I Want To

Scream and Rage and HATE and Yell and Hit and Cuss and Beat and Destroy and Rip and Tear and Demolish and ERASE and Deny and Annihilate 

But instead I am 

Silent and Invisible and Resentful and Hurt and Angry and Still 

I want to rip the pounding from my chest, to tear it from my body and throw it on the ground. I want to stomp on it and make it feel pain the way I feel pain but instead 

I type these few letters and syllables as silent tears no one will ever see slide down and make the floor wet and slowly stuff the pounding back down from whence it came to hide it from the world and from myself...

Yep I Said It Outloud so the Universe Can Hear

I wish I'd never had kids. I love my kids. I would cut myself to pieces for them, but I wish I'd never had them. I wasn't strong enough or good enough to fight the rot in my brain and I failed them in so many ways. They have no idea what today is. No fucking clue and that is my fault. I didn't fight. I gave in. I surrender to the decay and the rot and fell into the abyss and now they're left to swim through reality totally unaware of the truth. Totally blind to reality and it's all my fault.

I wish I could turn back time and know that birth control pills do NOT work on me. I wish I could go back and say no when he asked "will you marry me". I wish so many things. None of which will come true and today of all days I hurt the most because they have no idea what today is. They're off enjoying life and the world and they have no idea what they're missing. And it's my fault for not being there to show them.

It's my fault.

Two Sides to Every Coin

I am a masochist. I apparently enjoy torturing myself. For the last several weeks I have been on a stalking campaign and driving myself even more insane than I already am. The one thing I hate in a person is hypocrisy. I don't care what shit you did, how often or with who. Just be honest about it. This is one thing Jigger has trouble understanding about me. I am not embarrassed to admit the wrongs I did in my life. He sometimes sees it as pride, but for me I have a very strong faith. I know the one who created me can see me. I know He knows so for me there is no point in lying or pretending that I am something I am not because the most important person knows and everyone else can go to hell. 

The person(s) I am stalking are the very definition of hypocrisy. A couple weeks ago on facebook, the status read "creating problems between people is very wrong". Which to me is laughable because hello you broke up a marriage by fucking the husband and we won't even mention what happened between the kids. Then there are today's messages. Which cut my heart out like a rusty spoon. 

How can you claim to love, follow, and respect someone and then do every single thing they despise and are against. This logic I am unable to comprehend. It makes no sense to me. How can you claim to be a follower of something and then do every single thing it tells you NOT to do. 

I hate hypocrisy. Just be honest. The only person you're fooling is yourself. Not the people who matter. They see you even if you don't realize it. Even if you don't have any real clue as to who they are. They know you and one day you will know them, except it will be too late then. 

Unleashing the Apocalypse

“Self-censorship is not just self-betrayal and self-abandonment (which would be bad enough), but soul-betrayal and betrayal of our Muse, out inner voice, our highest self.”

Too often we censor ourselves, our actions, and our work in hope or fear of what might happen if we otherwise don’t. What words would you write today, and what actions would you take, if you had nothing to fear, nothing to lose?

(Author: Tanner Christensen)

This is today's prompt in the #Trust 30 challenge that I recently found. This actually started in May I think so it's not actively going on or it might be and I just don't know which is totally possible. Anyways I just found it and as a few of these prompts speak to me I thought I would write about them. I really need some focus right now because I am just lost in the darkness at the moment. 

Self-censorship. I do this A LOT. I know if you read my blog for more than 5 secs you would not really think that I censor myself, but I do. Especially in real life. I hate confrontations. I hate rejection. I FEAR abandonment. I worry about displeasing. I very rarely say what I truly feel. I do this mostly because I think what I feel is wrong. I am wrong. I feel this deep within me that I am always wrong. My thoughts, feelings, actions, all wrong. So I don't say what I truly feel or want. I edit my thoughts and shape them around what I think is appropriate. What I think the other person wants to hear in hopes that they won't reject me. Abandon me. In hopes they won't become displeased by me. Stop liking me. 

Leave me. 

What is the strangest thing about this is that in many ways I truly don't give a flying fuck about what people think about me. But yet I do this and I don't know why sometimes. The fear that grips me at times is so overpowering that I just become a slave to it and I am forced by demons from within to alter my true thoughts, feelings, emotions, words. A vicious cycle  begins and I get so lost in trying to be this "person" I have created that I lose myself and become unhappy. This makes those around me unhappy. I appear "fake". Stop pretending is something I get told a lot. Yet in many ways I am not pretending, but I am. I convince myself that I want and feel what my mouth is uttering even though I truly don't.

I get so lost in trying to "be" that I forget who I "am".

Jigger was the first person to truly see through my bullshit. To see that there was something under it. Something more than just a game. He pushed me in front of the mirror. Forced me to say the things I didn't want to admit. Not even to myself. Forced me to open my eyes and I have become much better at not censoring myself. 

Except in my writing. I don't often truly say what I am feeling. I write in riddles and metaphors that I am certain people would never understand because I don't want to deal with the shit that comes with having to explain where I live and how. I don't want to have to answer the inevitable questions that come. I have answered them so many times in my life and for now I am done. I just want to be alone but not really. 

I don't really want to be alone. I just want to be allowed to be the me that I am instead of the me that I should be. The me that lives deep inside of me. The me that has never seen the sun or felt the rain in its face. I just want to be that me without having to explain why or how or because. I want people around me who accept that flawed broken me. Only there are very few people who are like that. 

What words would you write today, and what actions would you take, if you had nothing to fear, nothing to lose?

 I would tell my children the truth. The real truth. Not the PC truth. Not the truth that is padded or bent to keep them from feeling pain or hurt, but the complete truth. Except I would never do this because I could never hurt my children. I would rather they hate me. I never want to be the reason they hurt except I am and I don't know how not to be. 

I would tell you how the delusions of bipolar have removed my foundation. They have made me doubt myself so much that I don't say what I truly feel, want, desire because I am not certain if it is real. I lived for so long inside of a delusion that now I never trust myself. I never believe that what I am feeling is real. Being fake. Saying what the other person wants to hear is real. I have lost the ability to trust myself. Trust my feelings. I have lost the ability to believe that what my eyes are seeing is real. That what my ears are hearing is actually there.

The delusions have broken me in ways that I cannot explain and now I feel very lost. I don't know which way to go. I don't know what is real and what isn't. Bipolar has broken me in ways that rape and abuse never did. It has taken from me my ability to believe in myself. To believe that what I am feeling is real. 

It has taken away "me".

Truth, Deep Breaths, and Cake

Tomorrow is my son's birthday. He's 16. This could probably explain some of my weirdness lately. June and August are hard months for me. Reminders of things lost. Irreplaceable things. Reminders of hopes and dreams that are nothing more than whispers in the wind. Never knowing if they will ever be more than shadows I glimpse out of the corner of my eyes. June and August are weird times for me. 

I haven't spoken to my children since 2006. To be honest, there have been times where I didn't even try. Too much pain. Too much heartache buried in rejection. Pretending. Ignoring. Less pain in numbness than in feeling. I don't know what his favorite food is anymore. It use to be my lasgna but who knows now. He use to be an amazing futball player. He was a striker but now? 

I wonder if he knows how to drive or if he has plans for his first car. So many thoughts rolling around the darkness of my brain. I stalk my ex (his father) and my ex's wife on facebook. Their status updates always make me laugh at their hypocrisy. I think if people only knew your truth, but I remain silent. Deep breaths. 

I never pulled the rope in the tug of war with my ex. Whenever he put my kids in the middle, I just would let go. I never wanted them to feel they had to choose sides. I never wanted them to feel they could only love one of us. No matter how much I hated my ex I loved my children more so when he tugged I let go. Whoever said take the high road was a fucking moron. I wish I had been a bitch. I wish I had put his ass in jail when he didn't pay child support. I wish lots of things but they are just wishes. Unrealized moments of what if's and should have beens. Deep breaths. 

Then there is my ex roommate. The catalyst in what led me to sending my kids to live with their father. She told me she would help me. She told me she was my friend. That she would be there for me and like the niave idiot I was I believed her bullshit because I was so alone. I wanted a friend. I wanted to believe her lies were different. That this time it would be different and it was. For a moment, but then she was fucking a married man and well you can only fuck married men in so many places. She wanted our one bedroom flat to be that place, but my daughter has a mouth that does not close so she couldn't fuck him if my kids were there. 

They were an interference in her affair. When it comes to fucking married men, promises get forgotten and friendships become burdens. 

She told me I had two weeks to find a new place to live so I phoned up my ex and for the first time in the 8-9 yrs my children had breathed the air on this planet I forced him to take care of them. A part of me knew that I would never see them again. A part of me knew that I was opening an alternative universe that I would never again be able to visit. A part of me knew I was about to step off of the edge of reality. A part of me I have lost somewhere. 

Her affair was the final straw in my crumbling world. A world that was slowly being filled with delusions, insanity, turmoil. A world I allowed to consume me once my children were "safe". For three years I allowed it to consume me. Its embrace was comforting. In its arms I didn't have to feel the emptiness. The pain. I didn't have to BE. 

I gave up hope. Hope of a tomorrow with my children in it. Hope of a day when truth is real and not the fantasy my ex and his wife make it out to be. She was our babysitter. My ex's best friend's daughter. I trusted her. Invited her into my home. Even afterwards. After the lies and the divorce and the torture, I still opened my home to her. 

I taught her about religion. Stupid fucking high road. Don't ever take the high road. Don't ever be the "better" person. It's a dead end street to nowhere and nothing. Because no one remembers the truth. Just their illusions. No one remembers she was our babysitter. No one remembers she broke my home. Ask anyone and I am the evil bitch. I abandoned my children. 

No one remembers the unanswered phone calls. The threats for leaving a message on the machine. No one remembers the letters. No one cares about the years spent homeless. Never knowing if there would be food or a place to sleep the next month. No one cares why. They just care that they are the "good" one. That's all that really matters anyways. Not truth. Exhale. 

What would I do differently? Honestly I don't know. I am the person I am today because of the pain. Because of the difficulties. Without them I don't know who I would be or what or where. I was slowly being sucked into a vortex that I didn't want my children to be a part of . I wanted them to know sunshine, and rainbows. I wanted them to see the flowers and feel the rain on their faces. I didn't want them to know what it felt like to have your breath sucked from your body. 

But somehow I think they know. All of the things I tried so hard to keep from them. They know. So today I wonder if my son is happy. If he is content. I wait for the day when maybe his curiosity will outweigh his hatred. A day when maybe just maybe. That is the day I wait for.