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A Little Clarity

Since Mel died, there has been so much fog, and so much haze. I have never had a loss like losing Mel and any loss after her was small change compared to her. It’s not that the people I lost since her weren’t horrible, but Mel was big, personal, traumatizing, and deep.

She was my major gut punch.

Mr. Yummy and PD were huge and painful, but they only piled on an already bad and dangerous pain.

I still love him. I always will, but I will never get over the way he just disappeared and ghosted me after Mel died. Telling me HOW to process and how the way I was doing it, was wrong. Fuck you, for that. Mr. Yummy will always be the one who evoked an emotion in me, like no other. But I already knew he was an asshole when PD said he was an asshole and she didn’t like him.

I didn’t like him much either at that time, but I could not at that time process the loss of him. I had to get to a dead point. By dead point, I mean my feelings for him went dead. I would have rather stayed with my sissy and the asshole she lived with, than be around him because he just hurt me. He was a big loss on a big loss. It just compounded my depression. I sat in his house with all those guns, alone, depressed, angry, sad, overwhelmed and wanting to not fucking feel the pain of losing Mel. I won’t lie. I had a gun in my mouth. I couldn’t leave that as the last memory Mr. Yummy had of me. In his house. with HIS gun. It would have been a delicious Fuck You, though.

PD sucked because she just compounded the loss by kicking my ass to the curb, the very day I decided that if Mr. Yummy wanted to be with me, he would make himself available to spend time with me. He wasn’t busy working like he said he was, He wasn’t off taking care of his grand-kids, and I know this to be true. He was running from me and my sadness and whatever else he didn’t have the balls to say to me. I finally realized that.

I cried prior to losing Mr. Yummy and PD. but once it was done, I just went dead to them. Being dead emotionally was easier than falling farther apart. It’s that simple. And this is a small moment of clarity to me.

It’s Friday night and time to wake and bake.

New Clothes

I changed the theme. I think it’s a push for me to start writing again.

I’m also going to write really honestly.

Here are some truths.

I miss The Girl. I am pretty sure she knows this. I’ve never stopped loving her, though I fear her intensely because at one time, she had the power, and used it to try and hurt me. It worked. I’d love to have a relationship with her, but I also fear it. Trust and all.

I am moving on in life after so many losses, but in all honesty if I die today, I am pretty OK with that. I don’t think I am courting death, but maybe I am. I’m not going to the doctor and I have some pretty serious things going on with my body. Do I ignore it longer and go till I drop, or do I go to the doctor?

I’m not really into more of the same. I have kind of had enough of the loss.

I am probably more closed off than ever, because to let anyone in that close would mean to trust, and I am very, very, very careful about who I hand actual trust to.

On the other side, I know the things I have experienced, seen and felt, to be true. It’s just that life hit me so hard I fell off the path. I’ve not gone back to that same hateful person, but there is this wall of protection around me and when you live like that, you aren’t really living at all. You’re sitting around, waiting for it to be done. My life has felt like the last act, of a bad play, that will not fucking end.

But still I am waiting. I don’t know for what, but I am waiting.

I’m thinking I know what I personally need to do, but I have procrastinated because to jump back into it means work and I know that with so much hidden emotion and denied feeling, it’s going to be heavy. It can’t be any heavier than keeping all this shit inside me, can it?

There are things I am totally happy about also.

I love my little apartment. I love that the things I do in my life, are mine. I do them when I want and no one criticizes me, tells me I am wrong, disapproves, or hits me.

I love my few friends I have kept. These are the people I trust and am comfortable with.

Yesterday, I read something I wrote a few moths before the stroke. How odd. As things were getting better and I was happy because of Mr. Yummy, my move, my job, my soaring spiritual awakening, there was a point I admitted I feared what was coming. In all honesty I seriously thought The Girl was about to make an appearance and I wasn’t sure I could do it. That would have been so much easier than losing Mel, Mr. Yummy and Arie. All within a short time span. Back to back. It felt so cruel. it made me ask if I was a good person? I sort of began to doubt my value. I forgot I am what I am and deserve what I deserve, as do you.

With Love,

IWentCrazy

Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda (Gonna)

Media blind - censorship concept

There is something I should have done in 2010, that I DIDN’T do because I was afraid. I was afraid for a lot of reasons, but mostly I was afraid that I didn’t matter, so I stayed quiet.

Someone who said he loved me, jammed his shoulder into my face, while I was laying beneath him on the floor. He did it twice. It was the second time he did it, that I heard a pop in my left eye. I was drunk, which is unfortunate, but it wasn’t a reason to bust the orbital floor of my left eye.

The actual reason he did it, is because I, was daring to become uncontrollable. I wouldn’t be told on this particular night, that it was time to go to bed. I didn’t have to work the next day, and I had just spent a week taking care of him, while he was drinking his way through his friend’s death. I just was taking a night, to listen to music, have some solitude and non drama, and a half a bottle of rum.

It’s always bothered me that I was shit faced drunk, because I really don’t drink that often. The details are blurry because of the drink, but in NO WAY, does that mean I deserved to have the floor of my eye busted, because I wouldn’t go to bed, or grabbed a cell phone.

I grabbed the cell phone, because he threatened to call the police on me for being drunk. Because I was drunk, I didn’t stop to think that the police couldn’t arrest me for being drunk in the place I was calling home. I was old enough, at home, and so fucking what?

It was the grabbing of the cell phone that set him off, and though I can admit, it was a drunkenly STUPID thing to do, knowing he had a temper, but I did not deserve to have the floor of my eye broken. It was stupid of me to stay with him too. We broke up, but true to form…I went back.

It’s not surprising that a year later, he assaulted me again.

I was still secretly paying for bankruptcy from the reconstructive surgery, that he told me NOT to declare bankruptcy on.

I didn’t have insurance. I didn’t call the police. I didn’t press charges. I didn’t sue him.

After the second assault, I left him. I lived in a closet in my mother’s studio for a year and a half, because that, was preferable to living with him while trying to go through bankruptcy and rebuilding my credit and my life. That is also when I went crazy. That was when the walls of hate that I had carried with me, for so long, crumbled. Overnight. Completely.

Pressing charges, doing all of that, would have impeded my spiritual journey, that slapped me in the face. It also would have meant, dealing with a lot of negative shit, and I really had just been so negative and angry for so long, it suddenly was toxic to me. I had to walk this path and learn the things I have learned with the Universe.

I probably had to get unafraid too.

The night before Mel died, I have said we talked about EVERYTHING. It’s almost weird that we spoke of so much and makes me think she knew something was happening to her. We talked about this man. I told her that I wished I had made a police report. She told me it wasn’t too late and that it would probably help the next woman, because we both know there with be “the next one”. I hung up the phone that night, knowing she and I would talk more about it and she would support me through it.

Well, I never got to talk to her about it again, but I am going to follow through on it. I don’t expect them to arrest, file, or do anything. Too much time has passed. It’s not about that. It’s about documenting. Not staying silent. Calling him, what he was to me.

Do I still forgive him? Yes.

Do I ever want to see him or have him in my life in any manner? No.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda…gonna.

The Place Where Dreams Happen

Dreaming

I know that dreaming is essential to sanity. When REM sleep is interrupted, people go insane. The brain needs that time to defrag and process the waking life.

But is the place of dreams real? Are those experiences just our life in another dimension? That place feels just as real as my waking life, but I know that reality, is just an “illusion” and that we have a greater hand in constructing this illusion, than we realize.

So what is this place of dreams, and what do my dreams from last nights, fitful, broken slumber mean?

I ask this, while having under my belt, at least 30 years of dream interpretations.

Does it just mean, today is one of the two’s birthday and I’m thinking of it all? Does it mean the other of two was thinking just as hard of me as I was dreaming of her?

I’m frightened of what I feel is coming, even though I have created this. I can scroll back to the post I wrote about it all.

One of the things that is starting to happen, now that I have been at the creating thing a few years, is that creations, create faster than when I first started.

I also told Mr. Yummy about the next step in my Spiritual Journey. I didn’t tell him that’s what it is, just like I’ve told you, the reader, the next step is coming, but I haven’t told you what the step is.  I thought today was the day, but after last night, I woke and knew it is not today. I’m too caught up in my head now and wondering about this place where dreams happen. It felt so real and today my head knows it was “a dream” but my heart also knows that it, is feeling the emotion. The emotion wasn’t fake. It was real and exists.

I know one thing.

I have my next tattoo planned. I know the EXACT image, placements, and words. I think that this, will be the step after the next step. It’s all about doing and being

When religion offends speak the truth. (and always carry a Sharpie)

image

 

18, May 2013 Update:

My dryer is on the fritz, so I went to the laundry to do my wash. The religious propaganda was removed, and two hot guys hit on me while I laundered.

Interesting indeed.

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