of all.

I say this part of me. I felt my wings whole and strong. I rose up high if only for a moment before landing harshly in denial. I was not who I was then Nor will I ever be. I lived too much to return to such a virgin state. Yet, can I not learn to fly again? To sing a different song? To find meaning in words lost. To write poetry once more. To scream to the heavens and earth that I am once more free from weights and tethers? To be who I was, yet stronger?

Could I heal? Could I love? Could I not find purpose? Could I not use what was given to me to rise up and raise all once more? Would the hurt prevent me once more? Would the fear of those in their own anguish keep me down? Could I not attempt to even if I fear this moment and believe that I will only be torn once more?

I loved poetry. And museums. And art. And film. And running in hand with someone I wanted near in these moments. Warm kisses in cold air. Loving smiles and promises of pleasant nights. Of happy moments that would never end in waking night terrors. Kind moments. Close companions and a celebration of life through art?

Did I abandon it or it me?

And as it once taken me by shock of memory rediscovered, I lost the warm feeling to cold emptiness. To yearn for what is now an echo. I miss that moment.

And yet, I chanced. I walked within beauty in search for what was. I trusted those among me with an abandonment I once was known for. I shared in joy and gave love if only to have it once again echo within a state of loss and sadness. I held on if only to rediscover who I was. I have an echo, yet it may be enough to offer hope.

I once loved poetry.

I once more seek it's song.
I once more hum a song lost.

Shower Epiphany: Trigger moments, Secret Wars, and Why You Bury your Dead

Shower Epiphany

It's been a month since I finished The Phantom Pain.

The game was magnificent. It will always be to me Kojima's greatest work. The game means so much and with it's flaws, it's still a magnificent. I'm going to talk about a few things that came up because of the story, but I really hate to ruin it, so just in case spoilersv and such.

Saying all that.....

.....I think it really hit a nerve. It.....kind of hurt me. It kind of feels like echos of what I lived through. It's ......*deep breath*

.....secret wars....

I'm out. I think I'm out. I would like to think I'm out.

Then again, I do wake up in sweat at night doing what I can to stifle a scream. In the years I've survived, I've able to stifle the scream. I cry tears of fear and joy that I am out, but I'm not. Every now and then I get pulled back into a hell that I somehow survived.

......and the hell was never mine. It was never my fight in the end. I was fought, lost, and survived only to never be my fight. Does it mean anything? Does it mean anything when I lost so much to something that was never mine......

Did I lose so much to nothing? Was it all for nothing? This....hallow remains......for nothing? And those we lost......who haunt me.....who I question even now why they died never knowing it was for nothing.....were they ......lucky?

Sometimes, I belong or I feel that I belong. I think life will get better. That I will move on. Never turn back. Be happy. Live what is left of time I have and feel I have accomplished something.....meaningful. Worth so much. Much more than what I lost. I am almost happy.

And then, I wake up trying not to scream. Then I get a flash of.......horror? Memory? Who ....what I was.....where I was.....if I could go back and stop so much......fuck....Avey.......those hollow moments, a hard look, haunted eyes.......for fucking nothing....ha ha ......nothing......

It reminds me that I am not like you. I will never be like you. I will never be you. The price paid is often times it's own cost.....punishment....Faustian compromise.....haunted.....so haunted....

You hold me shaking. You fill my glass. You listen to small moments of hell. You sit with me while I try to escape. You wish me all the good I've am due. You send words to ponder, introspect, and hold close. You all have been so much to me. I will never be able to thank you ever. If I lived to the end of time I can not thank you enough. You give me the ability to lie....believe I can be......you.

And yet, if there is justice in this world......if there is any way to redeem myself of .......nothing.......I will have to live an eternity against my will. Sometimes.....sometimes death is too good for you. Sometimes you just need to pay your penance. I'm more then willing. Every good dead is redemption for one day to start another.

ha ha......and for it all......what was it all for? Nothing.

Cosmic joke of it all. It was for nothing. I paid my price and I got what I wanted for it.

*sigh*

I know.......I get like this. It's why I go away. It's why I have to go. It's.......heavy. I have to pay....penance for those who can't. For those who are not with us. For those who never learned it was for nothing. Fucking nothing.

I'm fine....no, I'm not fine. I won't be fine for a long while. I'm trying, but I'm not fine. We have to bury our dead. I have to learn to bury mine one day. It's why I tell you to. Because I can't. Because I carry them with me. It's because my hell should mean something to someone even if it's not ever for my benefit.

Penance. Price. Pain.

All the same thing. Always the same thing.

......I'll bury my dead one day. I will. I will rest with them also. Hopefully they will welcome me if there is any sort of afterlife outside of one imagined by those who can not have second chances.

I'll be fine tomorrow. I'll be.......but tonight. I morn them. I morn myself.

For......nothing.

......

Please......be good to each other.

The Echos within the song, tells the story of Two Women

Two women in my life. Both I loved. One tore me apart and left me empty and shattered. The other loved me every way possible until we had to go separate ways.

I feel their echos tonight.

One I realize I still love in a horrifying and disgusting way. She meant/means the world to me, even though she isn't near. She left some time ago and made sure that she salted the ground of her exodus. She made me to doubt myself while I wanted no one but her. She left me feeling used and worthless. She left me feeling like a whore, unworthy of time, effort and love. She left me hating myself to ever having to love her. She was the world to me and in the end she took it with her. In the end she left and made certain that would not even cherish the memory of her without cringing on what she left. I can not even smile at a happy moment between us without feeling choked up at how it ended, or how she ended it.....

.....or what she did. 

And so, I feel alone, empty, shattered and heartbroken. 

If someone was used to being struck strikes another out of habit or reflex is it still pardonable? Was is being accidental still not as hurtful? Is how she cut your heart out not as hurtful or damaging? Or destroying what little faith you have in others just as crippling? Is it pardonable because someone else is better? Or you were just there to pass the time? Or in the end it was all a regret and you were never supposed to be important to her? That .....regret? What hurts more: the injury or the salting the wound?

That wound still healed though. That wound is nasty to look at and hurtful. That wound still causes a twinge of pain when it's cold and it still make you wonder if it will ever function again. It introduces doubt that anyone else so close can harm you again in that way. I guess she wanted to make certain she was the last woman I loved.

....because if that's the case, she's right.

And yet, there is another. I remember her in the emptiness of the night as I drive through the maze of the city. I wonder if the we listened to the song together or if the singer's sweet and loving voice reminds me of her. How she drove to me. How she picked my shattered self from the floor knowing that I receded into the depths of my mind and suffering with no senses on the outside. And yet, she loved me. Tenderly and with meaning. She fed the trust when I didn't want anything ever again. She held me close with a dedication that I should not cause more harm to myself that someone has already committed upon me. She remained there slowly feeding small morsels of joy and kindness into a selfish and pain creature who wanted nothing more than to die of shame of needing another. She loved me and pulled me close because she knew I could not make the words come out from such a hideous wound. She offered compassion and understanding even though she knew I would stumble and fall. 

I remember asking her why is she even trying. Why is she wasting her time with me. She told me that I would understand one day and that day I would remember her. That she was simply doing what someone has done for her and in the end isn't that enough?

I also feel warm, loved, cared for and inspired. 

Isn't it?

And so, I feel alone, empty, shattered and heartbroken. 

I also feel warm, loved, cared for and inspired. 

One case I fear getting close to any one for fear of doing what she had done to me in the guise of hurting her and leaving me needing someone who crushed my heart and made sure she was the last woman in my life. In the other I feel one can only hold a torch for so long without lighting yourself on fire and at that point you deserve to be on fire. So drop that shit and reach out in pain and fear and love anyways. Make sure she isn't the last one in my life and to make certain that I make sure that the salted earth left behind blooms brighter than before. 

So I feel alone, empty and heartbroken. I also feel warm, loved, cared for and inspired.

Above all I feel alive now and that's all I need.

December

December is a hard month for me.

It's a month filled with so much bad history. Most of the shit that has hit me the worse has come from December. It's a month that claimed the lives of several mentors as well as taken the lives of a few friends. It's a month that I had my worst moments in life and the echos never seem to diminish. It's a month where ghosts of my past become stronger and they have their moments until I am able to survive till January. It's a time where my survivor's guilt is heavy and I question the thoughts once more that plague me randomly and I try to find what is it that has changed. I now realize that all my good deeds I attempt to do and all the love and kindness I give is used to help me this month. It helps me convince myself that I am making a change in myself and in anyone I meet. That in the end there will be people who will out shout the people who will condemn me for something I was, I try never to be, and what I work so hard to make amends to.

Or perhaps that is all in my head?

It's a month where everyone you meet feign concern, love, peace and kindness in the approved manner of giving gifts that have cost them much to people they have very little concern for. It's a month where everyone places a farce of caring and giving while the rest of the year is spent taking away and "getting mine". It's a time where hypocrisy is thick and I'm simply not the right person to fake anything I do not have simply because it will ruin a fabricated and highly staged moment with people who honestly have not kindness and warm regards towards myself or others. As if some unspoken rule that states that one must speak of the dead with kindness and love instead of stating what they had built with their hands in the same manner I'm supposed to wish someone well for hell they had wroth the rest of the year.

Sorry, I am not able to lie very well nor do I want to learn how to correct that. So I'm simply not on for the hypocrisy. I am not happy this time nor do I carry great hopes. I may seem normal, but I am not one to suffer in public not in open. I shout for those who have no voice, not to complain for what ails me since I know too well others have suffered more and seem to move on well. And yet, not I. Why do I always return here? Why am I hardest on myself and why do not ask for sympathy nor kindness this month.

....


I thank you for your kindness. I honestly do. I simply can not break down as you would expect because I am always carrying weight that must be held up. I appreciate the distraction and the ability to mayhaps laugh as if I'm fine for the moment. It's a hard month and I do what I can to survive it. Thank you for caring and thank you for pulling me in when I struggle to be let go. I'm not doing well and that is all me. Not a reflection of the kind and loving people who try to reach me. I have a horrible feeling that I will affect you with the hell that I am afflicted with and that would horrify me, so I do not reach out to you. I simply suffer through in silence and call it my penance.

And yet I will ask for help in the meekest voice hoping you do not hear so that I can know that I at least tried in a manner that I can say was an attempt.......a horrible one that is more of an excuse, but I count it anyways.

I'm trying. I really am. I want you to know that. I have good days and I have bad ones. Every day is a battle. I just try to do good, be kind, and love as much as I am able to while keeping my distance. I'm not asking for help. I'm simply explaining myself if you seem me particularly distant and cold. It's never you. It's all in my head. My circle helps. Alot.

Ok......I have to find motivation to move. I'll talk to you later.

Promise.

Shower Epiphany: When sacrifices survive

I've finally found the root. The reason why I never trust people, keep my distance and I constantly ask, "why are we friends".

I finally understand. Why I feel disposable, worthless, and suicidal in the way where I don't care what comes to end rather than taking my own life. I know why I'm dangerous and why I would rather exist like this than to live. Why I really do not see my value as anything good and my only penance is to do something good every day and to learn something I didn't know every day.

Why I value others more than I will ever value myself. Why I laugh when other think I should be crying. Why I look over my shoulder, trust no one, know that I'm only as valuable as my usefulness and even that will go away. Why I push hard, break myself against the world and why I do not feel pain.

I don't think I will last too long if I keep this up. And so I'm trying to change. Never for my sake, but because I have a hunch people need me for a bit longer. To be honest, if it was up to me I'd would have left a long time ago. I'm just that fucking stubborn and it's what others would have wanted me to do.

So only on my terms. For now, only on my terms.

Please don't give me any more interventions or tell me how I matter to you. They're not helping. I have to work through this alone.

You can not save the dead. There is not purpose.

.....

Oh.....and I know YOU are reading this somehow.

I'm not going to help you.

If you want to "do that" to me, I'm going to fight you tooth and nail. I'm going to fight you until I can not fight anymore, even if it's what I want the most.

I'm not going to make it easy for you.

I hate you that much.

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Twenty one: Plowed

I've been difficult getting to this point.

When something like this happens it takes all the momentum out of me leaving me the fetal as if the air has been knocked out. Social obligation is one thing, but add death into the situation and its twist of the knife that makes things worse. I've spent the entire week sitting and staring at the walls. I know I have so much to do now and the more I feel the pressure of what I need to do and the added pressure that this week has collected I can not help to not have the drive to do anything. These are the moments where I ball myself up and simply stop. Staring at the clock as the minutes tick away making the situation worse with everything that makes me viable screaming in my head to get up and get moving. Just watching minutes tick away as I sit and feel the pressure crush me slowly. Painfully, making everything worse than it can be all the while my mind screaming.

It's a feeling I would never wish on an enemy.

Will I wake up

Is it a dream I made up

No I guess it's reality

I've been trying to recover from the wake, funeral and the aftermath of my grandmother's death. I've stated already that I'm not only to handle death well. Much less social occasions that demand me to be passive and openly and completely friendly to people who in truth have nothing to offer outside of their own ideals of who things are and should be. Being placed in a room where everyone is grieving more than I could and telling me to be brave has not only made me doubt in my own human potential, something that is not very hard to do, but also made me a bit more of an outcast since I didn't throw myself on my grandmother's casket. I don't see a problem since my maternal unit was doing that to the point of Oscar nomination all the while I had to be retethered to her once more. So it's quite a scene that someone who is deeply reflecting the passing not only of their grandmother, a person who I used have all to myself until the birth of my cousins, but a sad and tragic reminder that we lost an entire generation now and we all have moved up to a certain position in the cue that we all will pass on one day.

Like I said, I don't do death well. I'm just lucky I didn't tell my maternal unit that we need her off the cross since that nice naked rabbi is complaining about him being upstaged. Being tossed into social even usually demand me to prepare for the moment ahead of time, collecting patience and solitude for the noisy event where many people would stare at me for just being involved. Here I was pretty much up front if not as the man who lost his loved one, but as the man who is pulled around by a screaming and emotional woman whose every other word was, "This is my son" between new dose of crying and torment. And that is just one relative.

In truth, we all have our different ways to deal with things and in truth I'm happy with mine....sort of. I need time alone in silent reflection. It's something that I need simply a moment of time and yet it's time that I don't get. I feel as if I am in the center of a chaotic universe where I have to spin plates or be that only power source to so many machines when all I want the most is to recharge. I've been doing that for the past 8 months now. Taking time to reflect, think and most importantly escape an environment that is in all way poisonous to me since I can not conform to the demanded and sanctioned behavior and if I'm not going to act that ways I am ostracized as much as a monkey in a zoo that is constantly on watch and pointed at. So I have to be vocal all the time, even if I want to be silent. I have to live in a whole where I have to mentally and intellectually shank or be mentally and intellectually shank, even if there is no need. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not a hostile person despite of how threatening I look from afar.

And in the end, that is what it's all about.

What will change us

Or will we mess up

Our only chance to connect

With a dream

I'll try to explain since most people do not understand the whole "worn battery" idea. Imagine you are cold and wet in a damp and dark cave. You are given wet matches and then told to your horror that you are in this cave with eight others. Three are already going to die from exhaustion, cold and plain misery. There is nothing you can do to stop that. What you can do is to light a fire to ensure that the remaining others will be warm and may be able to survive. So.....have at it!

It's what I've been trying to convey in a nut shell. Imagine already not being in a good position yourself and you have been deemed the last chance of others who are just as cold and miserable as you. Then you are told that despite your actions you are already failing and all you can do is to save the others with the limited and quite possibly ruined resources.

No pressure at all.

I'm buried by the sound

In a world of human

Wreckage

Yea.....that is my everyday. That is how I walk around constantly. I have a sense of dread that if I don't shove the evil at bay I will lose a day that is not only denied to many, but also is against me. Sad pat is I already knew where this comes from. My maternal unit lived a hard life. She took charge of her family at the age of 10 or so with the death of her father. Since then she had to raise and support her two other siblings and her ailing mother. That's already a shit situation, but add on abuse, horror of children raising each other, and the regular ordeals of what life can drop on you.

Mind you, I already come from a line of survivors. Both sides of the family, but my maternal unit's side is filled with dread, pessimism, and anger. Survivors are strong individuals who have been forced to sacrifice something dear to them in order to make it through and they are the best people to have when things go shitty. Survivors in fact thrive when things are shitty. And yet, that is their undoing. Survivors do not have the ability to live life. They can not move on. They are constantly in a state of post trauma that forces them to constantly crave chaos in order to continue in their existence. I'm not saying that they can not live a life. I'm saying that they lack hope that is needed to relax, close their eyes and know hell will not be back. They constantly know that hell is creeping up close and soon and ready to pounce. I've lived my 20's this way. This is why my battery is dying.

This is why I've pondered with taking my life. I could not see me struggling through an existence where this view was and always is guaranteed.

This is hell.

I'm lost and I'm found

And I can't touch the

Ground

So saying this much I've tried to see what is my own fears and what was given to me as fears. SO in separating fears from my own, shared and inherited I've come to realize that I've been living a role that I never wanted to live. A role where I am antisocial, withdrawn and never trusting of others. A role where the closest to me are always assumed that they will hurt me the most. Where I will  never have a private moment and where I close the blinds to the outside world. A life where I do things best on my own because I can only depend on my own limitations and abilities even if I am overwhelmed and failing. A life where I seek not enjoyment from drugs and alcohol, but numbness. A state where I can function my given duties handed  to me from others, know why I am of value to others from what I can do for them, and a constant pursuit not to worry what is going to get me next. Even my writing is my desperate attempt to document my struggle if only to demonstrate to others that I did not go down easy.

So to say that I want the ability to sit with another human being and interact with them in a manner that so many simply assume as normal. When strong enough I venture into crowds and busy gathering where I can feel lost and simply people watch or in small doses interact at limits. Moments where I do not desire sexual gratification from others but just a pleasant conversation. Where my fondest and tender moments where of me laying my head on a soft lap feeling that world can never harm me. Where a few drink of quality alcohol and a strong painkiller will numb me to the worry of where I am and who I am and actually give me small respite to simply be.

Yes, I have to drink to get there. Sadly it's not good for me nor am I able to get the same effect since my tolerance .....amazing.

And yet, I have this list of things. This hallowed and secret listing of goals and activities that I plan of doing one day as soon as I build up enough nerve and confidence that the sky will not fall, life does not need me to intervene, and the men in black will not swarm me from the shadows to take me away from the outside world permanently. Yea, I'm joking...kind of....and I'm making this funny....kind of, but my humor is powered by anger and worry and I know that if I don't make an attempt for something more I will become disattached once more and I will not care.  And once I don not care, I know my time is going to run out. So my entire motivation now is to change that behavior and make an attempt to live rather than survive.

Imagine that. A life without chaos.

To see wide open

With a head that's broken

Hang a life on a tragedy

And in doing so I've walked a dog religiously. That small act has done so much for me since it's enough demand on me while being light hearted. Animal have always offered a simple and kind view on what is and what is not. They like you or they do not. They show affection freely and make their needs simple and obvious. They do not plot and if they do it's on the level of a belly rub and another scrap from you plate. I don't fear them nor will I ever. In fact, I've passed by several along my walks only to wave at them is a manner as you would a person while diverting my gaze away from smiles and attention of people. And yet, I force myself into at least 5 minutes of small talk. I help another person out once a day minimum. I smile at someone once a day. I try to be people.

And yet.....I know deep down that I will never be people.

And yet, why not?

I've just started to crack my text book and yet I can not concentrate to even look at the book. I do not have the drive. I just sit here and somehow try to make myself.....will myself to move. To get going. To move. To get moving. If I stay still too long I'm just going to stay this way and I'm not going to do anything but sink. I need to get up. I need to move. I need my drive back I need to get up, face the fucking world one more time and shove it's stupid face back. I need to pay it back. I need to put the fear of me back into it and make it shudder the next time it can think it can pull this kind of crap on me and at this kind of time.

And slowly I start to giggle.

I told you I don't do death well.

Plow me under the ground

That covers the message

That is the seed

There was a time once where my tears flowed so easily and flowed heavy. There was a time where I realized that there was no way out. No way that I can find. The only way out was to expire and I was already on that road fast. There was a time where my heart hurt and screamed at the pain that I've endured. Some consider it my crucible moment. Others call it the moment I became the worlds biggest asshole. I see it as the moment where I cried my last. Where my face shown the cuts and bruises of another's anger and rage that I never caused and yet some how ended up inheriting it. A time where I grinned like a manic, self aware that nothing was right and yet powerless to do anything against it. Someone caught up in a loop of stupidity and suffering that only the sheltered and inexperienced can deserve. Some one with soft hands, feminine frame and a weak mind. Someone who was the butt of the joke, deserving of the mistreatment of the world, a shell of privileged brat who some how believe that from those he trusted that it was all the worlds method of correcting things.

It sucks being someone's sacrificial lamb, or scapegoat more like it. To hold their anger and fears for everything that others have wroth upon them on the scarred skin that he now carries. A gimp knee that reminds him of what a delusional view of loyalty and love can cause. What a great sense of guilt can permit. Tears flowed and a mind that begged the havens for the aid that many claimed and yet never had come. I've cried so many tears that I had no sense of shame from the constant ridicule and mockery that I somehow believed was mine by right.

And yet, in my worst moment I finally understood. It all hit me and it made me realize that even if made to suffer there is a way to taint the victory. To spoil the spoils and make others pay even when you have lost. In that moment I realize that while there is a Stockholm syndrome there is also an opposite mind set where no matter what is tossed upon you there is a way to steal that sweetness of suffering from your tormentors. If their motives is to make you suffer you deny them. You take that away. You declare it mute and you reverse it. You put the fear back into them that they finally pushed you too fucking far. And so, I started to giggle.

Get hit, giggle. Mocked, giggle. Called worthless, giggle. Spit on, giggle. Kicked around and bleeding from the mouth, giggle. You will not take another tear from me. You will not make me cry. You will not make me weep or morn or fall into sorrow. Giggling is empowering. It's the last thing that you expect to hear in the worst situation and yet I learn to giggle. Moments where I wanted to lament I used that anger and twisted it. I drove that pain inward and make it my fuel. I started to grin not to show happiness, but to show promise of  what I will return and what I will do to make things even. I would not get mad, I would put fear into people. I would scare them by not feeling anything they unleashed and yet once pushed too far, I giggle.

 After a time I pushed my body to endure pain. Pain is.....delicious after a while. Its fuel. It adds into my drive and makes me understand that things will happen soon. I will turn the tables and chase people away with their own fear. I will make them wonder if I am behind them and use their sense of fear to instill guilt. My face would be that reminder. That scar....those scars would remind me. That knee that would force me to walk with a cane at a slow pace and yet that drive to shove past anything.....everything that is dumped on me. No one believe I can push through? No one is willing to believe in and and have placed bets against me? Good. Do it. Give me that anger, hatred, and pain. Think I can't take it? I thrive on it. Survivors have a sick way of thriving on shit and strutting through hell. Survivors grin and make others smile and take photos and share their suffering in a sad attempt to feel better about their own lives and to say good thing it happened to them and not me. Other say stupid shit like, I could not live if THAT happened to me....in your face....after you lived it.

Pain is yummy.

And yet, survivors can not live. They must survive in that hell to continue as fish would to water. Peace and an enduring sense of enthalpy frightens us and makes us wait for that shit to hit the fan and lose time and life waiting for it to hit again and again and again. We don't live. We survive in the worse situations. We thrive in them. And me thriving was turning my tears into giggles. And with that I giggle. Not an acceptable behavior, but when have life ever been acceptable to me? Anything to shrug off the hell and start moving so that I can roll with the punches. Anything so that I can start moving.

But I'm not moving. I'm still. I'm staring at the clock and still. I'm letting time bleed on and I have to move. And so I start to drag my stupid as on a run. A long one with hills up and down. Something that will shock me and force me to keep moving. Something that will make my entire body hurt from the inactivity of close to a month. Something to make me feel pain. I need that pain to hurt. As much as I wanted that sense of numbing when I wanted to live I need to feel that pain.

I need to giggle.

And so, I've been giggling here and there. I've been forcing myself to move. Move or die. It's as evolutionary as I can get.

Get your worthless ass up and get moving. You have the world to deal with.

And so, I'm almost there. I'm almost there and giggling.

Just don't ask me how I'm making myself to giggle.

I'm plowed into the sound

Shower Epiphany: I don't do Death well.

I don't do death well. 

In fact, I do my best to avoid it completely. I know I'm trying to keep some amount of humor, but it's more like masqueraded anger as Stephen King once wrote. I'm not a death person. I'm not one to take in the ceremony of death outside of the Day of the Dead and that is more of a personal moment rather than a public one. I'm honestly dreading the viewing and the funeral with all my being. 

I've avoided many funerals and any time it comes to a family funeral I have to get into a brilliant fight just to plead my case on how I can not show up. I in truth have no voice. My view that I do not want to be in a crowded room is not viable. My avoidance of large crowds and my FEAR of being confined in a small space with so many people TERRIFIES me. I do not do large groups, much less LARGE GROUPS IN SMALL PLACES.  I will panic. I will pace. And I will run away until I feel whole enough to come back. That enough is plenty of a mindfuck for me. That is more than enough.

Now, add the fact that I have to sit in that crowded room SURROUNDED by others. SURROUNDED and IN ONE PLACE. SURROUNDED and IN ONE PLACE and SUPPOSED TO FOLLOW A CERTAIN EMOTIONAL and SANCTIONED BEHAVIOR OF OUTWARD SADNESS as THIS LARGE CROWD DESCENDS UPON YOU AND JUDGES YOU OF HOW SAD YOU SHOULD AND SHOULD NOT BE.

....yea. I'm not like this. I'm not like that at all.

Now add the fact that certain family members just THRIVE ON EMOTIONAL CHAOS AS IF IT WAS CANDY TO A CHRONIC, TOOTHLESS DIABETIC and now you realize that I am going into a personal hell where I either be the good son and SWALLOW all that in while SCREAMING  INSIDE or I can be a COMPLETE ASSHOLE and ASK FOR A MOMENT  ALONE as I walk outside only to be targeted by WELL MEANING AND OVERTLY KIND PEOPLE WHO DOCTRINE OF BELIEF IS TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER when in truth it's to site my emotional turmoil. 

Yea.....there is not option in not going. There is not option in that I have a viable physiological and physiological reason why I FREAK THE FUCK OUT! So no. There is no option out. 

Yes, I will be carrying a big flask. Yes, I will be on gin since I'm protesting Russian cruelty and not having vodka. And yes, I have snatched a few painkillers and will be seeking to numb the fuck out of me as people surround me and tell me how sad they are as try to incite horrible and screaming emotional pain from my family when I want to do is to have a small and isolated ceremony with select others who we knew and trust. But hey! PHOTOS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN. LOL LOL LOL! DEAR FACEBOOKS I AM BE AT FUNERAL. YOLO! LOL LOL!

......ick. Yes, I am a cold bastard. I am a stone cold talk my way in and talk my way out cold bastard. And this stone cold bastard is going to be drunk and inebriated while I sit there, hold my family and let them morn and cry to their hearts content because hey, I have to and I am needed. 

Yea, I know. I'm a horrible person. 

I don't do death well. 

Shower Epiphany: Sympathy for the Cold Bastard.

Ok....this is me taking a moment to deal with this since I'm trying.......trying.....words fail me at what I am trying to convey here on the level of how much I AM TRYING to be a different person, a new more open person because if I kept this up I would have been gone a few months ago, so try to understand I'm trying on a level of a man fighting for his life. Seriously, I want you to take the value of what I am saying here now. If you have spent any time with me this year you know I'm doing everything in my ability to change who I am because I'm at the end of what I am now.

And it's killing me.

Are you getting the fucking clue how I am trying?

I still doubt you.

That does not matter and somehow it never did. What I want to say at this moment does. So those of you trying your best to figure me out will get one. That's right, one. Call it 11/12/13. Call it losing my grandmother. Call it that I've been cornered by my 12th, yes I counted person who if showing their sympathies by touching me and still wondering what's wrong with me.

And yet it's because I'm going to respond to one statement.

"You're a cold person."

I'm not going to tell you who said it. That's not important. I'm just going to respond since normally I would just keep keeping on and keep moving. I'm going to do something not me and tell you what I'm dealing with and how it's messing with me and I'm even going to tell you what's my natural response.

Yes, I'm a cold person. I'm a very cold person. If you knew me 20 years ago or so you would find another person. I would be bawling and crying my eyes. The difference from him and me is 20 years of hard life to one lesson which I taught my children and still teach others. You can cry your eyes out. You can fall apart and just drop to the ground and scream at the heavens until you are horse and your eyes are red and painful, but you have to at one point or another have to get up and keep moving. That is the solution to moving on. The only difference here is you can do it with red, tired eyes or you can do it without them. I choose not to cry. I know this is not good. I haven't come to terms with her death yet and I don't know how.

My natural sense if to keep busy and move on. My learned behavior is to move on and start damage control and to keep moving. It has been at least my mother's 6th time crying today and I have yet to shed one tear. In the end of this week I have to go to a wake, a funeral, and speak for my family oh her behalf. I know what I am going to say in the way where words will simply be there and I will just go with a flow of a mind that never rests. It's what I do. I'm used to this more than I am used to anything else. It's life. It's my experience. It's what I'm used to simply because I was third born, but only one to survive.

I'm a survivor after all. It's what I do. And yet I know it's killing me.

And yet, even the devil gets sympathy so why not I?

When there comes a time I will finally sit down and let go of everything, but as I write this now that will not happen until January is here. I'm a distant person because regardless of choice or not I do not have to ability to break down. The moment I do everything hits a screeching halt. I have to keep things moving. I have to keep the pace and even threaten the minister holding services that I am going to beat the living shit out of him/her if they decide to make this a crying session. My family have cried enough. It's time they have peace. And to have that peace some people have to be that one person to carry that weight.

That's me. If I don't everything goes to hell. Quickly.

So, no I'm not going to join in and cry and morn and suffer. I'm going to carry my burden and everyone elses burden until I can't anymore. That is what is killing me. My whole attempt this year has been to leave what is not mine, own up to my own crazy and to somehow figure out how I continue with life at that point. I know I promised alot of you people that I would take things to my grave, but I never promised to die for your secrets.

I know some of you have tried to somehow reach me as some would. I'm sorry I have not fallen into your arms and cried my eyes out. The last time I have ever done that was almost 10 years ago and I realize it does not help. I don't ask for others to carry my weight or carry my cross. That's not going to happen. There have been women who have know me for years and they still have to have me show certain acts of trust that most have a long checklist for. Not going to happen. The last real relationship I was in she started to understand just a bit I was going through after months of trying to convince me that I should "let her in".

Sorry, but at this point I realize that letting anyone in means they are going to be leaving soon. Just how it is. So no, we are not going to have those moments like in Good Will Hunting or in the end of the Godfather. I'm not going to fall into your arms. I'm not going to share some dark secret that you think I have or that I am keeping you from knowing. I'm not going to tell you why I can't sleep at night, what scares me so much, how I almost lost my mind, or the dark creature that lives in my cellar that  I must ...feed.....time to time. Nope, not going to happen. I'm going to carry this weight and I'm going to die with it.

So no, I'm not going to let you in and "save me".

That's just beyond fucking stupid.

I will tell you what I will do.

I will have cocoa with you. I will ask you about your day. I will help you do your laundry  and if you are lucky I will show you what I can do with a black bra to make you laugh so hard that you forget that you are "trying to save me". I will have a drink with you. I will talk about your problems, figure out if they are into you, and even help you understand the difference between teasing and tempting.

If you REALLY want to make me happy you can make me laugh. You can act as is life is still normal because it's not for me. I crave normalcy and boredom. Hand me cookie or treat me to a happy moment where cookies will be there. I am looking for a happy silent moment because those are the moments that I live for. so instead of making me break down give me a moment to feel normal. Or just hang out. Go fig, no?

So no, I'm not breaking down. I'm not going to fall into anyone's arms and feel that I need someone to lean on. I am cold if this is your definition of me feeling better. I will enjoy a moment of your precious time and will cross hell and back if you can make me feel.....normal.

So that said, stop trying to make me cry, fuckers! I don't work that way! If you're luck I might share with you something if you stop making try to share.

Geesh....now if you will excuse me I'm going to drink sake until I pass out.