Yeah yeah yeah.

So when I used to have this horribly monsterous and abusive husband, one of the things most strongly engrained in my memory about that period of my life is how I was accused of things constantly; things that never even crossed my mind, much less actually represented reality.
I vividly recall waking up one night from a dead sleep in my bed to his hands around my throat being choked nearly to death because he truly believed that I had been flashing signals and signs out the window to a car that kept driving back-and-forth up-and-down our street in the middle of the night. The reality behind this was that I had no clue who that person in that car was; and, definitely had not been flashing signals and/or signs to them from my window; I had been out cold with a sinus infection.
My recollections of that period in my life are full of such instances; times when I had absolutely no control or involvement in the things that I was paying the most brutal consequences for. The helplessness that defined my life during those years was immense; so immense, that it’s still with me to some extent, even today.
My most recent attempt at a meaningful and worthwhile relationship has failed at last.

This has been partially due to certain lingering effects of my own residual trauma i.e. the inability I continue to harbor reagarding trust and commitment, its true.
But the main cause behind the most recent going down in flames I’ve actually come to recognize and acknowledge for what it has turned out to be:
My natural response to the helplessness put forth as a result of repeatedly being accused of things I haven’t done.
I have come too far to fall back down into such a miserable situation in which my own true identity has been marred by the paranoid and insecure notions of the other person in the relationship.

That is not a relationship. And that is not healthy. I’m striving for healthy and have realized that the thing I’ve come to comfortably call “my relationship” was (from the beginning) the opposite of what I’ve been seeking out.

Inward and upward, though.

It’s a new year.


Disenchanted by the headlong rush,

that got the attention of both of us,

beginnings are things that eventually must,

become the contrasted endings that suck,

no apologies to be accepted or said,

no singularities that turned it all bad,

it isn’t just me and my tragic instability,

it’s also due to you and your insecurity,

the instant I recognized the feeling I had,

a tapping began in the back of my head,

a sensation I couldn’t quite put into words,

a commanding thing in demand to be heard,

this feeling grew increasingly familiar to me,

like something hazed over by the glaze of a dream,

that makes itself seen at the edges of sleep,

just before I awaken to the sound of my own screams,

singlehanded have I wrought havoc in reply,

understand it, that I brought my own demise,

its turbulence and ordinance have me seeing things,

possessiveness and unwillingness to say what you mean.



After so much slippery time,

You stand atop these toes of mine

You act like everything is fine,

You live as if your eyes are blind.


After the fracture of my extended hand,

You turn out to be just another manifestation,

You stamp out the pathway to my salvation,

You cover the tracks that lead to where I am,


After the half of me seething with blame,

stands the half bleeding out buckets of shame,

too broken to remember my own given name,

the darkness that comes to numb my brain.


After so much weight born begrudgingly,

comes the doom and fate of Eternity,

too willing to designate the fatal decree,

the blinding sunlight squinting back at me.

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.

Day Number Two.

On day number one:
you’re the Earth, moon and sun,
you’ve invaded your way,
into the folds of my brain;
and it’s all I can do,
to go without for a day –

Day twenty-three:
this isn’t working;
you need to let me be,
…breathe, …breathe
get your face away from me,
yeah, I remember,
but I was amiss,
while we built up to this;

Day sixty-two:
believe me,
I wanted it to be true;
wanted Father Time to,
eventually prove,
that you would be,
a novelty,
a relic of my youth;
the one I seem
to unfailingly,
return my sorry ass to –

Day one hundred and nineteen:
my teeth never stop grinding,
in the background,
buzzes the sound,
the unraveling of a wire,
a trip line quickly reeling; –

The final day I spent with you:
the house on fire,
smoke thick as glue,
we should have taken,
the fucking que,
we’ve been forsaken,
since Day number two.

It’s Nothing.

You aren’t afraid of the blue in my eyes,
like I have no fear of that flash of your grin;
You have no problem with keeping the flow,
I have no problem putting out the rhythm.
Your ways never cease to amaze me,
and I never fail to let you come in;
You never wait to plunder my riches,
I never fail to invite you back again.
Yours isn’t a story all that sad to tell,
mine is just too bad to talk about;
Ours is just a sweaty, naked one,
with no dialogue to be written out.
You aren’t put off by the only way that I love,
I’m never offended by the lack on your end;
You never care when I don’t show up,
I am never forced to lie or pretend.
You are so wholesome and pure to the brim,
I am just non-bio-degradable pond-scum;
so it goes, this show of such voided hollow,
until we’ve both found ourselves outdone.

Fuck It.

fuck it

On This Door the Opportunist Knocks


Yeah, well – not this environment, not this time, not any more.

The VIP has left the building, Ghost…without you.


All else aside, I realize what it’s been that has held me up over this most recent ugliness spewed at me by the presence of a disguised opportunist – previously in very close quarters to my life and heart – I see what has been bothering me so much about it all: it’s the metallic, residual taste of blood in my mouth;

the sobering fact that once someone stings me – once another unwelcome reality punches me in the throat from out of nowhere to remind me that ‘Hey Stupid! You Can’t Trust Anyone Not To Betray You Eventually!’ – I begin to warily pick apart each and every relationship left standing – I grow cynical and defensive and suspicious of the people who haven’t yet abandoned me: my friends and family. I start to do this mindfuck loop in which I question everyone and everything as a direct result of the betrayal of one single maggot who was unworthy from day one…

I don’t care that it’s all over, I am starting to see that the douche bag did me a favor by showing such vivid colors in such undeniable hues; I have already sensed the calm easing its way back into each day from morning to night (no early morning dramatics; no more hours wasted on the equivalent to free therapy sessions beginning with my first cup of coffee); I already feel the tension unwrapping itself from around each eye and loosening its tightly wound grip from my shoulder blades…

Whatever it was, that “thing” I imagined up between us – it had become unhealthy very quickly for me – it stopped feeling good a while back – only felt bad when it felt like anything at all for months leading up to the final breaking point: the day that the line was drawn distinctly in the sand between he and I, permanently.

If they aren’t lifting you up, they’re holding you down…I had ceased to be lifted up any more…

But I knew leading up to that day also, deep down I knew I did not like who he is, what he is – the type of individual that he represents…I knew that, I had already seen and recognized, even communicated that fact to him.

“I don’t like two-faced people…” I declared one morning as he insistently talked shit about somebody who I, personally, happen to love quite fiercely – someone who he is all sugar and spice to in person, face to face. “I hope you know how telling it is that you would say those things about __________, given the circumstances; especially since you have no problem turning around and smiling to his face ten minutes later…”


He somehow assured me way back then that I was wrong about him, about what I saw. But on some level deep down, if I’m being honest here, I have known since that time that he was no good. And I ignored my own instinct in order to suit my own more immediate needs: Human Closeness and Intimacy. How fucked up is that? Because in the end, he totally duped me and walked away snickering, finishing off that last mouthful of cake with victorious gulps…but I have truly learned a few new things from this otherwise worthless and useless exercise:

1) I still have major abandonment issues that I need to deal with.

2) When someone burns me, it burns…and it sets into motion cause and effect whether I like it or not.

3) I am still the Bigger Person, despite all of my efforts not to be.

4) I’m okay with my longstanding sentiment of:

If I am out of line for feeling for another human being (especially after considerable lengths of time in close quarters together), shoot me.

I don’t want to be a mutant human being all shallow and fake as Hell, wtf can I say?