The Simple Conflict

I write down what bothers me, and want to share it.
But then I think no one can help, or no one cares, so why bother?

So it stays inside, and eats me up. But I want to let it all out.
But I can't, because I'm so certain I can't be helped by anyone.

I'm tired; I've seen this cycle for far too long, and know it too well.

If I could think of how I could be helped, I'd be fine. But I don't know how to be helped.

Headed to rock bottom, slowly but surely.

Mood Swings

Today, I had happy moments. I had sad moments. I had moments when I felt legitimately okay, and moments when I really wasn't sure I was going to make it.

Life was beautiful, and life was out to get me. Or I'm out to get me.
Life is beautiful, but I'm not always sure I can keep up with it.
Sometimes I enjoy experiences. Random experiences.

Driving home from the train station, to drop my sister off before I head off to work. The sun is setting, the western sky is overcast. KRCL on the radio, playing The Black Keys, So He Won't Break. I remember the time, well enough, to be able to look these things up. But what I remember is changing into the left lane, and the way the light hits the street and the trees. Diffused; blue, with hints of golden. maybe the leaves, maybe the subliminal hues from the setting sun. Feeling, like I was happy. Because life, is beautiful.

Fast forward, and I couldn't tell you what was on the radio. Still KRCL, but I'm unfocued, not really paying attention. I'm too concerned about finding another job, as i turn on the frontage road to get to my current job. The sun has set, and the clouds are moving in. I suppose its beautiful, i've seen it before. But I can't remember the experience. All I remember is the anxiety. The stress, the small little bit of panic, that maybe, I'm not going to make it. I reflect upon it now, and think, maybe I won't make it. Maybe if I break down, I'll be able to pick it all up again and fix whatever is wrong. But if I break down, what then? I don't like to think about it, but maybe I'd feel better.

Earlier in the day, after I woke up from the strange dream, a vision of a sunny neighborhood, then a dark room full of hooded figures, then a severed hand being dipped in wax, the many voices saying, all at once, "We are all the witnesses to justice" as the wax drips off the hand. I know it to be a hand of glory. Anyway, weird dreams aside, after waking up and a telephone conversation, I got ready for the day. Reflecting upon aspects of the call, I told myself, "Lately, I don't feel the need to run away."

Right now, I wonder if maybe I do need to get away. Run away. Simplify everyone's life. Or maybe just mine.

Maybe that is why I need any job for right now; save money, then run away. A means to an end.

I don't want to think these things, but maybe I need to face the painful feelings before I can get better.

Or maybe there is no getting better.

I hate feeling trapped. I'm pretty much fucked.

Love is a Fool's Pursuit

Very rarely does anyone actually mean to hurt someone.
Especially when it is someone they love, or someone they care about deeply.

But it happens. In the silliest of ways. And in the most painful of ways.

Not because the intent was to hurt.

It just happens.

The wrong words, at the wrong time, usually.
Best intentions, other times.
Lack of communication, as well.
Many causes, one result.

The cynic in me feels like I just can not win.
The optimist in me runs on hope with a jolt of "someday."

Then all the other voices argue, and agree:
Never someday, better off alone, because love fucks you up, right when you think you are ok being alone; like a hurricane, like a storm, someday you'll fall like rain, someday, it'll be ok. Someday, I'll be gone and I won't fucking care about it anymore. Someday i'll be a believer. When you stop looking, it'll find you, you'll find it.

Love is worth it...Really, trust me on this.

Depression

For me, It isn't sadness. It isn't waking up and wanting to cry.
It's waking up tired. It's waking up, too tired to cry.
It's waking up and thinking about the things you want, and only seeing how unreasonable and far those things are from you.
It's waking up with goals, but being too tired to follow them through.

Depression, sucks.
Depression isn't necessarily wanting to kill yourself.
It's being convinced that if you died, or just faded away, nothing would be really different.

And hope hurts, because you lack the strength to do much of anything.
So much effort, for the littlest things.

I'm not depressed like most people. I'm not depressed like some people. But I guess we all get depressed, in our own ways. And we have our ways of coping, or forgetting.

Not everyone self destructs in the same way.

Some people it's easy to help, because the problem is apparent. Snatch away the bottle, the needle, the porn, the objects of abuse. The people who they abuse. The things they blame. Forcing them to confront themselves, because they have no choice.

But it's different for me. I have no obvious problems. At least, nothing we have a cure for. When life is stacked against me, I am ground down just a little more.
Paranoia and distrust, do nothing to help me ask for help, not that it matters because I do not know how to be helped.
Because I look fine. I'm not addicted to anything. I'm not killing myself by inches with anything clinical professionals diagnose and rehabilitate frequently.

I can't explain, how hopeless I feel. How tired I feel. How, even the smallest bit of hope seems so far away, because I lack the strength to grasp it. When the things I want seem so far away, with the odds stacked against me.

That's what depression is for me. Or rather, just a slice.
Can't ask for help because you don't know how anyone else can help.
And everyone is just waiting for you to ask. That's painful.

I need time to sort things out.

Bulletproof

Bulletproof means I can't die.
Bulletproof means it will still hurt.
Bulletproof means another chance.
Bulletproof means someone has a bullet with my name on it someplace.
Bulletproof means if not today, tomorrow.
Bulletproof means I'm going to need a gun too.
Bulletproof means defense.
Bulletproof means expecting problems.

I'm Bulletproof. Usually.
I'm Bulletproof. When you aren't shooting.

I'm Bulletproof. When you can't.
I'm Bulletproof. When I smile.
I'm Bulletproof. Right now.
I'm Bulletproof. When I'm Pure.
I'm Bulletproof. Because I'm a Joker.


I'm Bulletproof, when I know I'm not.

The Animus Locus

Slab. perfectly square. raised from the sand.
Blink.
Darkness. Pale, blue illumination. Twilight of the hypercerptive mind.
Thought. Question. Next?

Animus Locus Muto:

Slab, perfectly square, raised from the sand, in front of my feet, upon the slab, upon the sand. Three.
Blink.
Thought: Question: Path?
Blink.

Animus Locus Muto.

Slabs. Perfectly square, raised from the sand, in front of my feet, as far as the eye can see.
Plenty of paths.
Plenty of choices
Plenty of time.

Blink.

Crystal Ice Cloud Queen

I first spotted her as I rode by in a car. It's sunday; the long thing she was wearing looked like a dress, her shoes kind of strange, and her hair blonde and messy.
"Look a church goer."

Ensuing debate of "bathrobe" and "walk of shame" 2pm on a Sunday.

Exit: Car. Enter: 7-11.
Engage staff, and candy.
Exit: 7-11. Enter: Car.

Examine: The Junkie.

Detail: Orange "clog" style shoes. "High fashion" long knit sweater. Robe style? Shorts, blue t-shirt.

Detail: Marks on her face. Marks on arms.
Possible indication: meth use. Sores resulting from exposure to caustic chemicals, as well as "meth mites."

Detail: on phone: Conversation snippet: "just so you know..."
Behavior: turning away from prying eyes.
Behavior: arms wrapped across self. Defensive, closed, frightened.
Behavior: constant movement. Turns back and moves to have back against wall.
End: Phone call. Hunching down, staring at phone.
Emotional response: tired, hopeless, lost, frightened.

She used to be pretty. She sold her beauty for a hit or twelve, for that little extra euphoria, that little extra bit of self esteem, that little bit extra high.
Victim, and abuser, going to hell in her own style. Forsaking the life, for the high. A nihilist addict; nothing matters, not even the next high, but if I can get the next high, I won't care that nothing matters. Not even the next high...

I understand escaping into madness, to escape hopelessness. I pretend I'm crazy, and pretend I'm just dysfunctional and fucked up and just limping along through life. "I'm broken, and I'll still make it," is more comfort than feeling hopeless; "I'm not sure I can make it."

Frightening to look at an addict, and see something of them in you. To see their route of escape in a little crystal, in a needle, in a pill. Escape from hopelessness? Or into it?

Incredible compassion to look at an addict, and understand some of their pain.

Thank something I don't do meth...

Best wishes to you. Good luck, and may your pain abate.