bpd

Bullet Train Derailment

My mood plummeted last night.  It wasn’t the best yesterday, but as soon as night fell, my mood became extremely murky and dark and thick and very uncomfortable and it was really hard moving through it.

I feel better today and now I am trying to pinpoint the cause of the crash.  I tried to pinpoint last night but the muck was much too deep.  It was all I could do just trying to stay in my skin.

Most of it was anxiety, I guess.

I am, currently, and have been living between two houses for the last several months.

I have been in a relationship for approximately the last three and a half years.

I have been possessed in my current body for two score and 21 days, and in that time I have only had three long-term relationships with men.  The first one lasted about four years, and bore one child.  The second one lasted about six years, and bore 3 children. During that particular relationship, he was not with me, emotionally, for any of it, and was only present, physically, 2 years.

After number 2, even though I had really given up on the idea of loving or being loved by a man, I accidentally fell in love.

This time was different.  The love was reciprocal.  I knew it, I could feel it, and it was was like nothing I had ever experienced before, in my life.  I loved someone who actually loved me back…wow.  I could not say ‘no’ to it, no matter how hard I tried, and even a year into the relationship, I was still trying, and I am still trying.

Now, the ability to say ‘no’ and “turning it off” have become easier because the cracks in his honesty, that I knew were somewhere in there, albeit hidden well, have finally begun to show.

I am an honest person.  It came naturally, at first, and I lost it during adolescence and my teen years until I was about 24 years old.  I was heavy on drugs, homeless, squatting from one house, to the next with very few possessions, and those factors are what possessed my mind to stop lying.  I realized that I had so little, that the little I had, I wanted to keep, and I knew in my soul, that the only way to keep those things was to stop taking things from others.

Yeah, I used to steal and lie, and I was actually really fucking good at it.

Back to topic….you gotta watch me…I’ll go off a track faster than the Bullet Train, if it were bombed.

….one day I’m gonna ride the Bullet Train in Japan….

So, anyway, I stopped lying more than 15 years ago.

When a person doesn’t lie, over time, I believe they develop the ability to become a human lie detector…or maybe I always have been…I don’t know.  What I do know is that I know when someone is lying to me.

And that’s all I want to say about this right now because sharing feelings is hard for me, but I’m working on it.

I also know that anyone who is interested in reading this blog, probably has a short attention span.

 

 

 

Burial Shroud

I don’t know what to do

I am swimming in glue

I can only find one shoe

and it was stepped in poo.

I desire to write my feelings in prose

speak of this borderline stuff, I suppose

but when I do anxiety grows

and rhyme the only thing not froze

why can’t i just say it out loud

Hey y’all I’m borderline and proud

of this thing… my burial shroud

which always attracts a similar crowd

so many ignorant of their own big , black cloud.

At the risk of sounding crazy

At the risk of sounding crazy…

Ok, before I can even go any further I have to implore my mind to find the reason why my mouth should utter such a sentence as, ‘at the risk of sounding crazy’.    I suppose my prefrontal cortex hasn’t been completely disposed.  There’s still a few soldiers up there trying hold down the fort, which is the metaphorical analogy of the physical reality of a filter that I have never really possessed, completely, or which came broke.

So, does that make me crazy?

I don’t know…I have hung out with my share of full-fledged schizophrenics and mostly always enjoyed the hell out of their company, but never did I hear them verbalize their worry of the possibility that they may be crazy.

Have you?

Now I went off track and I don’t even want to write anymore about what I intended to write.

 

 

 

 

I am a fallen angel.

So I write….4/20-4/21 Random

4/20/16

I feel stagnant today.  I want to create something but nothing is coming but some random thoughts so, if you’re interested, here they are:

There is a cardinal that keeps flying past me, I wonder who it is from beyond telling me, “hello”.

I was very angry yesterday about deleting my Instagram account.  I lost several pictures and videos that I will never get back, plus, what’s the point in taking selfies, anymore?

None.

I am not angry anymore.  I have no feeling about it anymore.

That didn’t take long.

I’m good at making feelings disappear.  Maybe that’s why I tattooed ‘ABRAHADABRA’ on my arm, myself.  I did a pretty good job on that tattoo, especially since it was my first one.

4/21/16

More random thoughts until some rhymes spill out of my face.

This is the most satanic week of the year, according to Illuminati conspiracy theorists…I tend to agree with them on this, given historical records about horrible ass shit that has happened during the days of April 19-30, down through the annals of time.

If a relationship constantly feels like work, what does that mean?

Jesus came to visit me yesterday, it was a pretty cool meeting….not as cool as the time He came in the flesh, last year, a night I haven’t written about yet because there are almost no words in any language to describe that night.  No matter how I re-tell it, I never can do it justice.  I can say this, though, Jesus is one cool ass dude to chill with….he’s nothing but love.  He really has no condemnation or judgement in him, not that I saw or felt, and my instinct was to worship him…but that part got weird because he used this kid Mike Fresh’s body, and Mike Fresh was young and arrogant….and that gets on my nerves…but I can assure you, it doesn’t get on JC’s nerves.

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday, Stepdad

My God, you’re old now…what?  Like 76?  Literally…cause you were born in 1940.  I bet you still look like you’re in your fifties, though, just like your mom.

I never liked you..I didn’t really like your mom, either.

Your soul stank, I could smell it at 3 years old.

Five Dull Knives

You see, there’s been a breach and it’s hard to reach that place inside of me that holds the trust that once was gained but now is hard to see…it’s not that I don’t love you because very much, I do, it’s just that I’ve come to understand that truth is hard for you.

I have really tried my honest best to teach  you and all the rest, the lessons I have learned through this awful, grueling test, this test we call our lives…I know the truth is hard to tell but lies are worse than knives.

Even the dullest knife plunged into my skin is not a thing to imagine but I would rather five dull knives in my chest before one more lie from you again.

Jesus didn’t make me a rocket scientist

“If I can’t have all of you, I don’t want none of you” -athenaswickedowl

I don’t have Instagram anymore, to scroll through and look at people’s pictures…people I don’t even really know, and whose pictures I don’t even really like.  I just like them, anyway, to ‘pay it forward’ or whatever that dumb shit is that only about 1% of the population really does.

What’s funny is that even though I’m liking their pictures that I don’t even really like, they’re not liking any of my pictures they don’t even really like…and that pisses me off.

Why can’t I just not like any of their pictures I don’t even fucking like?

BECAUSE I UNDERSTAND THAT PEOPLE POST SHIT BECAUSE THEY WANT IT TO BE LIKED OR THEY WOULDN’T HAVE FUCKING POSTED IT.

Jesus….he didn’t even make me a rocket scientist…

One Single Tear: A Nightmare

I just want to write tonight.  I can’t sleep.  Lord knows I have been doing a whole lot of that this week.  I slept so much I found out that my kidneys are not working while I drink. Yet̷…

Source: One Single Tear: A Nightmare

and then stop

I am in a fighting type of mood right now.  I want to punch and be punched and I want the punches landed on me to make me madder and make me punch back harder.

I want to hear the sound of my fist hitting face until I get disgusted at the sound and the sight of the limp body that I’m kneeling over not fighting back anymore and then stop.

It’s been more than 2 years since I’ve felt that feeling and I think it’s time to feel it again.

April 7, 2016: The last 15 Years of my life

I didn’t sleep last night.  I mean, I did, but I didn’t do it all the way.  I just kinda hovered over the chasm between being awake and being asleep.  My son is sick with the flu and I was with him in the twin size bed.  It’s a daybed so there is another twin size bed right next to us,  but he wants me right next to him…sharing a pillow.

My son is very warm with fever but it’s ok because it’s a bit chilly in the house and I have a light blanket over me that doesn’t cover my feet.  He didn’t sleep well, either.  He tossed and turned and coughed and had to blow his nose frequently.   He knocked over a cup of water in the middle of the night and I really need to go in there and make sure the towel I threw over it, right after it happened, soaked it all up not leaving the water there to scar the floor.

I got up at 4:00 a.m hoping to find a Xanax or something to help me to sleep.  The cupboard was bare.

I got up again at 6:30 a.m. to go check on my next door neighbor, who just got home from the hospital.  He had open-heart surgery.  His door was shut tight and I knocked softly.  If he was comfortable, I didn’t want to disturb him because he was pulled apart and sewn back up from his neck to his groin.  I thought maybe I should knock louder….but I didn’t.

I went back home, worried, and got back into the twin-size bed.

Again, I hovered over the chasm.

11:00 a.m

Time to go ahead and get up. I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach.  I don’t like this feeling.  I should be used it, but I’m not and I don’t think I ever will be.

The feeling is a mixture of 2 parts worry, 3 parts sadness and 4 parts homesickness.  I don’t really know where home is and I guess I never have because I have had this feeling, a feeling I named “the bad feeling” since the age of about 5, and I definitely had a “home” when I was five.

It’s a quarter to two now, the kids just left to go to the doctor, and I think about the same question that’s been running through my mind since I got out of bed:

When did I decide to give up?