If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

Staggering Cruelty.

Yesterday, I was called “so cruel” as to be “staggering to the mind” of the person who chose to voice such a mean-spirited thing to me right now. I was called cruel because I carved out the next few days completely for my mom; so that I will not have to worry about juggling or racing around to fulfill commitments I’ve made to anybody besides my mom. Upon being called cruel in this context yesterday, I realized something quite clearly:

If being with my mother as she lives out the end of her life equates to my own cruelty towards a single person other than her, so fucking be it. I have dread this circumstance for my entire existence, and it has finally come to meet me, to take her away forever. I may be a self-absorbed bitch for ignoring any and all of my other connections to other human beings at present, but that’s the way my crumbly cookie has fallen apart

I am 110% pre-occupied with my mom’s situation, and if that is abnormal – – – shoot me; and then, go fuck yourself real good.

I Feel Like.

I feel like “fuck everyone and everything”,

It looks like I’m stuck on dumb and done trying,

It seems like I cut and run from such a futile sting,

It plays out like a fucked up and never-ending thing;

In my mind, there’s not a line between anything,

the construct of time holds no valuable meaning,

the stopped buck weighs as much as fuzz in the breeze,

the confines of hatred wrapped inside my insanity;

I feel like never getting back up into the fight again,

looks like surgeries and screw-in teeth ain’t shit in the end,

it seems right that train tracks mark me in my patchwork skin,

it plays like the blues, telling stories of the Hell that I live in.

 

D is for Dissociation.

Dissociation:
The word, alone, conjures up images of schizophrenic women huddling in corners, whispering to themselves, insane – completely detached from any reality that any observer may live inside of…I always default back to the book I read during my time in the Girls’ Ranch when I was fourteen about a survivor of ritualistic childhood trauma, the only way this creature was able to survive at all was through dissociation – to the point of losing herself somewhere within its comforts along the way.
I am not a childhood trauma survivor; I cannot emphasize enough – my unwavering admiration and respect and awe of this type of survivor, though it deeply hurts my heart that they even exist at all as a face of Survival…
Children…Children = whatever hope we have left as a species…the cycle of abusing them is in dire need of a screeching halt caused by our own feet sticking firmly in the ground and demanding it. The damage it causes is creating an unseen evolution in our entire species – RECOGNIZE.
Dissociation is a psychological coping mechanism that is often utilized by children in traumatizing situations from which they are unable to physically escape to safety. It is also commonly seen in “battered women” with the same inability. I became very intimately familiar with this form of mental escapism as a means of physical survival during my marriage to a psychopathic murderer; it was, in my opinion, the very most important tool that I used throughout the entirety of my living nightmare – it enabled me to survive.
Despite my very personal experiences with dissociation and the execution of its use in my own past, over the decade in between then and now, I have been successful in learning to keep its use from creeping so far into my daily existence that it throttles out the original “me” with traits that define the “me” who I essentially created back then to be stronger, to be the protector, to be the survivor, to be the primordial. I believe this has ONLY been possible for me due to the fact that dissociation did not become a mechanism of mine until I was a young adult in a tragic situation; I am also able to see very clearly: the hairline fractures left in my soul from its presence in my life for a short time. It’s as a direct result of my own experiences with dissociation, that I am able to readily bleed for anyone who I happen upon that continues to dissociate as an adult – man or woman. The root cause of this psychological affect is so horrible and full of helplessness and hopelessness that it’s difficult to even put into words – what must cause an adult to retract into la-la land as a means self-preservation…I can tell you whatever it is, will be anything but a simple “fix”.
The purpose behind this post is not to sway any opinions by any means, if you are a judgmental ass – I can’t change you…but it really bothers me when I am reading things that are spilled out of a heart belonging to someone who has obviously been through some serious shit – only to follow it up by reading mean-spirited and heartless bullshit in the comments section left from some jackass douche-bag with a quarter brain cell. When you have the capacity to go out of your way to talk shit to a stranger in obvious emotional turmoil, what does that say about what the fuck you REALLY are at the end of the day? Chew on that, please. I’m sorry that you have an emotionally unstable and troubled ex-girlfriend who happened to manifest her own demons by fucking your friends behind your weaselly back, but that doesn’t automatically chalk up the word dissociation with her and her behaviors that you experienced. DO SOME HOMEWORK before you publicize your complete lack of knowledge and//or humanity, if such is not your intention. You reek of stupidity and weakness. Seriously, I’m embarrassed for you upon reading such garbage you see fit to leave scattered across places of healing energy. You should be ashamed of yourselves, every last one of you. Let me ask you – any of you shallow mother fuckers that troll to talk shit:

Does anyone here actually believe that an adult would purposely or intentionally CHOOSE to have to escape reality in order to deal with it? REALLY???

This is what’s wrong with everything, you blind fucks!!! YOU.

Just.

Haven’t you noticed?
There’s no light on inside;
Just a pirated, drifting vessel…
On a map that is preoccupied.
Doesn’t it occur to you?
That the twinkle is gone from my eyes;
Just two dulled down, blue marbles…
Attached to nothing on their’ other sides.
Has it never bothered you?
When it’s so quiet where I once sat;
Just an empty, overstuffed recliner…
You don’t even think twice about that.
Aren’t there days when you resurface?
To realize you never left the shallow end;
Just the guilt eating, gnawing away…
And you’re too overcome to pretend.
Don’t you feel sorry every day?
That you see me without my smile;
Just an empty expression, hollow eyed…
Can’t forget the pain for even a little while.
Aren’t you aware on some level?
Of the ways that you’ve crossed over me;
Just a self-absorbed, oblivious mutant…
So clueless to the ways of TRUE humanity.
Haven’t you already seen me?
For the woman I actually am;
Just dimes of dozens, dingbat ‘play things’…
Tell me that you are, after all – no REAL man.
Didn’t you hear my warnings?
And didn’t choose to take heed to my cries;
Just stood there pretending, ignoring…
The Fucking Truth gouging out both your eyes.

The Differences Between us

Americana Injustica

enemy

 

 

I once believed in my fellow human being – the same kind of human being as the kind that I am:  a creature that is fully capable and often willing to lay importance at the feet of anything outside of itself, genuine in the spirits of kindness and empathy. I used to have faith of embarrassing depths in the notion that most, if not all, other people I knew were hardwired to perceive something as seemingly innate as the consideration of needs belonging to those besides ourselves. I have learned in the hardest of ways, however, that the vast majority of so-called humans, are in stark contrast to the type of human being that I remain. When I use the word “remain” to describe the way I feel about the obvious differences between me and 9 out of 10 people that I know, it’s meant to…

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