Existing with PTSD or how to prepare against everything that can happen to you at any point possible.

Yea.....little overwhelmed.

I mean, if I am to believe what I've been told I've been living like this all my life. It's almost as if you question fish on how they deal with water. I mean, it's what I know. It's my existence. It's the air I breathe and as close as heartbeats.

I don't know anything else.

I do not know anything else and what I can get from most people in my position they either learned to get out, they've been killed, or they've taken their own lives.

Kinda daunting, no?

It explains why I was planning my exit some years ago, my trust issues, feeling run down and losing my urge to fight. From what I've been told it explains my rash acts when younger and my meticulous actions against any risks and chance of losing anything slowly gained. It's hard thinking 7 steps ahead and it's what I do. It's hard to not calculate every contingency and worse case in my head because when shit happens I know that those few seconds matter the most.

It's living in a continual state of chaos. It's knowing that the few moments I can close my eyes and ......stop......will cost me something and are too far apart. It's why I stick to the shadows, work without having people notice, and leave before thanks are given. I take weeks to recover for moments of great charisma and social grace. I fight moments where I'm force to stand out and rather turn away anyone who blatantly seek me out for their own good rather than my own awkwardness.

I honestly do not know anything else. T.S Eliot called me, and others like me, The Hollow Men. I see myself more as Christophe from The Serpent and the Rainbow, constantly holding watch for those who are buried alive and forgotten. Connected by those with haunted looks paid by prices too costly and annoyed by privileged kinder who have no idea of horror.

This is my element. Like it or not, this is where I was conceived in the abyss of chaos. This is all I know, even if it reduces my life. I'm not like you all and my farce to mimic you have left me questioning what side of the abyss I belong on and why I must pretend to be one of you. My greatest achievement has been limiting my insanity from you all, even though it does spill out. And now, I'm supposed to look at all this and believe that I can exist out side. I can be....one of you. I can be....people.

I don't know. I don't believe. It's as if you told me I didn't need to breathe to exist. I don't know if I can do this.

And tomorrow, I go and see if it's possible of simply something to stagger off to before I can place my marker on one of the three categories previously mentioned.

I have not hope, really. I do not know the definition. All I have is a stubborn streak and a desire to die right. SO I'll stagger in a direction as I always have and see how I will end.

This is horror to you. This is life to me.

It's why we are never meant to live. Survive, yes. Live? No.

So....yea.....that.

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom

Remember us-if at all-not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

T.S. Eliot~The Hollow Men

Shower Epiphany: I am a creature of doubt.

There are moments in which for many a heart beat may pass and a quick shuttered eye closing off to the world if only a moment where I doubt myself in any and every way and method possible. I question motives, actions, desires, ramification and multiple chain reactions that most would not dare to utter. I self analyze and expose all, including myself in a quick rational calculative biopsy that often leave me silent for those moments that hang heavy. How a thought in the wrong chain, an uncorrectable action, a misplaced breath can the razor's edge between greatness and utter misery.

I am hard on myself since I know no one can ever be so on me. I am my worst critic, my greatest opposition, my loudest detractor. I search for pin holed weaknesses that can be used to ridicule, disarm and render my action mute. I repeat thoughts in different magnifications in order to know unintended innuendos, blasphemies and taboos are cross out of calculated risk rather than haughty blindness. I review minutes lost to time and rebuild the wreckage of failed attempts, Freudian slips, and bovine compliments. I throw myself against thought and wit as athletes would ram themselves against oppressive opposition and angst antagonistic antimatter.

My greatest fear is not having language and meaningful vernacular leave me speechless and impotent in the only method I am able to convey intent, attraction and passion which other well catered phenotypes are able to simply strike opulent poses to declare beauty and magnificence. I have to become dependent on a silver tongue of a cunning linguist, golden flash of nimble fingers and a sharpened mind to compensate my lack of physical woo.

My greatest fear is arriving at convincing and gaining the open trust of anyone willing to entertain and indulge my barker like spell that in the wrong hands would exchange ownership for fraudulent stock in fallen fortune 500's, bridges, and moments where a quick and nimble tongue, much like a brown fox, would bound over lazy dogs of thought. At best, my voice may rally Henry's Chrispin soldiers, inspire the museless and woo those who value a well placed word and promise.

My greatest fear is believing in my own ability.

Then....and only then will what magic I can conjure with picture's worth of effort be diminished and any edge will become dull and harmless.

No.....I must not trust my ability in order to continue to hone and sharpen it.

It's the only way enchantment may exist in my analytical existence.

Some moment I rue the day I learned was not physically appealing. Other days I mock fully morn those who are.

Look what the me dragged in.....

Yea......I'm back.

So sorry.

So much to share.

Promise to be blunt and graphic....so forgive me?

Shower Epiphany: We are all going to die. Sorry, spoilers

Shower Epiphany: We are all going to die. Sorry, spoilers.

You might want to get something to drink or whatnot. This one is going to be long.

There comes a time where we are forced to really take in our mortality. If it's me, that's at least once a week. More if I don't have adult supervision. I contemplate things that I do not have the answer for not because I find comfort or that I get some sort of moral understanding on how the Universe/Gia/god/Karma is supposed to be. In fact, I would have to say I'm a little bummed about it not because I have to leave, but because my experience here is going to be limited.

Life is the greatest theme park in the world.

Let that sink in.

It's the greatest place in the world where everything is always getting better as well as always breaking down. I'm a child of Entropy (how I miss my real name, fuck you FACEBOOK) so I understand how things change, fall apart, become ordered and then fall apart once more. I get it. And yet, this most amazing theme park we are not allowed to get on all the rides even if we were given fast passes at dawn and dragged away kicking and screaming at closing time. Old events will go away and new ones will take their place. The rides will get better until we get so old we have to sit on benches and watch smaller versions of our genome run and scream without us. We sit there until we have to go for what ever reason.  It's not fair. We leave too early. Some times we choose to leave when we do not find what we want or are taken away by forces we can not control (me at Knott's when I ate that candy apple at 9 years old).

But that's how it is. We don't get all the experiences either. There are moments that are frightening for some and enjoyable for others. Some have more monetary worth than others and have bistro meals while we share the churro. It happens. All of this can suck and dampen your joy.

Or you can not let it.

I see life this way. I would have to say that I lived a good amount so far and seen thing that most will never and won't see. I won't see and witness things either. They can be horrifying like the taking of life or beautiful such as cresting the galaxy on a space ship into a new world. So, yea. I'm bummed. As of now I will tell you what I know:

I will not get the full value of my E ticket. Just because race, gender, sexuality, class, fear in others and physics do not permit me to. Sucks, but hey, I guess I just have to share stories with others....ever wonder why I know so many? Got to make them all.

All the cool stuff I want to do will be limited to me due to time, ability, wealth and mind frame. Unless I get the right mind frame then all that other shit can fuck itself.

I'm only as old as I allow myself to be. I call it my Batman theory. Batman is an old fucker and I'm getting there if the fairies allow me......fucking killer fairies....so as long as I build my body I can enjoy it all. I will learn to parkour, play guitar like a god, sculpt my form as I see fit and avoid the wheel chair for as long as possible and if not I'm converting that bitch into a rot rod because fuck you.

No, I'm not all me and chances are I'll never get to be. I'm broken. So the fuck what. I like me and my broken ass is going to have some fun!

I was never allowed to do many things. Then again I never asked for permission, advice, pardon, excuse, or blessings. Watch me or get the fuck out of my way.

Fuck Orangutans. They know what they did! If I hit 50 I'm going to punch the fuck out of one. I figure I'll give it a handicap and not punch one out now......fucking orange shitballs....

Everyone else is having more sex than me. Since I started early I can say that we're going to be even in the end unless I start up on that again. Then, sorry. I gave you 6 years to catch up, you unmotivated bastards.

I almost felt bad for doing what I do best. I almost fell for it, but hell I do it so well and I've seen the new generation. They can't EVEN reach where I dropped the bar much less where I'm going to place it. Sorry, Freddie taught me well. You place that bitch high so that even the Greats of Today have to look up and realize they pale in any greatness of before. Sorry, that's just how it is. Heed the call or be someone's bitch.

The greatest wisdom was given to me by my French Fry girl as a huge wave slammed her silly ass into the beach without any time to brace or run. She looked up and screamed, "I DIE COOL" as it hit her as if she was declaring to the world she was going to be Queen of the Pirates. That ingrained in me. Don't worry, just die cool.

I look good in scars. I just do. Hell, they just look damn good on me. I would say they look good in me too!

I don't see myself besides anything but Brujah. I read like I drink and I fight like I woo; With no fucking restraint. I don't think I'm going to change much in the next decades or so, so yea. That's my lot. Just have to keep doing what I do unless I become someone's bitch and we already know that is not going to happen. Some of you are just going to bitchless. Nice try, but no.
I realize something. I came in on my own. I grew up on my own. I did things on my own. I go away on my own. I'm probably going the same way, so.....yea......I'm fine with that. As much as I love you guys, I probably won't tell you when or where if I have a choice and in the end it will most likely be my choice. I will just go away and that is that. My death. My way. 

On how you should grieve, I still recommended my way. Huge gathering, music, booze, food, booze, gorgeous women.....who will bring booze and maybe some gorgeous guys too. (Just note, if you bring me booze you are gorgeous just by association to booze. That's how it works so no more getting me drunk and handsy) Celebrate my death as you would my life and you would any great celebration until you forget why you are celebrating and keep celebrating. Oh, but sober up to get to the waiting taxis outside. You have to do that much. And no pukies! Have some fucking restraint even if I never needed it!

You....you could be mean. And I... I drink all the time. Cause we're lovers and that is a fact. We're lovers and that is that. (I wanted to share with you the most awesome Bowie lyric ever. Your welcome)

Lastly, Peace and Love.

That's it.

Go be inspired as fuck and move onwards!

Me?

Gonna figure out how to mine for parkour and how I can be King of the Pirates. It's my world.

You just live in it.

Torn Down

I feel a little overexposed today. Almost as if the walls I built up decades ago have been ripped down leaving me exposed. And yet, I am not too worried. I know I'm going to have to put them up in time and I'm seriously questioning why and how safe I have to feel to go outside and deal with the world and yet I know two things for certain. One, I feel lighter. Almost worry free as if I can actually walk out and not have to be three to four steps ahead anymore. Maybe just two. And two, I came back home late, ate a bit and passed out into dreamless sleep. Sleep that I rarely have and mostly cherish.

The only drawback is that for once in my life I think I want to be near people. I think I want to be close. I think I want to be touched. And I think I want to be held. Not a desire, but more of a need such as eating to eat instead of for pleasure. This is how I feel and in truth it frightens me and it is making me feel I need others around me, something that I don't subscribe to for numerous reasons of my own.

So I'm staying in today. I'm going to reflect and grok this new feeling of vulnerability just for a small while until I can deal with it functionally or until heavy shit comes my way and forces me to go back to survival mode and go back on damage control.

And I think that's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid that I will be people again and never have to be defensive. Or worse off, I'm actually terrified that I'm going to have to build it back up and stronger to continue to exist in this harsh world. Mind you, I'm not depressed, this is just "the cost we have chosen to pay to see tomorrow". "Secret wars" are over, but their scars run deep.

So.......yea.

Peace and love to you.

.....love you all.

Shower Epiphany: Angry, but not hateful.

I come to realize that I'm always going to be angry, but I come to realize that I lost any hatred. My anger is a response to everything I've lived and is a great filter to what is right and what is wrong. It's always at a low simmer ready to spike, but it's not self destructive anymore. I lost that hatred. I lost that rage that made me not care, made me willing to sacrifice anything and everything to get through, and willing to take so much .....damage....

So now, I realize I lost alot. I'm what Conrad had called a "paper mache Mephistopheles" and not of my making. I've come to realize that it's probably the hardest thing for me to be vulnerable since many of you say I'm somewhat killing myself trying to always be on guard. I know I'm lacking alot of....humanity....simply because its where they hit you. It's where they attack and twist the knife. A reaction of survival that I've come to realize that I paid too much than a half pound of flesh close to the the heart.

And yet, the hatred is gone. I've come to realize that walking a small dog in the summer heat wondering if her feet are getting burned so I remove my sandals. I pick her up and go back home when she wants to convey that she want to go back to an air conditioned place rather than being in close 90 degree heat. And yet, there is a tenderness that was lost when I was separated from my children. A glitch that makes me question to show a tender side openly, without fear of being attacked for it.

In time I can be whole or whole enough. Enough not to feel that I stand out. Soon.

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.