A Better Look.


Ask me if it means a thing,

the words, the time, the memories,

ask me how it seems to be,

that my gentle soul goes cold so easily,

ask me about who I used to be,

the one who was betrayed so thoroughly,

ask how much that continues to sting,

ask about a heart that bleeds perpetually,

ask me why it is that I can’t seem,

to understand the concept of fidelity,

ask how my heart came to be so mean,

when I’ve before, been treated cruelly,

ask why it is that I behave so quizzically,

the feelings, the actions, the ADHD,

ask how you’re supposed to perceive,

such things in the face of brutal honesty,

ask me about my isolated misery,

the trust issues and embedded insecurity,

ask me to be a “normal” human being,

and I’ll tell you to take a better look at me.

 

 

 

 

Blanket of Grey.

When you begin to hate someone who previously carried positive weight in your life, the world temporarily turns grey.
Things start to feel skewed and look grotesque.
Nothings seems to make you smile or laugh as before, nothing seems funny.
The world has changed inside of you, is changing inside of you.
You have no control over the darkening or lightening of the shades that the grey blankets over and around your life. You just have to snuggle in this blanket.
You just have to keep yourself enveloped at any cost.
There is nothing else for it.

Bent.

I am the face blended in on the train –
with open wounds bleeding blame and shame –
I am the darkness that protects the light –
blinded by a goal in sight –
I am the reasons why I hate myself –
just me to blame and nobody else –
I am the hatred in the moments alone –
when the place is quiet and nobody’s home –
I am the purpose that drives so many vessels on fire –
I am the face of the weary and tired–
I am not satisfied with the way things have become –
I am not going to accept what you’ve done –
I am the one who meant each word I said –
I am the one that you lied to instead –
I am the one who is sullen and down –
I am the reason none of my friends come around –
I am the cause of all things tragic –
I can make people disappear from my Life like Magic – 
I am the cultivator of this poisonous place –
I am afraid of my own body and face –
I cannot tell which creatures won’t bite –
I will eventually resign to this fight –
I am convinced that I’m better off without –
I am aware of what they’re all talking about –
I am the one who tied the original knot –
I guess that that’s a detail that each one forgot –
I am not filled with any cold from the snow–
I have mastered that defense system, you know –
I am a human fucking being –
I have a heart that pumps and bleeds –
I am not interested in dramatics and games –
be decent to me, and I’ll treat you the same.

A Strongly Opposing Inability.

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.

Sordid Queen.

All along, you’ve been,

the perfected example of,

a fair-weather friend,

a swiping white glove,

every time and again,

deprived me of your Love,

you’d reel me right in,

then forget who I was,

mistress of my chagrin,

destroyer of my trust;

Somehow, over the years,

I’ve carved a space for you,

you’ve become fully endeared,

by the darkness you bore me into,

captured in buckets of tears,

the pains I associate with you,

you’d flicker and disappear,

I just wanted you to approve,

dagger-fanged in my nightmares,

destroyer of my youth.

Maybe Later.

I barely shut the door behind me before I burst into tears again,
Thoughts racing round my head without a place to put them in;
Every “ignored” phone call turns out to be a chance I’d been given,
To swallow down my fears and be the person I should’ve been.

So many days have left me without a spark of hope within,
So many lies spat onto me to get me to fall back line with them;
So many pieces of so many puzzles scattered across a line, so thin,
So many surfaced memories that I can’t push back and drop on him.

I barely shut the lights off before the tears begin to come unpinned,
I’m here – without the parts of a heart not properly sewn in;
And you’re there – without a clue as to where you’ve even been,
I just want to hold you while the world around falls in.

I hardly fall into a fitful sleep before the lights blaze brightly in,
And the alarm clock sings of misery and a day that will never end;
Waking dreams and nightmares of how likened you’ve become to him,
I had to cut my losses – before Life cut my throat again.

A Fucking Rant.

I swear to the Gods: I get no relief from ANYTHING, NOT EVER. I am so crushed into a little, teeny ball of angst that remains plastered up against the wall at all times. I NEVER get space to myself for any amount of time that does me any good – enough time to replenish my frenzied brain or my anxiety ridden body…my roommates are both fucking slobs without a care in the world for anyone else’s comforts or preferences; they both carry on as if they live completely alone when it comes to things that effect all of us; and I am fucking sick of it. I am fucking sick of the way that they seem to almost work in unison to deprive me of alone time – one leaves and the other comes home, etc.

I’m sick of their faces right now, sick of looking at them both with their carefree expressions every day; I am sick to death of the way that one of them watches the same fucking shit Television shows and the same two or three James Bond films over and over and over. Or how he insists on playing his music with the bass turned up so loud, I cannot concentrate on my own tasks in my own bedroom. I am sick of how little common sense gets applied to situations when it comes to either one of them, too…instead of sliding the empty pizza box on its side BEHIND the recycling can, stupidly and mindlessly opting to COVER THE ENTIRE CAN by setting it over the top, instead…wtf sense does that kind of shit make???

Or how my house looks like we’ve been camping in the living room and billiard room for going on 3 months now, as my roommate is also too fucking lazy to put his gear away after using it. The cycle goes like this repeatedly, too:

He pulls out all of his gear and goes camping

he comes home and literally dumps his shit in the billiard room (the room that the front door leads directly into)

he leaves his shit strewn all over the fucking house until he goes camping again

repeat

repeat

then he gets some wild hair up his fucking ass sometime in early December or so to clean up the fucking indoor campsite at random and puts the shit into the garage (but doesn’t put it up where it all belongs though)

before long, it’s time to go camping again and it all starts anew.

 

So fucking tired of it. Tired of the way that I can’t keep even the tiniest piece of space for my own use without it being pirated somehow by one of them…tired of how I have to stay shut up in my room because the useless birds are driving me insane, or if they were magically being quiet, the one roommate would be constantly in my doorway trying to show me something on youtube or socknet or Instagram –

“I’m fucking busy, dumbass!!! Can’t you see the document open on my screen and don’t you notice my full attention focused on it???”

Jesus, it’s like pulling teeth to get a mother fucker to just leave me the fuck alone for a chunk of time….always being bothered by the stupidity of their ways, even when I make a point to remove myself from it.

“Dude…I have REAL problems, REAL troubles and strife…you’ll forgive me if I don’t sympathize with your meager and pathetic excuses for reasons to be upset…come back and talk to me when you’re a parent, or when you lose your kid, or when your mother is hospitalized for being insane again, or when your father gets beaten almost to death downtown over your hooker, drug-addicted daughter, etc. Don’t cry to a beggar about having no money or whatever, you seem so miserably shallow when you talk to me about trivial horse shit like you do, when I have REAL struggles to suffer through…damn.”

Why do you slam the front door (that shares a wall with my bedroom, right where the head of my bed is) when you leave for work every morning at 6:30? It’s not as if you aren’t aware that I am sleeping there. Why do you fail to lock the front door upon leaving, while I should theoretically still be asleep? Why do you treat the front porch as a trash receptacle for your garbage from your car? Why do you ever bother with an ashtray at all when 99% of your butts end up on the fucking ground?