Love Is a Many-Splintered Thing

Before any of you get all panty-wadded over the titled, just don’t.  Fucking don’t.

Now that’s over with, let us continue.  I am sure several of you have seen the article comparing John Lennon and Trent Reznor where it waxes poetical about Lennon’s Love Is All You Need and Reznor’s Love Is Not Enough.  It goes on to state Lennon was a known abuser of his love and sex interests (so was Reznor, actually)  and how he never took time for his family and wife and whatever.  Then it goes on to say how Reznor took time off to spend with his family (very admirable) and how he understood love isn’t all you need.  For the record; Reznor was a piece of shit to most of his love interests until he fell for his wife.  It has been pretty well documented by groupies, staff, other bands.  So let’s not try to compare apples and apples and call one an orange, mmmkay?  HOWEVER, he DID clean his shit up, and he is correct: love is NOT enough.  In case you have not read the post and give a fuck – http://markmanson.net/love

Love is the absolute smallest and most easily obtained building block one needs for a healthy and happy relationship.  Love is the one piece of a relationship that comes EASILY.  It is also easily lost, if you do not take care of it.  But that goes in to other aspects of relationships.

You must have compassion, understanding, trust, loyalty, a deep desire to stay together, a willingness to compromise and work with the other person, genuine joy in their presence, a profound commitment to their happiness, your happiness, your happiness together.  Love is NOT enough.  You must be willing to take care of one another, defend one another, and kick one another in the ass when necessary (though the manner of the kicking differs greatly for each person and situation).  You must BOTH have all of these qualities, and more.  You both have to hold your relationship as THE most important relationship, because all your other relationships can be built or destroyed based on that one at the center.

(Read more below.)

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If Eyes are Windows…

I am going to start this off by telling you I have a rather petite frame.  Though I wear medium shirts in men’s sizes, my bone structure is on the smaller size.  I have been known to find my jeans in the adolescent section of department stores by mistake, not knowing I was not in the adult section.  Which has caused others to feel embarrassed, but it always amuses me.  I wear medium shirts in men’s sizes (and usually large in women’s) because my shoulders, for my frame, are rather broad.  I have great difficulty finding dresses that fit due to this, or long-sleeve shirts.  Do not even get me started on jackets, as I also have incredibly long arms.  Yes; I realize I am starting to sound like a lanky circus freak; I am not.  Well, I mean, I AM, but not proportionately speaking.  It is hard not to be considered somewhat freaky to many people when you have this many tattoos, stretched earlobes and unnaturally-coloured hair.  And watches.  I cannot buy a watch that fits unless it has a leather band and I cut extra holes in it.  My wrists are so petite but attached to them are incredibly large hands, for a woman.  I always have to buy large or extra large gloves.  And extra large hats, too.  My daughter has also informed me I have Vulcan ears.  Aren’t kids sweet?

I swear, this has a purpose.

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Self Realization is Self Preservation

I have had a lot of time for introspection lately.  Too much time, really.  Between the wakefulness thanks to nightmares and my own general introspection any way, coupled with this year’s crippling events, I have had more than enough time to delve deeply in to all the things that make me who and what I am.  This is rarely a good thing.  I cannot say, yet, whether this has been a good thing recently, either.  Though I have come to some conclusions.

I recently did something that has, to date, been one of the three hardest things I have ever done.  I sat down and wrote all the things I could, at the time, think that I love about someone.  It is much harder than it sounds.  I have often thought about it before, and when I did, I often found myself snapping back to the present with my mouth agape, eyes unfocused and staring in to memories past, lost in the swirling swarming events I hold close to my heart.  I can no more put in to words the emotions these memories evoke than I can adequately explain the emotions of giving birth, swinging from flesh hooks, adopting a child out, being beat by your spouse, escaping death.  They are all things that have no words, in any language, to really explain.  Though some of those I can explain better than others.  Love, fear, loss..these emotions will never be adequately explained, and they are the three that make us do the most fucked up things.  They make us stand when we should flee, they make us flee when we should stand.  They make us give when we should take, they make us take when we should give.  Or in my case, I don’t really feel fear so much, as I have written before.  I have found my fear response tends to go in to pure on “fuck you, I survive” mode where I go incredibly cold and calculating or I skip right over fear in to straight up terror.  Either way, I don’t run.  Ever, so far.  I face it.  Then I face it again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And I keep facing it.

I am the type of person who, if I don’t want to do something, if I “fear” it, I have to do it.  Period.  Regardless the consequences, I have to do it.  Yes, I know the consequences.  I know the chances of me being hurt in some cases are pretty fucking ridiculously high, but I have to do it.  Sometimes, as I told a friend last night:

I don’t care about much, but I’ve lost nearly all I DO care about this year. Sometimes you gotta throw it all out see what comes back.

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The Life of a Human Reverse-Cicada and the Songs She Sings..

…Or maybe, more to the point, making myself sing, even when everything in me wishes to scream.

Three days ago, 22July2014, I drove through a rainbow. Yes, through.  This is not even scientifically possible, yet it happened.  It happened quite clearly.  I have never actually seen the end of a rainbow in my entire 34 years. Rainbows are the dispersion of light through water in the air, so you should never be able to drive through one, as your perspective would keep you seeing the rainbow ever in front of you.  Even seeing an “end” is highly unlikely, though if you have a clear view for a long enough distance, it would be possible.  Where I was driving, the visibility was .. let us say what happened should not have been possible, but happen, it did.

I have seen several things in my life that should not be possible.  It does not really matter which things.  They happened, they are done.  I do not read horoscopes.  I do not look for signs.  However, I have noticed that sometimes things present themselves to us that seem to, upon later inspection, foreshadow later events.  After driving through the rainbow, I texted someone who is, despite no genetic link, my brother.  I told him after that, I was surely to die or win at life. Funny, that.  I have not yet died, but the next day proved… another small death of sorts.  And I have suffered so many of those in my life.

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Anxiety Attacks and drowning in the ocean…

It’s funny how, being classified as bipolar, when I get stressed enough, I stim like someone with autism, asbergers, Tourette’s, etc. And yes, I’m spelling shit all sorts of wrong, and, at the moment, I could give two fucks or a shit less about that or grammatical errors. I have been having fairly intense stims somewhere around an hour. For those of you who suffer from any psychological prizes (hey, let’s call it something fun, instead of a disorder!!), you know how utterly motherfucking god damb exhausting they can be. Just…life-draining. And when I stim, I tic like a motherfucker. Scratching, rubbing my fingers, hitting myself, rocking back and forth,openingand closin gmy mouth,s ieltn screams, rapid blinking, rapid eye movement, tapping, sometimes sounds.. I get a nice lovely run of the stim spectrum. LUCKY ME. Thankfully, it’s only when I am incredibly super HOLY FUCKSHIT stressed the motherfuc out. And I have been..

This time of year is always pretty fucking tough on me. Starting at the beginngin of July through about the first week of August. I adopted a son out the day he was born, August 4th, 2004. And starting about a month before, I just………sink. I sink beneathe the waves of.. everything. Sounds, tastes, touches, feels. thoughts, breaths, leaves, colours, life itself. I have to keep busy. God damn, do I have to keep busy. I will cut a fuckin gentire yard with a god damn pair of scissors if that is absolutely all I have I can do to keep busy. Today, I rearranged my entire livibng room. That may not seem like much, but I had to vacuum and spray for spiders, too, because I have apparently gained an infestation of cute cuddly wolf spiders. Absolutely adorable, not lethal to most folks, but their bites suck big bulbous elephant balls. And I don’t like things randomly crawling on my face for me to squash. Yes, this has happened. And these motherfuckers are fast as hell. Look them up. Shoo, spider, you belong outside. Assholes. Anyw ay. This involved moving one 32″? television that is somewhere around 75-100 pounds off a 2′ high stand across the room.. rearranging 2 oversized loveseats and an oversized couch, moving two old-school studio speakers (the 4′ tall heavy as fuck type), the tv stand and putting a 42″? 75″ television back on the fucking stand. Alone. While dodging fucking spiders and keeping the kid busy. Whereupon I also found a tote I forgot about, seeing how it was cleverly disguised as a side table (don’t ask) and I found old birthday cards. And pictures.

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Inconvenient Painful Truths

Yes, readers, if I’ve any left, I am back. And the title of this particular blog could not be more apt had I dreamed it, woken and immediately started clacking away at this worn and near-broken set of keys.

I have many things I need to say, want to say, and none of which are likely to come out with ease, if at all. I have been silent, have hidden prior posts, due to the feelings of someone else. Due to.. stupid reasons of my own choosing. Hell, I don’t even feel like posting this now, but I feel I must. I have several anniversaries of high import approaching, and this time of year is always a very hard one for me. And always one I face alone.

My adopted son will be 10 August 4th. Not a day passes where I don’t think of him, and remember my failures. And also the likelihood of what would have happened to him had he not been adopted out.. I keep hearing “everything for a reason” and “your happiness is right around the corner..” And it’s all bullshit. All of it. I had as much happiness, more, than I’d ever had. I met someone, and had even more. For a while. That did not last. Of course not. It seems in my life, I only get a taste of what I truly want for just long enough to really start thinking maybe, just maybe… NOPE. then it all falls apart.

Then again, August 27th marks 5 years being divorced from an abusive alcoholic misogynistic worthless asshole, so there’s that. And he didn’t manage to kill me, OR our daughter. Hooray!
Aside from that, you’d think I would get used to the disappointment, but I don’t. I never do. And this time, I gave a bit too much. Figures. It comes down to me being a crazy bitch, I suppose. But aren’t we all?

I have learned that love is not a lie; love is a liability.

When you stretch out your arms, close your eyes and jump from that ledge, chances are damn high someone won’t catch you. And that is okay. But when you truly believe, you KNOW this person WILL, and they won’t.. It crushes some very special parts of you that.. Hell, I don’t know if they’ll come back. And I honestly don’t care. What’s gone is gone. And what this experience has left me with is.. little.

"You've lost your muchness."

“You’ve lost your muchness.”

Yes, I have, Hatter. But I have come away with a soul that is slowly leaking away at the seams I can no longer sew together quickly enough. I cried out for help for once, and was answered “how”. I do not know. I only know I am mad, to the core, and sinking deeper in to a mire I’ve no strength nor motivation to climb from, because I gave my muchness to someone who did not care for it as he should have, because he was too worried about his past repeating itself, as opposed to happy I wasn’t his past. Only, now I am.. but his past didn’t repeat. I am a new past.

This is why I don’t ask for help. When the person people come to for help, to lean on, needs help, suddenly everyone disappears. Suddenly, no one knows what to do. And gods forbid they just sit, shut the fuck up, and listen. And since I would like them to just sit, not interrupting, shut the fuck up and listen, I have communication issues..no matter how many times I’ve done JUST that for them.

And this is why the strongest motherfuckers so rarely say a word, just end up found with a bullet through their heads. Because even when they said a fucking word, others just kept right on talking.

No, I’m not going to kill myself. I’m not a pussy. And no matter how hard or harsh shit gets, I’ve got shit to do. But seriously, motherfuckers, sometimes it’s YOUR turn to sit down, shut the fuck up, and listen. You’re not the only motherfucker who sometimes just needs a motherfucker to care, to listen.

On this, my deceased father’s birthday, an update of importance, if only to me.

I have been conspicuously silent the past few months, and for good reason. Things in my life have, at points, come to a screeching halt, and at other times they have sped so far out of control, I wanted to yell LETMEOFFLETMEOFFLETMEOFF. This has definitely been a year of upheavals and trials, for sure.. though it has also been a year for good revelations, smiles, laughter, love, dancing, blah blah all that sweet shit.

Where to start? not the beginning this time, Dear Reader. Not this time.

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