Here’s a crack of lightening.

19 Aug

Yesterday I spent most of the day trying to sort through my feelings. I could not be sure what I was feeling. I felt a lack of energy that was almost immovable. I found that once I sat and stopped trying to avoid feeling, that I was able to detect what it was. I was really angry. I am in a safe and healthy environment now, and looking at the environment I have physically had to occupy for the last four years is like looking at the opposite.

Dilapidated house with a yard that is slowly enveloping the structure itself, filled with insects and mold, be gone.

When I sat with my feelings yesterday, I pulled out a pencil and wrote in a paper journal, which is something that I have not done in some time. I let out the bile that I have held back. There’s more, but let’s start slowly.

Upon leaving, I felt oddly similar to how I felt after the maelstrom last year. I felt like I am recovering from being violated again.

Your complacency is damaging. I hope all the people you DO find the time for understand the gift you bring: your fickle attention and doddering self loathing, the nervous grin hiding the general ineptitude for LIFE. Making clams with nothing to support you but your own magical thoughts. Sign yourself away, you noble and damaged woman.

Feigned nobility is a feeble attempt at hiding your nature.

I take offense that you consider yourself a philanthropist. Philanthropist heal thyself-seething with hate behind frumpy dated clothes.

Bitter women that don’t smile belong in their stale hate filled worlds behind desks or with rulers ready. Thwarting kindness and self esteem like the pinched wrinkled faces of women praying incessantly in pews (no doubt for the demise of their enemies and neighbors).

I felt small. Abandoned. Worthless. Smited. Forgotten. Unloved. Burdensome. Guilty. Angry. Confused.


I felt as though your lack of responsibility inadvertently made me your enemy,


I didn’t do anything to deserve the way you treated my family and me. Maybe when you stopped you needing me you stopped caring. Does that make you an opportunist? Perhaps the worst kind, the kind that doesn’t own it and tells herself and the rest of the world the opposite. Perhaps then an opportunist and a hypocrite to yourself.

You have no enemy in me. I have no feeling for you. Neither enemy nor friend are you. The rare opportunity to meet a facet of me many do not lies in your hands. The diamond like facet that shines and blinds one’s eyes, freezes the skin. The cold, smooth gaze that looks through you, and recognizes more than you would like.

Enjoy the view.

Don’t Fence Me In!

31 Jul

There was an incident in my back yard 2 days ago. My neighbor was spraying weeds with weed killer and came into my yard to spray the fence that divides our yards. However, beforehand, my neighbor was in my back yard with a hatchet and chopped down a small dead tree that was butting the fence. I understand that he is maintaining the fence that he built between the properties. He is very meticulous with his yard and it shows. It is very well maintained.

In the time that he is performing his landscaping duties, I am sitting on my bed in pajamas. I see someone with a hatchet in my yard. I don’t recognize him because he is a bit heavier than he used to be, and he has shaved his beard. In my mind, there is a stranger with a weapon in my yard, dangerously close to my house. I was on the phone with my husband at the time I spotted the back yard marauder, and informed him of what was happening. I ended the call so I could “deal” with the situation.

I didn’t want to call the police because I felt that would be ineffective. I also felt a great deal of anxiety over the idea of answering and re-answering a shitload of questions asked by law enforcement that may or may not be relevant (in my opinion). I had a moment of confusion and then I felt my mind switch into conflict mode. I instantly think of a way to defend myself, and that I have to confront this threat. I thought about weapons to arm myself with and I chose a bow staff. Its basically a wooden mop handle, but I did a small amount of training with it about a year ago for self defense.

I grabbed the stick and went outside in my ill fitting shorts and t shirt and sneaked around the house to where he was. He didn’t hear me. I know this because when I spoke to him he was startled. I had the stick in a position so I could strike his head and asked him, “Excuse me sir, can you tell me what you are doing in my yard?” He had a jug of pesticide and a sprayer in his hand now, as opposed to the hatchet he wielded a few minutes before. He replied by telling me he was spraying the fence so the weeds would not be seen on his side. I asked him his name and he told me, and I realized it was my neighbor’s name. I still had the stick in position. I asked him why I didn’t recognize him if he was my neighbor. He told me he shaved his beard. I stared for a moment, then realized it was him, so I lowered the stick and said, “do whatever you want to the yard.” I apologized, and went inside.

I called my husband to inform him of what had happened, and he was quite relieved. We were both disturbed by the fact that the neighbor just walked into our yard without so much as an inquiry as to whether or not that was acceptable. If I were the sort to believe in owning a firearm, I would have taken it outside with me when I confronted him. That could have been disastrous. As it stands I had a stick pointed at his head and was ready to strike him. Not too cool, neighbor guy. He was violating the law by trespassing. And, he trespassed onto my property with what could be conceived as a weapon.

So here’s the skinny: I am left feeling like a violent person because I aimed a fucking stick at a guy’s head and was ready to hit him. I am not a violent person, but I have PTSD. I then think, why do I have that?  When I recall why I am angry. I have PTSD because I was tortured and raped by those who were also my caregivers and individuals that are supposed to be intrinsically trusted. It is not my fault. It is also not my fault that my neighbor has serious OCD about his lawn and boundary issues. Nevertheless, I must be blunt, I don’t give s shit.

The fact of the matter is I have PTSD and it is kicking my ass right now. Fuck the caregivers, fuck the neighbor, and fuck the idea that fences make better neighbors. The thing I am dealing with right now is increased social anxiety, free floating aggression, and an increased sense of vulnerabilty which equates to almost panic to me. The circumstances change but the outcome is similar each time. Nightmares, anxiety, hypervigilance, increased use of stimulants and sedatives, fear. That, my friend, is why I don’t give a shit about why I am triggered or what triggered me. The salient matter is the outcome. I don’t want it and I’m angry that it happened. I’m angry that I have PTSD.

It can turn a shadow into a monster. A sighting in the peripheral vision makes your heart stop, palms sweat, and instantly engage in planning escape or self defense. Yeah, my neighbor acted like a dick. I acted like fucking Jason Bourne. I am sick of being a prisoner to this way of thinking. I didn’t choose it, but I sure as hell “unselect” it now. I don’t know if that matters, though. It is programming that I am changing but it takes time. I don’t want it to take anymore of my time; I feel as if it has taken enough. I’m impatient. I want to feel okay and I don’t.

It fades after some time. Maybe a week, maybe just a few days. I’ve had nightmares the last two nights that have been disturbing. Hopefully now that I have identified what exactly is happening and how damn irritating it is, it will start to lessen. It has to.

Thanks for taking the time to read the words of a random human on this planet. Lots of love.



Cinema Inferno

21 Jul

Should I start this post with an apology for my absenteeism? I am sorry for the lapse, but life has done one of those things it is notorious for…knocking you on your ass. That is really only thing I can say is the reason for not posting. I have wanted to many times, but I didn’t have the energy. I also asked myself, “what are you going to say? More of the obvious? That I have a perspective different than most because of events during my development?” That gets old.

I am writing today to express some things because I need to, and writing is the “go to” for me. Fuck books and shit, I really write just because I have to. Why the hell would I have a blog for 2 years otherwise? But back to today’s need for expression. Today is the birthday of my mother.


I know you worked with what you could, darlin’

But I can’t find any respect for your avoidance. I know you had to do what you had to do…

And I know I did not inherit my courage from you.

Know I feel free of guilt

Not that it would soothe you

But that is not my intention.

I came to throw salt

on your winter walkways and wailing wounds,

To declare “FIN”

on this documentary of the damned.

Roll credits…of which you get none.



What It’s Like To Starve Yourself

15 Jul Featured Image -- 1263

Originally posted on Thought Catalog:

Starving yourself is a lot easier than you might think. You start out with an itch, but one that comes from the inside, a feeling that fingers can’t reach. That feeling turns to pain, but not the pangs you’ve been promised. It’s a more hollow pain, like that ringing after you hit your head on something, the moment where everything hurts but is strangely clear at the same time.

After awhile, though, you just get tired. You find yourself wanting to go to sleep, even though it’s only 6:00 P.M., and you wonder why you feel this way. You had a full night’s sleep last night — actually, you overslept. You overslept the night before, too. In fact, you’ve been sleeping a lot lately. You stop to consider this fact and then you realize can’t remember the last time you ate. You know that you had to eat at some…

View original 740 more words

I don’t know what to call this but its pretty angry.

3 Jun

There are a few

that have it coming

But cowardice keeps them safe

along with 6 feet of dirt




Limb from limb you feel the adrenaline piercing through your veins

and the sound of a footstep, the flash of a shadow

keeps you poised

Keeps the poison flowing


What do you do with the warrior

when there is no war

you who created this “lonely dragon;”

Now you cower at its presence

isnt it fine when it serves you?

you unleash the beast

watch it decimate for you

what do you do when it bites YOU?

Seers you with its flaming breath?

Cry in pain and scatter, lukewarm fodder.


The inquiry goes directly to he who had my name

you stood blameless surrounded by disease

incurring my pity and escaping my gaze

what were you to do with your creation?

To deny your role is simply not conceivable

so what would you have me do?

Wander long into the darkness of the night and of the soul

Hating and scalding

While you absolve yourself, washing your blood soaked hands?

Nice try Lady Macbeth, but this one isn’t washing away.

You taught me fear and hate.

I renounce you and these values of suffering.

I will not hate you, nor will I fear you.

But the mention of your name across my lips

Is as sweet as kerosene,

and as easily ignited.


You have no war to blame

Just the one within you

That you lost with flying colors.

Cowardice, thy name is James.

You who “spared” me,

out of fear? out of a sudden allegiance to morality?

Not spared but pardoned

out of fear and not love



Find your answers elsewhere

Be glad I have turned away the gaze

and spared YOU.


In the Kingdom of the Blind, the One Eyed are Queens.

22 May

There are certain words in my lexicon

I refrain from using

because I can still hear them

being uttered from your mouth.


All those books I remember seeing

Box after box

Amazed at how you amassed such knowledge.

I wanted to be a sponge

to absorb any of the drippings

of your gilded, latent wisdom.


Squeezing myself into a smaller container

As not to take up any more room

in the carefully packed and structured life,

You constructed around yourself as a fortress.


I kept my lethal tongue silent

And turned away the razors in my eyes

To permit myself to be proselytized.

You squandered your Doubting Thomas.


I was right behind you, swathed in allegiance;

You didn’t turn around.

You didn’t hear my voice above the maddening crowd.


The grip that once held was built

on a beautiful sunny day,

at the beach.

We constructed out of sand

a bridge and a castle,

complete with a moat and a damsel in distress.


Even an evil queen eating an apple.


Shine on, you crazy diamond.

13 May

We are all diamonds with so many facets. It can be confusing to remember all the facets a person has. Easily they fade when out of our line of sight. I have looked closely at a few specific diamonds lately. How they shimmer and don’t even realize it. Just by being, just by trying, they are worthy. They were always diamonds. They just kept looking at themselves in cracked mirrors and started to  believe what they saw. Still underneath the silt of all shame and guilt there are diamonds.

What fresh hell is this that leads you to understanding enough to understand no one is to blame? That it just is and we just are. All perfect in our fractured fractal gem like state watching the sun rise and set hoping we see another day. The tears that fall must fall and nothing is truly in vain ever. Even our our vanity has a purpose; to be vain. Thinking nothing is useless is so painful. Because it means it is all necessary somehow.


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