God, I love a good drunk

The question isn't why I'm drunk once a month, Lord knows I thoroughly deserve a chance to escape my hellish, traumatic memory filled life...the question is why aren't I this wasted every fucking day, now isn't it.
It feels so good like plastered poseys and pink filled rooms with Nothing on the walls or sticking to my skin.
I've always felt the distance between me and you. I've always found your life pretty and highly petty, and now you know why...ha, at least fractionally.
I've been so fucked over. I don't drown in pity, rather I grab the only cup I've been given, you know, the tiny blue one with half broke handle and I'm baling in, perpetually baling, my arms so tired and worn, it's a fucking miracle or mistake, that they haven't fallen off.
Omg, I met a beautiful woman today. Startlingly in that she looks at me with eyes of delight and welcome and let me get to know you better. We exchanged numbers, She Asked to exchange numbers, I'm so happy, it's all I've ever wanted...someone happy to see me..who lights up when I walk in the room...who smiles at me a deep, genuine smile of sparkling happiness.
And I'm crying again...I don't know, I guess it's at the fact that the simplest of things, the look of welcome is so foreign to me and it shouldn't be...it shouldn't be..I've always deserved someone to appreciate me for who I am...not for what I could do for them or how low they could make me bend.
My moment away from the injuries seems to have passed. Time for another round.
I love finding that sweet spot between leaving reality into a pleasant drunk and the insidious spinning of the room.
I...am a pretty awesome person. How I survived that, even just that one incident, is beyond scope of comprehension...really, seriously..for sure now.
I do have one friend now which rocks my world in the most pleasing of ways, like the idle cradle with screaming baby rocks, smooths and coos. Now, the door is open to find a kindred, kind woman soul to sooth my empty, aching heart. I've been alone for many, many, many years. I know she is out there...it may very well be the sweetheart of today.
I find women beautiful so easily. I cannot say the same of men as I have only known a couple worthy of my kiss and time.
Oh, I know a beautiful man but he lives too far away...more than a friend but less than a twosome. What a refreshing delight was he, restoring my faith in me and mankind. Forever friends in a positive way.
I do not hate men, I simply find most unattractive. Give me a good woman who is kind, with sparkling eyes, swaying hips and tender lips filled with kind words anyday. Haha hahaha
As if I needed drink to be any more honest than my everyday self. I will never understand deceit and the lowly sense of self that causes people to lie and deceive not only others but themselves. How sad and full of hurt and loneliness they must be. All well and good but stay far away from me as I've found my 10 foot pole and have figured out how to use it.
God, this is fun.
I simple must go and enjoy the brevity of this simple, feel good fleeting mood.
Be well my friends. Be very well!!!!!!

Forgive my deep depression

Today, for almost an hour and a half...I recited the most disturbing series of flashback memories within my system.
They consisted of the very clear, extremely painful frames of the incident in which my dad forced me to help skin alive, torture and butcher my first pet rabbit. It was excruciating like pulling a pin from a grenade and smothering it within my chest.
Startling was the clarity of the images, the ease with which I heard my father's nonchalant voice and the feel of things that were done.
No, I'm not like you. Yes, I've been seriously damaged and horrendously scarred.
At the end of session, my clothes were close to soaked with tears. I heard my therapist cry and choke back tears, swiping handfuls of tissue and responding to my queries with thinly veiled, sobbing answers.
Everything has changed.
The memory that has haunted me since I was a girl of eight, wrapped like a constricting thick chain strung round my chest, no longer consumes me from the inside out.
The air between therapist and me, likewise, has changed. As she is the first and only human to hear of this most violent experience, there is some type of bond, I guess, for lack of better word. She bared witness to a deep, dark, lurking, blood soaked and horrendous incident. No one else has ever done that. The very air and energy in the therapy room changed and we were no longer strangers both doing their job well.
The hours that have passed...the processing...has brought much to bear. Mostly, I'm deeply saddened, my heart filled with grief.
After the incident, in the middle of the night, laying awake, stunned and heartily traumatized, I dressed for school in the morning having to behave as if nothing had happened. Having to look surprised as my brother ran in stating Snowballs cage was open and he was gone. And I walked to school pretending, stoic.
I don't know how I lived..through the event, through the next day, through seeing white rabbits, all with the memory solidly embedded, in its entirety, within my chest. I was 8 yrs old for God's sake.
And I weep for the child me that had to hold Snowball down, that had to use the knives thrust into my hands, that saw and readily felt Snowball's fear and pain. No, I'm not okay and I don't expect to be...for awhile.
There are a handful of egregious events that thoroughly impacted me...this is one.
Poor, innocent Snowball.
Poor, innocent me.

UGLY People

Ugly, to me, is not a physical body thingy. The only ugly people I have known have earned the title through repulsive, hurtful acts. And I know of them. And I lived with them. And I am repulsed by their ugly spirit, meanness, and selfish, righteous indignation.
Cruelty is only committed by the ugly. You can't see them, for their acts define them not their physical nature. Ugliness is hidden well.
Observe closely those you wish to fall in love with, as their inner nature peeks out in little bits, small slights, arrogant attitudes and their disrespect for their fellow human. They may live cats and dogs, even giving to charity but it is all a ruse to trap and ensnare.
Many ugly people walk around in pretty disguise. Be ware....always beware.

Sleep from the insomniac, Curing Insomnia the Natural Way

From my inner musings, insomnia seems to stem from one of three things: physical illness, childhood abuse or the agile, ever-thinking mind.
Sleep is a trust that the night will relinquish you in the morn and you will rise again.
It is faith and belief that you have done the best you could with the day...and allow it to rest without mulling or regret.
Sleep is a peace within that says "the future will play out as it should."
Sleep is the understanding that the beings, the monsters that nightly assaulted in our youth, are dead and gone.
It is the knowledge that dreams and nightmares will not linger once the day breaks.
Sleep is about being pain and anxiety free, and feeling safe.
It's allowing oneself the chance to be at peace for a few hours, knowing you will be able to conquer the next day.

Yearning for that Unknown

Being Lonely

Dawn is barely cracking

as the sky sheds it's darkness for a lighter hue. The portal of words has sprung wide open filling the anteroom. Pictures once on the wall, pages of memory maps, the layout of the childhood stomping grounds have fluttered off the wall and parade around my head...as if I could have forgotten the way of the walk to school and back. The names of the streets, colors and shapes of the houses; postage stamp yards; length of each section of sidewalk piece.
Sleep is the first innate gift to go, forever, when the body, the mind, the soul, is shattered with the rapist living in the bedroom next to you. For sleep is trust; trust that the body is safe and will remain unharmed in unconscious bliss of faraway dreams. Vigilance is ears on stilts searching, waiting, constant scanning for the sound, dare it draw near and high alert, blaring alarms signal the coming of the assault, the inaudible screams and the searing pain.
It burns as if a lighted match were thrust inside and cooling, silent tears quench, become the focus, trying to forget, make foggy.
Triggers are the sounds of zippers, the sliding of the elastic, the lifting of the flimsy cotton veil that protects nothing but a small sense of self.
There is nothing but the want of emptiness. A singular room, a bed to oneself, the breathing of but one, skin untouched, a nightgown that isn't removed, no fear of footsteps and a peace reserved for those unmolested.
The refreshing delight of sleep undisturbed was a gift meant for others not me.

The Week of Disappointment

The sky was falling. It was a week of high hopes dashed against the rocks in sudden squalls. Throwing eggs at the hens. Holding my breath as waves crashed in spurts. Oft staying in bed is the best way to deal with the days, when they roll, one after the other, like this.
Sure, there was some good news. My car checked out okay at the garage. I heard from Eldest after four months. I shall refer to him as Rogue 1 from this point on, as the title seems most fitting. Not rogue as in bad, but rogue as in "off on his own." Nothing negative intended by the change in moniker.
My puppy ended up at the vet with a corneal abrasion. It's been pretty tough to put her in the cone to keep her from scratching. This is the first time I've ever used a dog cone and it's a helpless and frustrating feeling to see puppy with this strange thingy wrapped around her neck. It's scary for her and painful. The vet did give her pain pills which has allowed her to remain calm and sleep much, escaping her waking misery.
I've noticed the similarities in puppy's situation and my own. Since she has been injured, life has stopped for her. Her every waking moment revolves around healing from her injury. Nothing is as it was, for her. She's not normal, not able to play and do what she wants...she waits to heal. Her entire day is spent healing. Her life is altered, a pinpoint focus, right now. I get that. There isn't anything about my waking life that is average, playful, carefree or about doing what I want to do.
I'm wounded...damaged, seriously impacted by what's been criminally, viciously done to me. I live each day just healing. I've been wondering how much of my damage can even be healed or...maybe I should just accept this limping, bleeding half life.
Another note..
Since becoming aware of the egregious malfeasance inflicted upon me, in my last relationship due to my naive and gullible nature, I'm hesitate to enter into any type of intimate relationship, as I fear I am nothing but bait and a target whereby someone will come along, play nice, and misuse me as before. It's hard to have an ounce of trust when you've been quietly pounded into submission and nonexistence day after day after day after year after year after year. Yeah, still feeling pretty trashed and beaten.
Therapy is going okay. It's nice to have one hour a week in which someone gives a shit and isn't trying to trick or use me.
So the week is done. Good riddance.
Hopes run on a significantly lower level, when they run at all.

Painting is Intimate

Bittern is a painting I'm most enamored with...
I'm proud of..
Revealing
Painting gives form to the non-verbal feelings that can't be expressed in the traditional way...
It's like getting a rare glimpse into the inner workings of someone else's world..
It's an outward sharing..
It's reaching out and saying "this Is who I am"...
Intimacy so deep...
I marvel at Bittern...Bittern- a small secretive bird in the heron family.

Bittern, a brand new style of Painting

Bittern
This is the first time I've felt compelled to paint exclusively with my fingertips, of both hands.
I really like this A Lot!!!!

Survivor Memes

One Wound Painting

It's scary to paint, or to start one anyway. I'm always afraid I'll mess it up. If I learn to just trust myself, following the inner paint by numbers, I do okay.
Words embedded: she was always one wound, one breath away from death.
She was so broken she forgot how to bleed.

Healing from the Past

The thing I've wanted most

It's weird because it's so simple, elementary. Maybe I feel foolish saying something most people take for granted.
What I've forever searched for is someone to talk to. I have so much to say. I want to be heard, listened to, valued and respected. I just want someone I can easily talk to about anything, everything, all the dark as well as the light. Maybe even more than love...I wish for someone to talk to.

Love in Dreams

I can't feel love in everyday life. The only time I've ever felt it has been in dreams. Dreams where someone is deeply, honestly in love with me. I know what it feels like and that I'm capable of feeling it...it's just never been safe.
In my dreams, my love is always a somewhat abstract stranger, sometimes male, sometimes female. Gender doesn't seem to matter, the same as in my waking life.
I'm grateful to have not been able to feel it these past years...lol, I take that back as I was with someone who was completely unable, incapable of giving any because they were empty. So maybe it is entirely possible that I will feel love in a relationship if it's with the right person.
I'm still pretty bitter and enraged at the previous cruelty. It's left quite a wound but I'm no stranger to oozing blood now, am I?
It's time to make better choices. I continue to see one woman and have a new one to meet this coming week. Looking for friends and kindred souls. I enjoy dating these days.

She just gave up, When your mother doesn't love you

Stopped trying
Realized it was hopeless that after years, decades really, without a sound, healthy love that it was improbable and not worth the wait, the worry, the wondering and wandering
She chose to be alone because it was the least painful option and one that she could handily realize
When your mother can't bring herself to love you, you know life is going to be pretty depressing and fucked
She wasn't wanted, after she was born, anyway and she felt it in their hands and saw it in their eyes, immediate reject, the parental love bond contract torn apart and set afire before her tiny, tear stained eyes.
Navigation, stability, safety, trust would quickly become rich foreign lands that she would never be allowed to visit.
I see a stray dog and I try and help it. I take her home, feed her, love her, search for her home.
When I'm the stray dog, I'm allowed to sleep near the garage, eat the scraps on the floor and chained to the electric fence, forever.
I'm not like you, her
Smart enough to see how fucked up this is. Dumb enough to throw up my hands and give up, at regular intervals.
I knew life wasn't fair....I just didn't know it harbored so many wounded who enjoyed abusing others. Too many bad guys. Too few caring and kind.

Her Heart

Had grown empty, sorrowful, wanting and hid away. From fertile field to fallow, no man's land. The easiest way to trick, turn and manipulate was the love sickly promise.
Everyone should be born with someone to catch them. To hold, cradle, nurture and adore. When that seemingly natural mission is lacking...well, the world becomes an unwelcoming, shaky and shifting place with no viable sense of stability. It's akin to a chop block where your legs get knocked out from under you as you helpless claw at the floor unable to stand, find footing or a hand to help you up.
I repeated my childhood patterns and chose a partner who was cold, distant, unemotional, unavailable, narcissistic, vile and disgusting, exactly the way the mother was. Funny, the ex even had the nickname Mother but for reasons of shame? embarrassment? Never told me that this was her nickname every single day that she went to work. Even denied it to my face with cold, dead eyes. A true lier as was my other mother.
It's no coincidence that patterns repeat until we learn from them.
I'm tired. This battle rages on with little respite. Having to defend myself from the selfish, disgusting one who misses the reins of control she once had over me. I pity those who fail to see the needless hurt they cause others. It's like running over a cat, over and over and over and not realizing what you are doing. Then one day you wake up...and see the mess, the pain and distress you caused....
I don't know...it just seems so odd, bizarre and inhumane that people consciously hurt and injure others.
I will never understand. ..but I'm learning what evil looks like so I can avoid it's unpleasant effects yet again .

In the dark of the night

She realized
She had become
The Crack between floor boards,
Whiskey sour dripping
Quietly flooding
Basements
And Graves of the undead...
She had become
The dirty grooved floor,
No mat could cover
The stains
Inflicted
Each day
Building
Stain upon stain
Layered so tightly
No webs could penetrate
She was the dust
The ash from the cigarette
The gum affixed bottom of shoe
Upon the soul
Stuck, hardened
Unable to move
To free herself
Praying for planes
Carrying bombs
To destroy or to free
Didn't matter
Which switch was pulled
As long as it ended,
The situation, the trap
Somehow unstrung,
Throat tightening
Partner knotting the noose
In secret, in silence
With great stealth
Known only to a few
Highly trained
Night after night
Knot after knot
Till she forgot
What it was like
To actual breath
Without rope or poisoned words
She lay on the floor
Confined
Confirmed
"Inferior"
"Unworthy"
Gravel, grovel
Turned to nothing
By so "great" & "noble"
Of "love"
Just lies
To buy
The story told
She was bought and
Completely sold
Slave master
Dream dyer
Soul killer
Lying thief
No remorse
Never a kindness
For anyone other
Then her own
Pitiful self
Languishing in the limbo
Of perpetually feeling
Unloved
Inflicting her wrath
Onto anyone she could lure near.
No respect. No more kindness.
Do not reward evil and cruelty
Or barter with such a troll.
Distance is my greatest friend
Hindsight shows me great truth
I live
I learn
I will not make such a tragic mistake
Again

Short Pithy Poetry

I'd actually never heard the term, or so I thought. I'd been into small, weirdy poems lately and thought I'd post. I basically look at one of my photos and wait for the words.

Iron Maven poetry

More cruelty then I imagined

Maybe it's time to give up, as the wolves at the door outnumber the innocent fools. I never knew the odds were this much stacked against me. I never thought of myself as prey everytime I stepped out the door but clearly that is what I am.
The criminals never seem to pay as they have no heart or soul, so they continue with their abuses feeding on the innocent women and children.
It's a war that cannot be won once engaged but is best avoided by taking the long route around.
I've avoided one rabid animal by getting miles away. My son's therapist fully agreed that miles matter and probably saved him from turning into a pathological liar and narcissist as she is. Each person I speak of her acts with, shake their heads in disbelief at her lies and malfeasance. It's hard to believe I suffered that much, for that long.
Disbelief reins. Her antics so beyond my comprehension. She's like a rabid dog that constantly has to be monitored from a distance lest she throw herself into the high voltage fence and fry in her own crimes. Heaven forbid.
I don't know what I've ever done to deserve such cruelty. It isn't worth it anymore. There are no answers, just more monsters laying in wait.

The Narcissist Is Pure Evil

I'm done with the monsters