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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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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The captain of your ship of dreams..

Y’know what I’m tired of hearing, seeing people post, reading, whatever, about relationships?
“It’ll work out some day. It HAS to, right?”
Well, I’ve got your answer, darlings.
No.
NO, it does not have to work out some day. This isn’t Disney, you’re not a god damn princess, and the bottom line is NO, it will not work out for everyone.

Let me break it down for you, okay?

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Inconvenient painful truths

It’s time for some brutal and painful honesty tonight, gentle readers.. The type of honesty you don’t want to admit even to yourself: the type of honesty that brings the hot painful tears to both the reader and the author. The type of honesty that only freshly opened, never healed, very deep wounds can evoke.

First, you should note I’ve no clue how long this will be or where it will go. You take this journey as I take this journey; blind and fucking batshit crazy until we reach our port of call.

Enjoy.

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