history’s loop

for all the right reasons he reached out
    for all the wrong reasons i lashed out
with the best of intentions he tried to understand
    with the worst of intentions i refused to listen
with heartfelt compassion he waited
    with anger and fury i ignored
with careful consideration he thought things through
    with malicious subconscious i resisted
growing tired and weary he offered yet again
    growing tired and weary i still remained silent
and when he walked away
            i sighed

it’s not as if i didn’t expect it
                    people always walk away

Advertisements

hurry, hurry, hurry. step right up …

It should not be surprising that I find time is moving faster every day. People start believing (secretly) time is moving fast shortly after they hit 30. After 40 they will admit it. At 50 they will fear it. At 60 … well, 60 is still pretty new to me, but I’d say this is where I stop giving a damn about how fast time is going and instead notice how little time is left.

And no, it’s not the same thing.

I have rushed all my life. Growing up I would rush through building models, rush through chores (ok, no surprise here), rush through homework (again no surprise), even rush through gift opening, cake eating… I just rushed. I suppose I owe part of that to always being on my guard and ready to run lest my brother and his friends walked in. My only sanctum was my bedroom with my dresser slid in front of it. Then if the door was opened, the dresser would hit the end of my bed and stop opening. I shake now just remembering it…

Back to rushing. Regardless of what may have started it, I rush through life now to get to the part where I’m home alone and no one contacts me. The only sounds being the tv/radio, my computer, or the dog if he wants out. Whether tv, radio, and/or computer, any one is capable of providing a doorway into a realm outside of mere man’s existence. A place where I am alone with my thoughts (not always the best place to be) and my God (most often the best place to be). As long as I can disconnect from reality, I’ll be fine.

If my entire being was into rushing I suppose it wouldn’t be as bad as it is however I also have a part of me that procrastinates EVERYthing. Dishes – put it off. Laundry – not necessary (yet). Meds? They can wait (and hopefully I might forget them altogether) Walking the dog? ok, no getting around that one. And actually no rushing it much either. Until he’s finished doing everything he feels he needs to do, I might as well not exist. Narcissistic animal. (lol)

Last night was one of those nights where I truly wished I could rush time. Haven’t had that bad a night in a long time. Dunno, maybe I was over-due. Unfortunately this is another place where I can’t rush. Rushing just accentuates being out of control, which pushes panic up the scale one or three notches, so I need to relax which rather negates the rushing idea as a whole. I will admit I do an awesome job of rushing INTO a panic session. All I need is the right trigger, a word, sound, scene, thought, breath … you get the idea.

Even now I rush to get this posted and am taking longer because I have to keep correcting errors.

One place I really, truly, absolutely would LOVE being able to take time with would be chapters of a book. I mean, reading fast is ok — have to repeat once in a while to pick up some lost stuff, but usually can rush through reading without much of an issue. The problem comes in writing. I know how the chapter begins, and where I want it to end so gotta get there ASAP. Which I’m sure ruins reading it completely. But then, I don’t expect any lame story I write to go anywhere. Except the recycle/trash bin at that point in time where I decide it was a bad decision to write and that my writing isn’t worth taking the time with anyhoo. So with shorter chapters, maybe someone will be able to read three or five before giving up on the story. Some read is better than no read, I guess.

I don’t know if there’s a “fix” to all this rushing. I’m not even sure I want one. (remember, I’m over 60 now so rushing is just a part of life)

Anyhoo, I think I’ve written enough to constitute a post and I can cut this short and post it. (‘cut this short’ = ‘hurry through’)

Have a peaceful, RESTFUL, enjoyable day.

what a weird morning

A ‘standard’ night.  Fall asleep only to be thrown out of bed by night terrors.  Except last night was different.  I didn’t lose control.  I didn’t drink.  And I didn’t call 911.  I suffered through it.  Yeah – it was hell.  But I WENT THRU IT.  And lived.

This morning is slightly off-kilter.  It’s like my world has been flipped upside down, except that it’s finally right-side up.

I’m not going to try to make sense.  And I’m a little worried about celebrating too much and jinxing myself … but the fact remains.

I faced a demon and lived to tell of it.  Without outside help or self-medication.

Strange day indeed.

pieces of eight

nothing remembered before the third grade
the teacher, the classroom, the hall
my walk to the school that sat up on the hill
‘cross fences and fields and all

at eight years of age I was already numb
emotions were buried and cold
no friends but my horses, a child all alone
seldom happy, or so I’ve been told

for years I have struggled to reclaim my past
hidden times between seven and one
a nugget here, half-memory there
not much, but the work has begun

the pain of reliving each horrible scene
may seem just a cruel twist of fate
but the treasure I dig for is memory complete –
my own little pieces of eight

twisted

brotherly love
twisted
into cruelty and rape

sisterly affection
twisted
into humiliation and pain

school friends
twisted
into bullies and shaming

all my life
good has been twisted to bad
until i no longer trust
an offer of help or companionship

my dreams
twist into nightmares
that leave me exhausted
frightened
and alone

my world
is white twisted black
or black twisted white
there are no greys
any hope for color
lost in the agony of truth

joy twists to sorrow
and laughter to tears
trust is lost
in the tangles
of my undying past

and my soul remains
twisted

night terrors 101

nightmares invade my sleep
and i am once again
five years old
covers are ripped
from my frightened frame
and i shiver
though not from cold

my clothes are torn from me
and i lay still
quiet
vulnerable
obediant
desperately seeking
the portal of my mind
that shall take me away
until this is over

but in my sleep
there is no safe place
and i relive his brutality
until i awake
screaming for it to stop

and then i weep

for what it’s worth

looks like i’m going ahead on the “self-published” route with CFP (Christian Faith Publishing) to finish this novel and call it complete.

gonna cost a bit – but who knows – people MIGHT enjoy it …

 

i just hope i’m not leaving myself open to a lot of hurt and disappointment