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?

Dear Penis Owners

 

This is an open letter to those who have given me unsolicited "advice" (aka telling me what the fuck to do) over the last few days. While I appreciate having a penis is a prerequisite to having an opinion where you're from, it is not however necessary in my world. In my world, a non penis owner has as much right to not only have an opinion, but to *gasp* make decisions based upon what they think is right. Non penis owners do not have to follow the advice (aka orders) of penis owners. In my world, having a penis, makes you  a dick. It does not make you intelligent or know it all. While I appreciate your interference in my life and giving me advice I did not ask you for, I'd like to request you keep your nose and penis out of my life in the future. 

I realize this comes as a shock to you because in the past I usually bended to your will, and now I'm not. I believe in my ability to decide what is best for ME and I know that your decisions are based on what is best for YOU. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I really don't give a fuck because it's my world and non penis owners make the rules. So suck on that.

Shit Happens

It's been ten days since my last post. I feel like I should recite some hail maries or something. I need to make a concious effort to write here more, but I have people in my life that allow me to email them 25 times a day if I need to. So the need to write here has lessened. But sometimes I just need to write. To flow with the words. To bend and twist and twine with them. To let them tickle my toes and blow whispers on my lashes. Sometimes I need to let go. 

Let go of the constant need of perfection. And of the constant fear of rejection when my imperfections are seen. I've made mistakes this week. Not life shattering mistakes. Just tiny little errors in my work. No major catastrophe ensured. They were rectified immediately. But yet I felt that gnawing pain of failure eating away at my insides. Consuming me. Trying to suck me back in. I could feel the wetness of its tongue as it slid over me. Then I pushed it away. It's still there. I can see its shadow. Hears its breath as it draws it in and out. I see him and he sees me, but there is a distance. A distance I wasn't able to put between us before. A distance I'm struggling to maintain, but somehow it remains. 

While in many ways I'm alien, I'm still part humanoid. I'm going to make mistakes but that's ok.. Shit happens. That's why they invented bleach.

Be the Pan and Crow

Yesterday's events just make me realize how grown up I have to be. Three days ago Jigger and I had some issues, but the second his phone rang I let go. They ceased to exist. His need for me was/is more important than my need of being right. It reminds me of how "grown up" I have to be. How the world sits on my shoulders, a female Atlas. I look at others and I long for their freedom. I long to be selfish. I long to put my needs before others. 

I look at them in awe and wonder how they do it. My BIL has sat here for almost 4 years without working. Never once did it ever cross his mind that he needs to do something. He feels no shame for sitting while others work 18 hr days, seven days a week. He feels no shame when he buys new clothes while others are torn and stitched together. How do people do that? Sometimes I want to be like that.

To be able to just take all that is mine and feel no guilt. No burden in existing. No thought of what I might be placing upon another. No worry or fear that my taking means someone else might do without. To just be so effortlessly. I long for that. 

I don't know  what that feels like. Not even as a child. The peace of our house rested upon my shoulders. I could never just be. Could never just spin in circles and then fall dizzy to the ground. Could never close my eyes and just run through the breeze. Could never just breathe. Responsibility is something I seem to have been born with. While I am responsible, I am also resentful in many ways. I resent my BIL's ability to sit and not worry that I have to work so hard to support HIS family. I resent it when I'm asked if I want something and I say no and they don't realize that I really do WANT it but I'm too shy to say "yes". Too fearful of rejection. Too afraid of disappointing. Of becoming a burden. Too worried about hurting someone or making them feel the way I feel inside. 

Then I think of  my children. Of the reasons of the distance separating us. I become angry. Angry at those who so easily cast me aside and brand a letter upon me. Yet they never look in the mirror to see their own brand. I get angry at myself for remaining silent in the wake of their accusations. For not defending myself. For not exposing their own decay. For being a helper of theirs in hiding the rot they carry within them. By allowing them to declare the rot that is theirs to be mine. I become enraged at myself that I am unable to break this cycle. Unable to speak what is inside of me. Unable to be hurtful and vengeful even if it means I am the loser. 

If I can't even defend myself, then how can I expect anyone else to? When I'm unwilling or unable to speak up for my own basic needs. NEEDS. Not WANTS. There's a difference. So if I can't fulfill my own needs then why am I so surprised when others don't either? After all these years I still am shocked when I'm forgotten. Overlooked. Ignored. I don't know why it still surprises me so. I should be use to it by now but somehow each time is like the first. I seem to forget all the times before. I don' t know why. 

Maybe it's because I really do believe in fairies.