Frækhed.

You wanna sit there bathed in such audacity,

you wanna slap my face and kick out my teeth,

you wear some shitty robe and sit in judgement of me,

you carry a badge and a gun but you’re still a bully,

you stare down your nose like you hold some superiority,

you live on the side of the tracks opposite from me,

you wanna come up on me any way you can conceive,

you wanna tell lies and spread rumors around viciously,

you need to feel good about yourself to fall asleep,

you’ll sell-out someone else if it gets you what you need,

you walk around like you think your dirty shit can’t stink,

you weigh 80 pounds with a mouth twice as big as me,

you believe in things that seem to lead to being human sheep,

you flock together with blinders on, unwilling to truly think,

you don’t know the meaning of getting back up on your feet,

you don’t know the feeling of swallowing another defeat,

you wanna sit there smiling stupidly,

you wanna laugh at my misery,

you wanna push me until red’s all I see,

you wanna make a statistic of me.

 

Dig In.

When I have to be,

one of the community,

it exhausts me,

uphill hiking,

non-comprehending,

distrusting,

not even vaguely,

a foreign dialect,

to my hearing;

I just want to scream,

“can we end this meeting?”

so that I can fly solo,

and avoid the battering;

I’m just,

no damned good,

at this group therapy,

sharing of my feelings…

no disrespect,

but I’m gluttonous,

for the punishment,

of these comfortable,

and familiar things.

DUH, Bambi…

How bad of a thing is it that the most therapeutic thing I can think of whenever I am in the company of my “therapist” is head-butting him until he’s totally unconscious?…like, unconscious for a long time?
I mean, I guess I know by now that he’s NOT necessarily holding a recording device behind his back with every greeting (my own paranoia), or staging a bust with the local psychiatric ward upon my arrival to his office (my own paranoia), or that he is going to “dump me” out of nowhere (my own abandonment issues), or that he is going to force me to sign a contract that holds me liable to see him every other day (my own commitment issues), or that his tiny, too-high-off-the-ground office is eventually gonna swallow me whole (my own agoraphobia and anxiety in enclosed spaces, especially with men). Lastly, I know by now that he poses no physical threat to me whatsoever, but it’s been eight years off and on with him already.
None of these things seem to be able to keep me from wanting to take a chunk out his face with my teeth upon him pointing something that should’ve been plainly obvious to me, in retrospect…I hate when he does that!
Any of my readers know about my longstanding Mommy issues, well – you know as much about them as I do, I should say…my Mom has been acting passive-aggressive again lately to me, and it hurts me when she does that, even still, somehow. Despite all I’ve learned and admitted and accepted – she still has the keen ability to just trample my heart in a very unique manner.
This morning, “Dr. Cluckenquack” said to me in a disgusted tone, “Why do you even allow her close enough to you to hurt you this way?”, as if he were asking me why I hadn’t worn rain boots to his office today (in the rain). I wanted to chop him in his throat right then and there for stating the apparent reality of the circumstance so plainly like that, but didn’t even respond in a snotty way when I stated: “She is my mother, she gave birth to me…she’s my Mom…”
I was spacing out already from the session’s emotionally painful content, so I don’t know why I was so passive in the moment but maybe that’s why…because when I got to work afterwards, I was fuming and super pissed for at least a good hour…wtf??? Therapy???

Psychopathic Bringers of Justice and Peace – Part 1

Hr. Hyde of A League of Extraordinary Gentlmen

Hr. Hyde of A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen


 

Today’s morning post has been inspired by – yet, another sleepless night for Yours Truly.

As I was tossing and turning for hours on end, in a bed that I spent way too much cash in vain on (in hopes of it curing my insomnia-esque night time routine), I was thinking about Edward Norton Junior. Okay, well about his character in Fight Club: the narcoleptic corporate IKEA geek with a dastardly alter-ego that pirates control of his sanity for a time. Then I was thinking about Jim Carey’s character “Hank” from the movie Me, Myself and Irene. (In my defense, Hank is actually not a character I like – nor was Tyler Durden; it’s the innocents attached to these fuckers who I find myself relating with time and again…)

BLAM! It hit me in like a soap-sock to the back of the head; and it only tail spun my thoughts from there…

Floki of Vikings

Floki of Vikings

Many of my most endeared and beloved ‘Heroes’, in real life and in the movies, are actually characters defined/depicted as villains, murderous warmongers, savages, psychopaths, head-cases and many other types of negative typecasts. They are ALWAYS the underdog; they are ALWAYS broken and damaged and unable to communicate properly. BUT they are also each individually AWARE of the shit that’s changing them and warping their’ existences.

Daryl Dixon of The Walking Dead

Daryl Dixon of The Walking Dead


 

Let’s review some perfect examples of my heroes:

 

"Pawn Shop" of Man from Nowhere

Cha Tae sik AKA “Pawn Shop” of Man from Nowhere

 


My BELOVED Lucian the Lycan of Underworld

My BELOVED Lucian the Lycan of Underworld


Ed Norton's Character of Fight Club

Ed Norton’s Character of Fight Club


Lisbeth Salander of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Lisbeth Salander of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo


Michael Corvin of Underworld

Michael Corvin of Underworld


Wolverine of X-Men

Wolverine of X-Men


William Wallace of BraveHeart

William Wallace of BraveHeart


Selene of Underworld

Selene of Underworld


Charlie of Me, Myself & Irene

Charlie of Me, Myself & Irene


"The Shrike" of The Hyperion Cantos

“The Shrike” of The Hyperion Cantos

The Cut-Throat Club

cut throat badge

The (All-New) Cut-Throat Club Award

This is a brand new award created by me, given away by me and, hopefully passed along to other bloggers who belong to this club.

This is an award for the SURVIVOR of life and living.

This is in celebration of someone who is currently surviving a traumatic experience and pushing on, renewing an almost lost existence among us.

This award is intended to be given in recognition of the struggle that is all-too-often silently involved in making that survival a continuing reality.

This is an award meant to acknowledge those of us here who have displayed the ability, desire and strength to get back up and fight, despite the anticipation of the worst possible outcome and effect.

Survivors appear at all ages and in all forms and descriptions – you do not have to be the literal survivor of a sliced throat, such as Yours Truly… you just have to foster the essence of a surviving human being up against tough odds.

I would like to acknowledge more cut-throat members publicly and am soon adding a page to my blog strictly for our stories; I believe it is a piece of our survival to connect and heal. I strongly encourage the support of my readers in this award and its distribution around WordPress and abroad.

Food for thought:

Being a survivor of traumatic or violent injury isn’t a happily-ended “wrap”; in fact, the survived incident is the easy part of becoming a true survivor. The aftermath of physically surviving is the harrowing and daunting part of the survivor’s status. Nothing is as it was prior to becoming a “survivor” in a former life that seems obscure and often wastefully spent. The regular trials and tribulations of everyday life are still there, born anew each day for each of us – everyone, even those who aren’t cut-throats – and these trivial elements of living can weigh heavily atop a pyramid of questionable concepts to the cut-throat mind. As most of you know, I am a survivor myself, one who tastes gratefulness with each inhaled breath of oxygen that I get since my own survived, very near-fatal assault, sometimes I have days when surviving feels like it was a mistake on my part, even now. It’s impossible to convey with clarity – the way I sometimes find myself resentful for having been made into a Freak of Nature for two years out of my survivor life, unrecognizable to family and friends and the reflection in the mirror, the way I used to just lie there and wish with all my might that the morning just wouldn’t come once the meds TKO’d me. There were times that my appearance literally instilled the fear of God in children at a convenience store or the gas station, and I would be overcome with some strange form of jealousy of them, because they had a mommy to run and hide behind to block out my maimed face from view. How could they have known my gig though? That I had once been Homecoming Princess AND Queen consecutively; they couldn’t be aware of the fact that I used to have “the most infectious smile humanly possible!” according to a news anchor who interviewed the non-maimed childhood Me on the local news. Back then during the reconstruction phase of my cut-throat membership, there were honestly more days than not that I spent wishing for death, wishing to be done with this torturous aftermath of surviving the injury of having my throat violently sliced open…wishing NOT to survive after all.

It is because of these reasons, that this “award” and its acknowledgements are so meaningful to me; because I am fully aware of the anchor to the ankle – the second thoughts, the macabre curiosities associated with the other possible outcome of that life-altering day when I became a cut-throat, the day my survivor was born. If I hadn’t survived, what would that make me?

Most certainly NOT who I am.