Thank you

Thank You

I am writing this as a “Thank You” to all of you who have touched my life, or in return, have been touched by mine.

It is easy to get caught up in ourselves; our world is very ego centric. It is easy to take things and people for granted; to forget that we are all in a symbiotic relationship.

I want to spend this post, thanking those who have imparted some influence on my course in life… which is nothing at all like I thought it would be: once upon a time ago.

Many times, I have told myself, that “I feel too much.” And it is overwhelming. However, as an empath, I just feel all the time, on such an acute scale… it is hard to describe it in detail.

For me, it has come as depressions. Luckly, I know I am strong enough to ride the storm, but, admittidly, they are annoying. No one wants to be unhappy and stifled for weeks on end.

This letter of appreciation, is for all of you who have believed in me, and supported me through my doldrums. It is for those of you, who showed up to read a post, because you needed it in the moment.

My life has been one of servatude to humanity. My work, on such a small scale, is an act of prevention and inspiration.

I know that it is realistically insane to be happy or upbeat, all of the time. Not only that… but it is hard to do. I know that we are all sorts of sensative about things, people and situations, due to our past experiences. I know that certain things can act as triggers to deeper feelings, often catalyzed in an unintentional way. I know that sometimes a stranger says the perfect thing, at the perfect time.

I write for that part of a human. I write to that part of the human. I don’t reach millions of people per day… maybe five on a really productive day. I don’t do what I do for fame or following… I do it because I have been there. Once upon a time, I needed my own medicine and there was no one to administer the remedy. Mostly because I didn’t believe in myself.

I say THANK YOU, because I know whole heartidly that there is no way we would end up connected, if we didn’t have something to connect over.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. Thank you for feeling and using resources to reach connection. Thank you.

Thank you for having the strength to try and figure yourself out and do better for yourself.

I am blessed to be reaching you, who are only miles or oceans away. I am blessed to have your input and opinion based off your own personal experience.

Thank you for showing up. Thank you for allowing me space to be vulnerable. I appreciate the ability to be heard by you; my wish, is to always leave something worth thinking about; in hopes that when we leave ourselves, we leave them better than when we found ourselves.

Thank You.

If there are topics you would like to discuss, please leave a comment, and I will work on that.  I want to bring you content that inspires you to come back for more.  I would love a deeper dialog on here, and it is YOU, I am talking to.

When Words Signal the End

When suffering from depression, or mental illness; it can be very hard to live in domestic partnerships.  This is especially true, when the partner of the sufferer, has no interest in gaining coping skills to off set some of the dramatic emotional upheavals that are bound to occur.

We don’t plan our depressions; it can take years and years of self awareness to pin point all the potential triggers, as often times they tend to be more subconscious programs.  Dates, places, and phrases can, and often times, will set off a new bout of despair.

When the despair hits, it leads to an overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood, and alienated.  These feelings amplify self criticism; making the already annoying self critical response clock in off the charts.  A pervasive weight of ” I can do nothing right.” and “It’s all my fault.”

The thoughts and feelings that you may have had on “good days” now are second guessed and reduced to illusion.  That voice of illusion, says “No one really loves you.  No one ever will.”

It’s hard not to feel crazy when logic and emotion collide in the confusion of depression.

This is a piece I wrote while in a domestic partnership, that led me to spending a night in jail for domestic violence.  I started attending drug, alcohol, and domestic abuse classes for court.

Many times through the 7 months that I attended, I asked my partner to come with me; as I felt they were sharing a lot of useful information.  I also thought it would put  us on the same page, so that we could move forward, together.

However, he was not interested in those classes; which said to me, he didn’t really care about Us.  It broke my heart, and inevitably we split up.  For years, I wondered, “what if?  What if he was invested in my desire to get better? ”

I have since had to move on from that, and accept where I am, and who I am today.  I know that not just any one can handle the unforeseen upsets of the future.  It will require strength, patience, and cooperation.

When Words Signal the End.

This frustration builds. This love, a lie. And I am burning for more than this disappointment.

I am yearning for more than this fear of abandonment.

Alone with these thoughts and feeling, despite the activity around me; this soul is closed. All the doors are closed.

We can’t communicate. You say my reality isn’t valid.

It really isn’t yours to judge, but you do; constantly.

You blame me for being some fucked up artist.

It isn’t that, at all.

Can’t you see, sometimes we are both wrong.

No. You control. You blame. Nothing changes.

You bribe the master, waiving possibilities in my face. Nothing is ever manifest; it finds itself as watered down truths, dripping lies from your lips.

I am down, because you keep me there.

I am mad, because you show you care, in the most fucked up ways.

Days later, you apologize; so we keep riding the storm.

Love borne Hate. Emancipation is evident. All of this too late.

I am debating my hate; trying to hold my love, but I am drowning.

It’s astounding to watch from the wings, as I take swings at your face.

Wasting time, like it’s easy to buy; when really it’s hard to replace.

I want for you to show me something real; but the wheel of life turns and this heart burns with heartache.

Love is a dish best served cold, old and mouldy upon a paper plate. Swarming with fly larvae,

It isn’t tangible; it causes vertigo as my brain starts to go south.

My mouth a cesspool of verbs and curving words; they slice like a knife, through this paper flesh.

Should I regret this venture?

It’s too late, this path paved with good intentions, gone awry.

The repetitive question; Why, why, why me?

Why this mess? Why?

I confess; I am the mess. I am the beast with talon feet. I am the rage and the endless sadness. The builder of madness and tears that never seem to dry.

I try, but you call me the catalyst… The baddest bitch, you know.

Blow by blow your words knock me down, and add to the scowling.

Sweet inner child caught in the frowning, forgetting recollections; the brief reflections of innocence.

I am just an artist, with nothing to show; but a hole in my head where I’ve let these words go.

My Angle of Depression

How we feel, isn’t just “how we feel.” There are certain programs in place that advocate continuing the feeling of displacement. Those who are sensitive, and are proactive in working through old trauma, see examples of mental oppression in sources which we wouldn’t readily attach isolation. Check it. The world is changing, and so are we… Curriculum may not represent us….however we represent the byproduct of Academia and it’s “little lessons.” just as we are a byproduct of so many other influences… the best you can hope for when seeking education… is a fair education. This is not the case in reality…

The Abyss of the Mind

I started writing this for Mental Health day in May, however in the depths of my doldrums, words were hard to capture.  Recently I have had some conversations with friends of mine, who are also in the midst of depressive episodes in their lives, for various reasons.  And in knowing that, I feel less alone; their vulnerability and willingness  to talk about it has strengthened our friendships while broadening my perceptions of what it is that we are experiencing.

If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please feel free to reach out to me.  I would like to create a public dialog about these experiences and offer emotional support.  Many people going through  depression have a hard time talking about it, and often expend much of their energy trying to pretend that they are okay.  Some of us are very good at hiding how much internal turmoil we are actually facing.  Please feel free to comment and share your story and if you have found any healthy coping mechanisms that have given you some relief.  If you are feeling suicidal please find help, or  call The National Suicide Prevention Line at 1-800-273-8255, which can connect you to local resources.

It’s lonely on the inside looking out at all the smiling faces, lingering in places of joy. And in this solemn slumber I am left to wonder why it seems so easy for others to get on emotionally in positivity. Wonder what it is about me that feels so lost and out of love, despite the deep set knowing that my life is nothing but good.

See, I am not struggling from hunger, or left out in the cold to wonder where I will sleep; in fact my life feels pretty safe and secure, but this obscure stranger lurks there. This shadow that doesn’t seem to care much for my better welfare. It clouds my good ideas, and glosses over memories, twisting how I perceive the past, present and future. And that is no way to live.

In my darkest hours I have sat in contemplation at the meaningless anticipation that slowly burns inside me, for a day I have yet to see, one where I will be free of this depressive malady. Melancholy has been my mantra for too long, it’s the silently sung anthem of my attitude as of late.

And it doesn’t suit me very well. Some days it’s hell trying to smile and pretend that this mental pressure isn’t there, and that I have no cares in the world. It’s been the discussion at the tip of my tongue for too long, and suppression has started swelling, and it’s going to bust through it’s shell of deception.

Deniable, the Debbie Downer, no one wants to invite her to the party where she will largely bring others down. And despite it all I know my own ability to raise the vibration but lately it’s hard to rise to the occasion as I sit in this procrasterbationary cycle.

There is a roadblock in my view, and it skews my ability to see where my path leads, and what it means to me. I feel that at 34 I should have made more progress instead of this arrested development. There is massive pressure in the potential, and I level myself by staying away from making too many decisions. Each task of the day leaves me in wanting, each choice to make more over baring than the last.

In this depression, I want to be taken care of . I don’t want to care for others, and yet that is an unavoidable reality. There is no one to swaddle me, and hold me silently, for a moment of peace and feeling connection.

And isn’t that exactly what depression is? A feeling of isolation so pervasive that it effects one down to their core. It feels incredibly unreliable. I try to put words to it, but I find it unexplainable. I know it’s a type of depression that drugs will not fix, and therapy is no match for; realizing I just want more connection, but I can’t seem to move forward and make that happen. Feet bound in concrete, frozen from make a move toward any one direction. My synapsis on some sort of delay. Thinking today is the day, still nothing happens and I find myself waiting on tomorrow.

Education is my distraction. Information is my drug. And the more I learn about the world, the more I feel torn between throwing myself headlong into humanity; and hiding out away from reality. The push-me-pull-you of a person with sensitive strength, confused on how to assert her existence within this existence. Missed opportunities because nothing seems to light my fire. The foundation of excuses.

The fuel of my youth; a desire to be seen as acceptably intelligent, bound for successes undreamed of yet,  if only I could leave the small perimeter of my home. When I finally left, I felt I was on some sort of path, but with each pursuit I would follow, there was still a hollow in my heart; a dissonance with my purpose.

Materialism didn’t suit me, so some may see me as living life like a vagabond. The only purpose I’ve held onto, is the service of humanity… but where is the service to me? I swim in a sea of information, I drown on all the options, cast out into the depths of indecision.

I can’t seem to find a conclusion, on what actually TO DO. And in this place, I miss experiences of love, laughter and adventure. Three things I adore. Somehow I always answer “no.”

“Yes” is it’s own foreign language, I can’t wrap my mouth around it.

My heart wants to know this foreign language, but my mind won’t record it.

No regrets, but I bet if I knew then, what I know now, maybe I wouldn’t feel this depression like an extremity. An extension of me I can’t seem to detach. Feeling like I know too much; I see too much, I feel too much. Overwhelmed and shut down.  Emotionally paralyzed; my body can’t metabolize all this stimulation that bombards me in silence. A personal crisis, I tell myself will not last forever. Nothing lasts forever.

The Master vs. Resistance~ or~ psychological fuckery meets lofty aspirations of Spirit, yet ends up in a crash n burn situation

We all have two very archetypal images which motivate our behavior;  there is the Master of the things we know we should do, and the Argumentative Teenager stuck in arrested development, who says “no” to everything, and has a penchant for self destructive behavior, just for the hell of it…(yeah, there are more reasons than the hell of it, but teenagers are rarely self aware enough to ask why…)

My Motivated Master attitude… would be kind; gentle, forthright,  patient, strong, articulate, witty, full of laughter, and deeply rooted in spiritual wisdom and righteousness.  My Master attitude would leave room for expansion and understanding… it would not be quick to judgment or frustration.  I would have a Buddha-like smile.  Basically my master attitude would be like female version of Yoda as a “cool Aunt”.  My attitude would smell like fresh baked cinnamon rolls. But, let’s be honest. That is all ideal; My ACTUAL Master attitude performs much like a teacher who hates kids and always shows up hung over to class. My responses are short, and reeking of agitation.  (If you were curious agitation smells a lot like hot sticky dog shit.)

So what would my Resistance look like?  Probably Honey Boo Boo crossed with an angsty emo American teenager caught in the middle of a temper tantrum. So both my Master and my Resister are both huge bitches. How do I get anything done at all, you might wonder?

Let us step into my imagination for a moment to take a look at how these idealized, internalized archetypes fuck with my whole day; every day.  Here is the set up.  Everyday I know there are things that I SHOULD DO, and Things I HAVE TO DO, and things that I would really just LIKE to do, but somehow I have a hard time motivating myself to do any of it it.

Honey Boo Boo:  I’m bored.

Yoda: Life is stranger then fiction, young Padawan. A powerful ally is the Force. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. There is great focus in the Force.

Honey Boo Boo:  I don’t even know what y’all sayin’ right now.

Yoda:You must unlearn what you have learned.   The dark forces are strong within you. The way is not hidden. Refuse to see, does your mind.

Honey Boo Boo:   I don’t get it.

Yoda: The reason matters not.

Honey Boo Boo:  Your gibberish is weird, fairy godmother.

Yoda: Only a Jedi need know the reason. And a Jedi, you are not.

Honey Boo Boo:  yer dumb! Everything is dumb but ice cream.

Yoda: Accept the anxieties and difficulties of this life. Empty your mind and let it be filled with the Force.

Maybe this is not the best example…Honey boo boo is a red neck and Yoda speaks in broken, open ended answers.  I mean, there isn’t even a potential of conversation here, because of the nonsense. My actual self interaction may look a little bit more like this.

For the sake of diversity it will still be played out by my actual Master Bitch Monster and Emo Boo Boo.

Get the FUCK outta bed, and get going!

I don’t want to.

-Up and at em you lazy piece of skin… You have a shit ton to do for me today, no excuses. 

I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna.

Cooperation with myself is not my strong set.  I am not really a “team player.”

So, what’s up? Maybe I like being miserable. Maybe I am a little Sadomasochistic with myself and maybe I like doing the same old nothing.  But really it would all be a lie.

Who the fuck cares?

I am about ready to beat the shit out of you, because it seems to me, that is all you are full of these days.  Just shitty shit coming out of your mouth.  It stinks, and I am sick of it.

Bring it on, Bitch.

Dude, you are all bark and no bite.  You are lazy and pessimistic.  You have no idea what it means to have a good time, or to be kind, or empathetic.  You are a sad, miserable Miser, and I am tired of catering to your mood swings.  You need to leave.  You need to go figure some shit out before I can deal with you, again.

Fuck you, I am not leaving.   I have just as much right to be here as you!

Bullshit.  YOU are PLAYED OUT!  People like me have had to deal with people like you since the beginning of time.  The game is old, and your attitude toward me is completely unacceptable.  I can’t even believe I have let you hang around so long.  You’re like a heavy weight, and you sure as fuck don’t act like a friend… so why the fuck should I have to carry your heavy ass?

Whatever, Dude.  You’re weak.

No, DUDE. You are weak.  I have carried your ass around for so long, and all you do is keep me from really having more fun and experience in my life.  I don’t know how many times I didn’t do something I really wanted to do, in order to sit at home and listen to your sorry ass cry about shit that you could change.  I listened to you whine about how you are bored, and you have nothing to do.  Meanwhile, I would feed you really great suggestions and you would just blow them all off with excuses.   No wonder you have no friends.  No wonder you have nothing more to talk about than your misery.

Wow, that’s really a low blow.  Blaming it all on me, like that.

You should really take a course in self awareness and admitting your faults.  I use to think you were an asset to my team.  Your ability to resist temptation USE to be really admirable.  But now you just resist, everything that could potentially be good for us.  You say ‘yes’ to the most fucked up stuff, and you are hurting both of us.

Fuck you.

No, Fuck you!  I want to play.  I want to paint, and write, and sing, and dance.  I want to get out in nature and move my body.  I want to have nice, strong, willing friends.  I want to look at myself in the mirror and not see you looking back at me with that stupid melancholy face.  Here I am, taking the time to tell you, that you are fucking up with me.  And I don’t want to take it any more.  I have spent far too much time just listening to your sad procrastination, which has led to more procrastination.  I have tried patience, kindness, support, opportunity and love.  You reject all these things, so I think I am going to have to tough love you.

What the fuck is that suppose to mean.

Well, I guess, if you aren’t going to take the initiative to get the fuck out of my house; I am just going to have to ignore you.

You can’t ignore me.

The hell I can’t.  Watch me.

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The Wonder of Creation

AS IF Life itself were not paradoxical enough; IN comes Creation!

On EVERY level, if given enough attention; Creation, is… controversial.

Take God, and Evolution out of the mix.  Creation is an entity and force within itself, and it is a whim of contradiction. It is always moving, and effecting even with out our intention… Creation is beyond expression and consciousness.

It could be likened to the comical mystery of whether the egg or the chicken came first.  Even smallest evolutions are creations… The body creates new cells, which are creation.  Those cells either function properly supporting creation, sometimes those cells adapt and that is still a form of creation.  People come up with ideas and implement them; still creation.

Two people, or a person and science get together to procreate, which is still creation.

Now ask your self, “why not create?”   Especially if nature does it already to the benefit as well as the detriment of other creations.  Creation is an exploding, imploding system of organized chaos.

If the only thing in certain creation is consciousness, then every conscious creation should first ask why not?  Creation is an expenditure of energy, so for every creation there is an effect outward from its influence.

A portal of inner exploration

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