Friendly Deseparation

Sometimes the deseparate nature of my life overwhelms me and consumes me beyond the ability to breathe. I wonder why I don't fall but it seems I've built up such forward momentum it continues to push me forward even when I am unable to draw air into my lungs. I struggle and I fight through the thoughts. The unending supply of thoughts that run through my mind.

The suffocating fear that at times is so paralyzing it freezes me in place and takes the life from my body. Immobilizing me until I'm little more than a seeing carcass. Understanding the chaos that is swirling around but being unable to do anything to slow down its destructive path.

Fear of losing friends, of all I've accomplished. Fear of falling just short.

Crippling, overwhelming fear. Unbearable at times. Suffocating at others. Always present. Always churning. As I deseparately clutch at straws made out of air. At times I'm ready to give in to allow the madness that swirls in my brain to take full control. but that's not an option. Too many people depend on me. Too many lives are at stake.

The only thing stronger than the fear is the worry. the worry that eats away at my stomach. My constant companions. My only allies and faithful friends.

Til the end.

Rotten To The Core

So apparently I'm spoiled. Yea I know I was just as shocked too. I had always thought spoiled meant this:

What? You did too? Well you're wrong. That is NOT what spoiled is. Spoiled is buying a $200 appliance from the store, bringing it home, unpacking it, and finding out that it DOESN'T FUCKING WORK, and then saying to your husband, "can we take it back and exchange it because it doesn't work properly?"

Yes THAT is spoiled. Oh and want to know what else is spoiled? When eating certain foods make you puke your guts out for hours and days on end so you don't eat those foods. You instead eat foods that don't make you puke your innards outwards. That is also spoiled. 

You're welcome for the educational lessons. I accept donations for this exceptional service. Email me for paypal details.

Oh and blogger? You and Facebook can kiss my ass with all your fucked up changes. I don't like the new blogger thing and I don't like the new Facebook and I realize neither of you care what I like but I'm spoiled so I'm fucking telling you anyways. Suck on them donkey balls. 

Cycling Without Training Wheels

I'm cycling into manic. I can feel it. I haven't been sleeping properly for about 4 days now. My thoughts racing. Constant. Ever changing. The need to be moving. Doing. Something. Even if only mentally. Constantly in motion. Never stilling. Never calming. 

During these times I do stupid shit. Like stalk my ex's on FB. I told  you it was stupid. 

I look at them and their lives. I see how they just went on without me. Happy. Living. Loving. Laughing. Breathing. Never missing a beat. And I feel jealous.

Not of the ones they're with because I sincerely do NOT want to be with THEM particularly. I just feel jealous of the life they have. I feel jealous they have a life and I have nothing. 

I know that's not true. I have Jigger and a roof over my head. I have food to eat everyday and in many ways I'm richer than most people. 

But..there's always a but...

It's not easy. It's not the life I want. I love Jigger but not the way I should. There's no passion. No fire. No excitement. I love him because he helps me to conquer the beast and as I type this it breaks my heart to know that I will never be IN love with him. I would never leave him, but a part of me aches that it will never have that passion. That fire. That love that I see between those I stalk. 

I want that. I want someone to be obsessively in love with me. To be consumed by the thought of me. In my whole life I've never had that. Even Jigger doesn't love me like that. In many ways I think he feels sorry for me. He pities me. 

I don't want pity. I want fire and passion and excitement. Not manic passion, but just to feel alive. To know that there is one person in the world whose NEED for survival is me. 

I'll never have that. I have to accept that. But it still hurts. It hurts to admit this to myself because I deny it even within the confines of my spinning mind. I refuse to allow these thoughts to circumnavigate because if I allow them to even for a moment they'll make me spin out of control, but no matter how hard I try they're still there. And I torture myself by watching others. By seeing their lives and how they are. 

And I wonder why couldn't that have been me?

The Tickle

In the back of my brain. It's starting. It's not as strong as before, but it's there. Taunting me. Teasing me. I keep trying to ignore it. Continuously repeating the mantra of "everything is ok do not panic there is nothing that is going to hurt  you". If I repeat this enough, then the tickle remains quiet.

I don't know why it happens. Why suddenly out of nowhere I start to feel like chicken little and "holy shit we have to get to turkey lurkey or the whole world will fucking explode and there will be no turkey and dressing for you". This panic tickle has caused me to make a mess of my life. When it comes I usually react to it, like my life is in mortal danger when it's not. I react to something that isn't there and then create something I can't get my way out of. Digging myself deeper into the rabbit hole. 

Now I'm not so deep in the hole and I know the tickle isn't real, but there's another tickle now the "what-if-so-just-in-case" tickle. It scares me. Makes me want to listen to the panic tickle because what if it is real and I'm just so use to telling myself it isn't. A vicious cycle. 

Before I was alone. I had no central point to focus on to figure out if the panic tickle was real or if I should ignore it. Now I have people like Sam and Jigger around me. When the tickle comes I look at them. They keep me grounded. Focused. Breathing. They let me know when it's time to run.

That Look

It's been awhile since I've been here. Sometimes I get my blinders on and forget beyond the narrow space in front of me. Lately I've been so focused, so consumed by things that at times I've forgotten to eat, sleep, brush my hair, wash clothes, clean house, and/or shower. With more than one occurring on most days. In some ways the focus is good. I've accomplished a lot. Although, it's weird how hygiene is always the first thing to go regardless of which pole you swing to. 

But then today it happened. Again. Jigger gave me that look. The one that says 'dear lord she's batshit fucking insane crazy" look. If you're crazy, you know the look I'm talking about. The one where their eyes kinda glaze over and their head tilts slightly. Not quite the deer in the headlights stare, but you can see them wondering if they need to get the tranquilizer darts or just RUN for their lives. That look. 

It all started so innocently. Jigger asked me a question, "Are people who have premonitions common?" He was watching his favorite CSI-ish show and it was about a psychic with premonitions who solved the case. We then got into a discussion about beliefs and that lead to me opening my very big mouth and ramming my foot and part of my leg into it. You see I believe in premonitions because I use to have them. Admittedly, some weren't real. Some were caused by the synapses in my brain misfiring, but some I can't explain. I had them. I "knew" things before they happened. I told people such and such will happen, and then it did. This happened on more than one occasion while I was growing up. I would have probably continued and told him a lot more but that was when I noticed it. 

The look.

Jigger was sitting in his chair at his desk, looking at me like I'd sprouted two heads, and I instantly shut the hell up and diverted the topic to something else. 

Sometimes I forget how very different I am. I've grown comfortable with my differences and I forget others don't always share that same comfort. Jigger knows but he prefers not to have it shoved in his face. So when I forget and start showing my crazy to him, it's difficult for him. 

But whenever I see that look in HIS eyes, it hurts. More than when I see it on others. I expect it from others, but not him. He's suppose to be different. He's suppose to understand, and he is and he does, but sometimes it's more than even he can bear so I tuck it away in the silence. I say the right words, the words that don't bring "the look" and I hide the ones that will. But sometimes I wish I didn't have to hide the words. 

At least not from him.

Can You Hear Me Now

I'm loud. I don't mean to be.I do have an inside voice. Majority of the time people have to ask me to repeat myself because I speak so lowly. But sometimes when I feel safe and free, when I'm emotional, even happy emotional, I get loud. I don't mean to. I don't know why that is. Jigger  thinks I'm "yelling". I try to watch it. To always be aware of how many decibels are exiting my mouth at any given moment, but that's exhausting. Like trying to walk a tight rope made out of egg shells. Sometimes I forget. 

To be aware. 

And the decibels leak out and Jigger thinks I'm yelling at him and he gets angry and "yells" back. Which causes me to actually start yelling. I don't know why this happens. It's another one of those life isn't fair moments. Where I pout and whine and stomp off to the corner wondering why it is I'm being forced into the world's concepts of right and wrong. So what if I leak more decibels than you. Why shouldn't I be allowed to? In my own home? In my own room? Why am I monitored within the confines of my own four walls? 

Because that's life. So I'm aware and I count the decibels because Jigger puts up with all of the temper tantrums. So for him I count the decibels.

Gooballs

I've been busy lately. Like extremely. So busy my brain is seeping out my ears and my eyeballs are in need of replacement. I'm exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally. I want just a moment away from the roller coaster of thoughts that race through my head. Just a moment. A single breath. To be able to sit down the burdens upon me for just a moment. Free. Unchained. But life's not fair. We don't always get what we want. That's just how it is so onwards I go. Retreat. Surrender are not options.

This is Sparta! 

Free the Birds

There are days. Like today. When I want to do nothing more than to give the world the double bird salute and say FUCK OFF. Then hop in my convertible and ride into the sunset with my unbrushed hair blowing in the wind. I wouldn't even look in the mirror to see if the world's mouth was hanging open in shock. Fuck you world. 

What's even funnier? Is that I COULD do this. Fuck the world and its inhabitants. Let 'em rot and die. Fuck 'em, but I don't. Want to know why? So do I. Why do I care for people? People who don't give a furry rat's ass about me. Not really. People who hurt me day in and day out. People who only remember me on the first of the month when it's time to hand out money. So why do I fucking care? 

Because I don't want to be like them. That's why and I hate myself for it because a part of me DOES want to be like them. To be able to use and abuse others without a second thought. To not give a fuck and just take and take and take. But I don't. And I won't. And I never will be that person, but I want to be. Ooooh do I WANT to be. I pray that someday I will be that person and I wait for that day when I can walk away and say 

But instead I just take it. I take all of it. Heave on top of the pile that already sits on me. Why can't I just be like others? Why can't I just take? If it's the last thing I ever do, I'll figure it out and when I do.Fuck 'em all to hell. 

The Bell Tolls

Glass shatters
Beneath the waves
The mountains crackle and call your name
 A silent mourning beneath the sea
A siren's song it carried me

An observer nothing more
Darkness descends
Velvet shores
Touch my hand
Dry my eyes
Count the stars
Amidst the lies
Sprinkling dust between the trees
The earth trembles
On repentant knees.

Panic Room

Panic is an odd thing. Addictive. I've lived my entire life in panic mode. I didn't know it until recently when I stopped and then went into withdrawals. I no longer had to make decisions based upon what was absolutely necessary in order to simply SURVIVE for the next 24 hours. I no longer had to toss things aside in order to simply be able to exist beyond the next five minutes. It became my normal. Now it is not and well it's weird. 

At times I find myself, bored? No, not bored, confused? Yes, confused, definitely uncertain. Always waiting for the next catastrophe. Even creating  a few when none occurred because what the fuck else was I suppose to do? Just sit here and be "normal".  That was too weird. I need panic. I need chaos. Not really. It's just I know what to do in the panic and chaos. Without them I feel like I'm lost and in unknown territory. 

It's fucking weird to be normal.

Secure At All Costs

I have a thing with feeling secure and stable. The thing is I don't ever feel this way. Feeling as if my world can at any moment be sucked out from underneath is as much a part of me as breathing. Even when I KNOW things are ok, there is always this little tickle of doubt tucked in the corner that says prepare anyway. Just in case. 

From my birth my life was in constant flux. I never knew what the day would be like when I stepped off the bus each day from school. My home filled with drugs, alcohol, and abuse. While appearing neat and tidy on the outside was a constant roller coaster ride on the inside. Then whoosh I went to live with my grandparents. But that wasn't permanent either. Every six months or so my mom would pop in and I'd go live with her or a cousin or aunt or back to my grandparents. I never had my own room. Never hung posters on the walls or decorated. I was nearly 14 before I had a bed to sleep in. Usually I slept on the floor or sofa. 

Then there's the asswipe aka my ex husband. If my life was not chaotic before that so not intelligent decision then it sure as hell was after. It's only now today. When my life is starting to balance, when I'm finally connecting the dots that I realize how ingrained into my inner being this feeling of "be prepared" has become. Now as I build the foundation that most people grow up with I realize I have never lived beyond today. I have never thought of tomorrow. My entire existance has always been for the day. If I can find enough money to pay the rent for this week, this moment. To eat today I'll worry about tomorrow when it gets here. The downside to this living in the moment is that I always feel I'm in a constant state of panic. I am constantly in need of collecting, gathering, working, building and I never have that solid foundation that I know I can lean on if there's a bump in the road. 

It's a difficult place to be. To know there is nowhere to turn if things go a little bad. It reminds me of how alone I am in the world. How many bridges I've burned in my quest of trying to find this allusive security I seem unable to get my hands on. I know this is something I need to gain control over, but it has become a survival instinct within me. To the point it causes panic attacks whenever I feel my "supplies" are slightly below where they should be. Even though I'm ok. Even though things are not in danger I still worry. Be prepared. Plan A, B, C, D, and E are minimum requirements for every day of my life. It's exhausting. I'm trying to let go of this. I've gotten much better than I was before, but still that lump appears in my throat whenever I think things are not as ok as they should  be. While you'd think all of this preparedness would always keep me ahead, usually it ends up putting me behind because I use what little I have for some made up "emergency" in my mind. Then if a real one comes I don't have what I need to cover it. 

Blah. It's a never ending cycle. I just need a sugar daddy. Anyone got an extra they might like to share?

Eyes Wide Open

Yesterday as Jigger slept I lay there watching him. His even breaths as his chest rose and fell with each inhalation. For whatever reason I was feeling a bit nostalgic. I thought about all of the silent hours that pass between the two of us each day. We work together in our own business from home. Yet probably less than ten words a day ever pass between the two of us especially if we're busy working on a project. Even if there is no project, he's off in his world and I'm floating around mine. There is more silence that passes between us than syllables, but yet neither of us is uncomfortable. Neither of us feels that need or urge to fill the void with idle noise. We both are comfortable in the silence that lies between the syllables, consonants, and vowels. Don't take this the wrong way. We talk everyday. But we also sit in silence everyday as well. Every word spoken has a purpose, a meaning. Even if the meaning is to share a laugh or moment of happiness, sadness, or thought. Regardless of the meaning, the meaning and purpose still exists. Jigger and I don't spend much time on idle words. We don't speak for the sake of filling the void. 

What is strange is that this silence causes those around us to become nervous. They interpret our silence as anger. They ASSume we are angry at each other and that's why he and I don't speak to each other. There was a time when his family attempted to fill the void believing I was uncomfortable in the silence. However after four years they've come to realize I prefer the silence and have stopped trying to fill something I don't consider empty. 

So as he lay there, sleeping, inhaling and exhaling. I thought about how fortunate I am to have someone who is comfortable in my emptiness. So who can ebb and flow with my waves. Who doesn't try to harness me but instead tries to bend to accommodate me. For all the little things I get frustrated with, in reality I am very blessed and very fortunate to have someone like him. I often times become so absorbed within the moment of the here and now that my focus becomes very narrow. I see only that tiny fraction of space that is right in front of me. If there happens to be a crack in it, then I forget about all of the area around me that isn't broken. I instead focus on that tiny space that isn't perfect. I realized there in the silence of his sleep I need to stop viewing the world through such a narrow lens. I need to remember there is more than the space in front of me. There is more than the moment I'm in. I need to remember that even though he bends he can still break and to be gentle with him. 

Sometimes more can be said with silence than a thousand words. I need to remember to stop and listen more often.

Whispers

Whispers in the brain. Statics of electricity bursting forth. Giving birth to inspiration. Then vanishing into the night. Disappearing with no trace. Leaving you unable to recall from where or how or why. Unable to retrieve or recreate a moment. Lost in darkness. Shrouded by doubt and fear. Consumed. 

Until a spark releases you from its grasp. Then you run as far as you can before it reaches back out with its tendrils and drags you back into the darkness. Surrounding you. Suffocating. 

Alone. 

Whispers. Doubts. Sorrows. Fears. All consuming. All encompassing. Disorienting. Spinning faster. Becoming lost in the vacuum. Awake with unseeing eyes into a past before the future of now. Blind. Stumbling. Pulling. Higher or lower unable to know for sure. Right or wrong. Back or forward. Up or down. They are the same. Onward. What other choice do you have?

Trying to Tell Me Somethin'

So over the last two days, Jigger's nearly knocked me unconscious, almost blacked my eye, and broken my foot. Or I could be exaggerating a little. Sorta. 

Yesterday he put some of his work and books on a shelf attached to the wall that is THREE FEET to my right,from the spot where I sit and do my work. The books and shit FELL in an arc so that they fell on my head 3 feet away. If they had just fallen straight down, I could understand it, but their arc defies the laws of gravity. This is why I never liked fig newtons. Damn fig liars! 

Then he was going to visit his friend and taking his laptop with him as he undid the wire it swung around his computer desk and smacked me in the face. Not sure what I did to him but apparently all of his shit is seriously pissed the fuck off at me. I apologized but not enough because today I was sitting on the floor reading when he got up to get some water and stepped on my foot. Seriously the noise was so loud it scared him. He really thought it broke and for a moment I wasn't so sure. But nahh I'm tuffer than that. Mutherfucker is sore but I'll live.

So yea just throwing out to whatever spirits I seem to have pissed the fuck off. It was NOT intentional. I swear. Maybe.

Irritated Fuzz

Stupidity drives me beyond my limits.. I hate stupidity. I seem to attract stupid people as clients in my work. I find it extremely frustrating because I am unable to communicate and instead just put up with whatever stupidity they bring. I wish I could sort out boundaries but so far I haven't been able to figure it all out and it creates enormous amounts of frustration within me. Because when someone tells me they want it "dark, with no color but not black and white" I want to punch them in the face because omfg what the hell does that even MEAN?!

My frustration level is beyond maxed out. I need a vacation from life.

Friend or Foe

In my world, there is only black or white. You're either friend or foe. I trust you or I don't. There is no middle ground no room for error. If you're able to walk the tight rope and cross over into friendom, then I constantly fear I've "misjudged" you. That you're really a foe and at any moment you're going to show your truth hidden within. 

This is all in my head. A battle of good vs evil that replays itself constantly. Even when the person hasn't done anything wrong I push them so hard and make them jump through so many hoops they eventually walk away because seriously who has time to put up with it and to constantly prove themselves to be something they're not. But then when they walk away I shout "ah-ha knew it" they were foe. But there is a hollowness in that victory. 

As irrational as all of this is I know it and while I"m working on controlling it, at times it controls me. Even though I know it's all irrational the what if game always wins. "What if I'm wrong", the earth will spin off its axis and we'll all be plunged into the sun and everyone will be melted and it'll be all my fault.

All. MY. Fault. This thought is embedded in my DNA thanks to my father. The many gifts he's bestowed upon me all of these years. My parents divorced because of his alcoholism and abuse. They divorced because I ran away to my grandparents and refused to live with them. My mother reluctantly divorced him. It was all my fault. Which is why he tried to kill me several times. All my fault. 

Even today, any wrong in the world no matter how far removed from me it is, I feel responsible. I feel I have to fix it to correct it. Then I'll be "good" again, but it doesn't ever work out that way. 

I'm not sure why all of these things are coming up now. I've been having nightmares this past week. Haven't had them in awhile either. Whenever the nightmares come, they fuck with my head for awhile. Then they disappear and I tend to settle down and be less irrational. Take enough sleeping pills and not even Freddie can get you.

No Reason Just Cuz

I cried today. I don't know why or what brought it on. I just went to pee. Sitting there,suddenly a death sob exploded from me and the harder I tried to push it back in the further out it came. Until my face and floor were soaked with saltiness. Then as quickly as it came, it left. Sucked back into the black hole from whence it came. I walked back into our room, smiled at Jigger, and went on as if nothing had happened. Yet my head is spinning and my heart hurts and I don't know why.

Alone

I want to be alone. To scream. To sit naked. To laugh. To cry. To breathe. I am never alone. Never silent. Never free. Today my tethers feel more like shackles. Manacles. Connected to the earth that will neither release me nor consume me.

I want to breathe.

Nibbles n Bits

Ack! I have issues with food. Not just disordered issues but like real physical health issues. Sometimes the two cross boundaries and I get stuck in the middle of their feud. It drives Jigger fuckana nuts. Not only do I not eat certain foods because of texture. The few foods I do eat have suddenly started to make me sick. Not suddenly. Almost eight months ago I started developing heart burn. Like raging, alien gut bursting heart burn. I started cutting foods out until I narrowed it down to two specific foods. I no longer eat those foods. I also no longer have heart burn and no longer vomit daily. My IBS has also VASTLY improved by eliminating those two foods. 

But then there are days when there are foods I do eat, but I'm just not feeling that hungry so I just eat a little. Which upsets Jigger I should EAT the way he does. This makes me feel out of control so in order to gain a little bit of control I just STOP. EATING. altogether. I'll show you. I know this is wrong. I know I am wrong, but it's a reflex action. I'm working on it. 

So now I'm trying to patch things up because I didn't eat dinner. It was one of the two forbidden foods. There was almost a fight, but it fizzled as quickly as it began. I'm trying, but sometimes I get pissed that I have to try so hard. Why only me? The little two year inside of me stomps her feet and sticks out her lip and wonders "why does she have to play by the rules when no one else does"? 

I wish I had an answer for her.

Fragrance of Innocence

So I've been watching DEM play this game for awhile now and since she's cool and all dat so I decided to play along. It seemed like fun. Here are the Trifecta rules:

Your task this week, should you choose to accept it, is to write a love scene in no fewer than 33 and no more than 333 words. 

~~~~~~~~~~

He felt her without opening his eyes. Her fragrance filled the room and he breathed her scent deeply into his lungs. He liked the way it filled him with her from inside to out. Her sheer robe brushed his cheek as she walked by, but he didn’t dare open his eyes. He could feel her watching him. Her eyes boring into his soul as if she were attempting to read the thoughts that drifted through his inner being. He shifted, feigning sleep. “Would this be the night?”

She’d been coming into his room for the last three weeks. Every night her scent taunted him, but she never allowed him more than a single breath before vanishing. Her scent came stronger, closer. He could feel her breath upon his neck. To be chosen, was all he wanted.  He’d done his research carefully before entering the Coven. He knew why she’d cast aside every chosen before him. He made sure not to repeat the same mistakes. It seemed his plan to gain the Queen’s attention was working. He just had to be patient for a little while longer. He nearly opened his eyes when he felt her nails outlining the perfectly curved stomach he had spent months working to achieve. As her nails continued tracing his body, he almost forgot why he was there. He could have taken her then, but that would have been no fun. “Patience, just a little while longer then I’ll be her Chosen, and then I’ll take revenge for the death of my sister.”

Her scent disappeared. He’d passed her test once again.  He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. How could something so bitter smell so innocent? He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep; knowing soon his bed would not be empty but filled with the Queen and her blood.

Free Giveaway Today

I mentioned yesterday about the book Letters from a Bipolar Mother. You can download it free at Amazon today and tomorrow. (Feb 8-9). Just click the image in my sidebar and you'll be taken to the free downloads. Also if you join Alyssa's mailing list, you'll receive free ecopies of all of the rest of the series.

Letters of A Bipolar Mother

While I don't usually promote books I am promoting this one. A friend (or alter ego in my head I never quite can be sure lol) has just released her book Letters of A Bipolar Mother (Chronicles of A Fractured Life). It's currently only available in ebook but the print versions will be available within the next few days. I've read the book and Alyssa manages to explain exactly how bipolar affects the worlds of those of us who are forced to waddle through it each day. If you have a loved one with bipolar or especially if you're a child whose parent is bipolar I highly recommend this book. It was written so the loved ones of those with bipolar might be able to get a glimpse of how we function and why we at times are so irrational. If you want you can read Alyssa's blog. Her website is http://www.alyssareyans.com

Marty McFly & The Deloreans

Sounds like a cool band from the 50's doesn't it? I just finished reading a book and it's got me all contemplative. Thinking thoughts I hadn't in awhile. I started reading when I was about 5 or 6. Not The Babysitter's Club or Goosebumps or whatever kids were reading back in the 80's. I read for lack of a better explanation, Native American romance novels. These were books where white women were taken captive but fell in love with their captor and then refused to return to the white world. I would read a book a day. I loved the idea of living in such a simplistic way of life. Being one with the earth, and creatures around you. Sitting together as a community at night before a blazing fire as elders told stories of the ancients beneath a bright full moon. 

Not only did I dream about those times but I longed for them as if I had once lived them and lost it. I longed for it the way a lover pines away for a lost love. To this very day I long for a life I know I will never have and it haunts me. It makes me sad and unable to fully exist in the skin that covers my bones. I feel out of place and out of time. 

The book wasn't about Native Americans though. The one I just finished. The one which brought all of these feelings and emotions back to the surface. It was however about a group of people who choose to live away from society without electricity or all modern conveniences. They live as one, work as one, do what is best for the group. Maybe worlds like that only exist in books. But I search for them and shed tears when I'm unable to find them. I miss them. My heart aches to be there. When I was younger everyone use to say  I had an "old soul". Maybe I just have a reused one.

Lost in Translation

I'm often misunderstood. Not in the teen angsty kinda way, but in the "I think I'm displaying one emotion but people interpret it as another". As if I hear myself speaking English but everyone else hears Chinese. This happened today and I must say I am extremely proud of myself for how I handled the situation. My current project has offered me insights into myself and I've come to realize things about how and why I react the way I do. I still have the reflex within to react but I'm better able to catch and keep it from coming into existance than I was before. 

Today Jigger asked me a question. If a certain something was possible to do in our current project. Because I'm a much more visual person and have difficulty explaining why things do or don't work, I decided to just design what he was asking so he could see why it wouldn't work. At the end of it, I did say "if you don't like the current design, just let me know and I'll change it". I even giggled a little as I said because the design is a bit goofy and doesn't 100% fit our theme but I liked it so I put it in. However I realize I'm not the only person working on this and if it was really just out of place I was more than happy to put something else. It was a moment I was in it. 

But apparently the "joking" I thought I was portraying came across as "bitch slapping pissed". Jigger got angry with me because he thought I was "angry" at him for asking me why I did what I did. This isn't the first time this has happened. 99% of the time when I'm joking/teasing/being playful I'm taken to be very serious. I cannot joke with anyone or tease them because my appearance and the way I sound is interpreted as me being angry. Which is odd for me because I feel as if I'm being playful. In my ears I sound as if I'm being playful, but apparently it doesn't come across that way. My expression for "playful" and "so pissed I could cut your head off and dig out your brains with a spoon" are exactly the same. I don't know how to change this. 

I admit I'm not a giggly bubbly airheaded hair flipping "oh my gawd" type female. I get that I'm more Pink than Snookie and I like that.  I like being strong. It's who I am. I don't want to change who I am fundamentally but at the same time I also don't want to start fights with people because no one gets what I mean. I'm unsure how to approach this or what to do about it. 

Is it my fault or does the other person bear some responsibility? I mean should they not at least "ask" if I'm pissed instead of assuming? I don't know. I'm still learning how to be human. I know I have trained people to understand 99.9% of the time I am pissed so this new found playfulness is strange for them. It's not something they're use to. I get that, but when does it stop being 100% my responsibility to ensure everyone around me understands I'm not about to fucking rip their heads off?! 

So today when Jigger flew into a rage, angry because he thought I was angry I instead got up and kissed him. Before I would have picked up the nearest object to me and began throwing until I couldn't lift my arms or until I was dripping with blood. On certain occasions I've even managed to do both simultaneously. But not this time. Even the rage I suppressed inside was not at atomic levels the way it would have been before. Somehow I've just come to a point where it's not worth it anymore to be right. Fuck it. I just don't want to fight anymore. No more yelling. No more throwing. No more bleeding. I'm tired. I'm done. Now how do I convince others of this? 

I have no fucking clue.

Confessional Rites

Lately I've been feeling the need for confessing. The rational part of my brain tells me this is unnecessary, but the other 3 billion irrational brain cells don't seem to understand that. The last few days I've spent confessing to Jigger. Things he didn't really want to hear or need to hear but I had to get out of me. In order to move on. I needed him to know so there's no surprises in the future. While I know it won't matter one way or the other, I NEEDED for him to know. But he doesn't get that. It irritates him when I get this way. He wants me to "let go of my past" and "not let it control me" but what he doesn't understand is that in order to do that I have to in a sense get rid of it physically and the only way I know how is to "confess". By telling, by putting it out there, then it's no longer a dark secret hidden in my closet. I think part of the reason I feel this incessant need for him to know maybe has to do with PTSD in a way. When I was younger I learned secrets were dirty and made those who kept them dirty as well. So by confessing to him in a way I feel like I'm ridding myself of the dirt and grime of the secret, but he doesn't get that. He grew up in a normal house with normal kid things. So at times he gets a bit frustrated with me but I think he's starting to see that it helps me in the long run if he can put up with the momentary unease. And snot. There is always lots of snot involved in these confessions which just pisses me off. I don't know why it is you snot when you cry or at least I snot when I cry but I become the human snot factory. It's bad enough I'm baring my soul but does it have to include bodily fluids? So yea I've been confessing the last few days I think I'm about done and can move on. Until the next one comes.

Jitter Bug

I am a big nervous furball of energy. Blah I hate when I work myself into these anxious moments. In my head I know it will be ok. I know nothing truly horrific is going to happen. It's a few minutes. An hour tops but yet my whole body is trembling with anxiousness. There are several reasons. All of which have combined together into the perfect storm. Breathe. If I tell myself enough maybe I'll remember to.

Orgasmic Epiphanies

I like playing with words. Over words, written words, not spoken words. I'm still a slave to the spoken word. I dance and jump and twist and bow whenever it commands, but the written word I am its puppet master. Pulling its strings and making them dance to whatever tune I dream up. 

I didn't realize how important it is for me to write here. Until I didn't and then did. After writing those few snippets of syllables yesterday I felt as if I had exhaled for the first time in a month. The pressure in my chest eased and the chaos in my mind slowed. I need to vent here more often even if it's senseless drivel. It helps to empty the vortex in my brain that seems to suck everything into it. In real life,I don't have a voice. At times I feel like I'm in a freak show on display. Seen but not seen. Maybe it's all in my head but it seems very real. Prying eyes of unwelcomed strangers staring at me. Whispering because they think I'm too stupid or ignorant to understand. Not knowing I can read every word they say and even the ones they don't. 

I'm sort of in a weird place. Living a life I don't hate but that isn't the exact of what I want it to be and not knowing how to solve this inbetween existance I've come to accept for myself. The last few weeks I've been numbing myself. Killing my emotions. Not letting myself feel. Just existing, breathing, day to day. Unfeeling. Moving from one stop to the next. Avoiding the real issues. Pretending I don't see them until they're too many and explode. Like they did the other night. Now I'm once again picking up pieces of me. Bits and pieces scattered here and there. Trying to collect them back into the whole of me. Filling up the empty bits, gluing together the broken ones. 

Yes I have to visit here more often. It's revitalizing. Better than Calgon.

UnWording

I just realized how long it's been since I wrote here. Sometimes the days blend together into one big blob and I forget they're really individual entities. Moving along through the universe, pulling me along with them. Then it suddenly  stops and I jolt forward, awkward into the silence of tomorrow.