Our Best.

positive-thoughts

Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

Henry David Thoreau

I once heard a person announce in sheer stupidity,

how “if we put forth our best there’s no regretting anything”,

I recall how I longed to kick out all of his front teeth,

and wipe that fucking smile away from my periphery;

Guess what? Out beyond the picket fences of oblivion,

there’s a broken home to the overthrown and forsaken,

those of us who gave our best and can never rest again,

full of regret over what their’ “best” took away from them;

it’s clear how blindly deceived those who like to believe,

in the law of attraction and satisfaction of positive energies,

and don’t consider how I have tested these very hypotheses,

but these theories can’t hold up to Life’s painful realities;

the next time somebody dares to tell me to “think positive”,

I will show them just how much of my best I got left to give,

I’m so full of resentment over all things impossible to forgive,

under the enchantments of my own “best” spell of negative.

Bus Misser.

clown-paint

I must’ve missed the bus for the class someone gave,

that instructed all of us how to communicate,

because no matter who,

it is I’m talking to,

no matter what I say or do,

there’s no soul in the stuff other people convey;

I seem to be stuck in the same Gods damned place,

a blood feud with Luck and a hit out on Fate,

epoxy stuck on my shoe sole,

paradoxy of the spiteful,

            a Hellish Life in a carnival,

            and I’ve smiled through a face of clown paint.

 

Vexations.

warning-brain-explosion-zone

Looking back on certain things
So trivial as they were happening
I am perplexed by my own memory
Highly vexed about history’s finality
I seem to notice traits in personality
Things I hate about the harshest reality
It’s no surprise that my own eyes surprisingly
Fail to adjust to a light flooded scene.

Yawn.

explodinghead2

The morning came and went today
Without a pleasant thing to feel or say
Right off the initial cuff
I’m annoyed by tons of stuff
I just can’t seem to get a break
The perception I have of everything
Has no sparkly surfaces, shimmering
Each task I take on
Only acts like a bomb
Exploding even the simplest of things
Frustration gets the better of me
Until I get sick of my own mentality
Can’t flush from my veins
Onrush of my own disdain
Flooding into and through my arteries

Solo.

isolation_by_vpotemkin-d4yopfq

What is it that I am always doing so wrong?

Examples aplenty on a list far too long,

the Gods were at odds on the day I was born,

there’s no rhythm at all to such a raw theme song;

Who it is that I am always trying so hard to be?

Far too many deficits to cover up cosmetically,

existence has become a painful part of reality,

while persistence has cursed and forsaken me;

Where was I expecting to eventually find myself?

Lost inside of a pressurized ideal of someone else,

a multi-faceted turnstile to open the gates of Hell,

a revolving mirrored door that doesn’t work too well;

What is it that I am always trying to prove?

A stranger to the things that the normal people do,

anger and resentment, with deep abandonment issues,

keenly aware of the fact that I epitomize The Recluse.

Ticking Defeat.

dear-self1

I feel too afraid to make inquiry,

To reach out beyond the surface of things,

I feel as if I’m pondering constantly,

the choice you made to strike and sting,

the voice you’ve quieted again so silently,

because of the long denied inability,

to exist in the realm of true honesty,

and survive in your own skin comfortably;

I feel too afraid to accept what I see,

as if my acceptance would mean a damn thing,

the days keep coming in a form of mockery,

the sun still rises and sets ever-carelessly,

a reminder hanging perpetually over me,

that Life doesn’t end with the end of a family;

Hell, it’s just the first round of the same beginning,

curtains drawn up to expose the stupidity,

certain to show all with a keen familiarity,

of the very worst parts built into my being,

I feel too afraid to walk the crime scene,

my feet sticking to the bloody memories,

heart ticking so loudly it sounds like defeat,

kicking and screaming and ever-questioning.

A Strongly Opposing Inability.

mommie-dearest-title

It’s true:

I am a precariously teetering creature; fragile, on the edge between the ability to cope and survive, and a strongly opposing inability.

_

 

I’m good at allowing people to assume that I am “normal”;

I don’t know how to reach out to others for comfort or support;

I was born anti-social, and Life’s experiences have only hammered this trait irretrievably deep into my being, in turn;

I am honestly not sure how long anyone can make it in Life behind a facade before finally just coming undone;

I have realized that I am running on empty – and have been for some time now – and am puzzled in stomach-wrenching way by the fact that I haven’t sputtered and died out yet.

_

 

Here I was all this time, thinking I had things pretty much in order; in terms of the emotional handling of recent and life-altering circumstances and the associated outcomes, at least. My seasoned readers know about the struggle with my kid, how it’s been so long-standing and draining yadda yadda yadda. To the point where it is all just so incredibly bad and dark and regrettable that I have detached myself totally from it all out of sheer necessity. Do not get me wrong, it has been HELL; but it has been something that I have been “dealing with”, even if that means detaching myself (from a situation that I hold zero control over anyway). I have also written lots about my mother; about the lifelong boxing match (I mean this emotionally, more than physically, but she is a psychopath who likes to scrap, too) between us. I have also described the unfolding ugliness surrounding the relationships between my kid and my parents these days, as my daughter has pretty much taken over control of their household and rules with thievery, destruction and chaos; I have written about my need to break away from the never-ending toxicity and generalized unease that is naturally and unfailingly attached to any dealings with any of them.

I haven’t been in contact with my daughter at all; which has been surprisingly easier this time than ever before because she disgusts and shames me on a whole new level. I have been trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with my mother throughout, however, which I have already admitted here as being a stupid idea, and one that is counterproductive to my emotional status. I love my mother, in spite of myself; and genuinely long for closeness with her – the one that she has dangled in periphery all my Life. I am willing to bend for her; I am open to trying, but she is just so seemingly set permanently in her unhealthy and dishonest ways that it has begun to feel futile. I have straight out told my mother that I desire “no-contact” with my kid; and she always puts on this song and dance about how she totally gets it and is proud of me for being able to take care of myself, to put my foot down, etcetera. She plays as if she is totally in my corner to my face every single time, without fail; but is totally being a Fatmouth.

She sings a different song to other people; many have said this to me over the course of the living nightmare with my kid for the last ten years or so. She thinks my own brother (who does not sit there and let her badmouth me without defending me in outright defiance, for the record) won’t be so angry that he won’t tell me about it afterward, which is just mind boggling to me. In such instances, there are typically other family members present to witness what will ultimately become argument between them; my mother doesn’t even consider that any of those people might foster any relationship with me strong enough to warrant a bite to her tongue, either. She vows secrecy over touchy issues and then turns around and tells the very secret thing to the very person who wasn’t meant to be told. When confronted by the secret teller, she plays the ol’ “oh, I wasn’t supposed to tell them….? I didn’t realize you didn’t want me to tell them…” o convincingly that the only options you’re left with is to bludgeon her to death with clawhammer or just suck it up and move on. I realize more and more daily how toxic she is, even when she isn’t trying to be. She is toxic to me, at least. And, the reason behind her seemingly “exceptional” relationship with my kid is suddenly blatantly clear to me as well:

Of course they share a closeness that neither one has with me…they are so similar and alike in personality and behavior that it could be no other way!!!

 

I know what I need to do, like…for real; doing it will be the part worth mentioning in the future.