Stillborn

graveyard

Once I was my own demise; a starving cheek kissed by fate
I sat alone in a garden of syringes and saints
Waiting for someone to find me

A shadowed stranger with a crucifix for my tainted heart
A man masked with a mirror and a butterfly stare
Came to purge my sins

The transcendent petals wept from the cherry blossom
They shed their tears for me as I sewed shut my life
For I have no pearls nor perfect deeds

I’m still living…
I’m still breathing…
This heart keeps beating…
But there is no feeling…

I am nothing but a poppet animated by my grief
Frail; my body is a hoodoo doll of holes and hollows
Awaiting a dark embrace

Stolen from myself by a perfect fallen angel; black with lies
I lost my heart for a chance to see the truth
And so i sit plucking out the thorns of deceit

I waste away in this graveyard garden; void and silently staring
Waiting for that shadowed stranger with a four cornered knife
To break this spell of death

I’m still living…
I’m still breathing…
This heart keeps beating…
But there is no feeling…

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The Return to Zork (and eventually bed)

starrynight

It’s currently a little after 2:30 am and I can’t sleep. I bought the equivalent of the game Rush Hour on my phone and I’ve played it a lot tonight so all my dreams have been a frustrating stream of me solving unsolvable puzzles (or so they were in my head, I am actually quite good at the game). I was so bored I woke up and now I’m leery of going back to sleep in fear of having the same said dreams.

But now that I am awake I considered this the opportune time to write a blog post, since I have the free-time, even though it is technically the middle of the night. Oh well. I’ve been thinking a lot about video games, especially those I used to play back in the good ol’ 90s (I miss that era). I grew up a Windows/MS-DOS player when I was a child. We didn’t get our first console until after the Playstation 2 came out (I remember it was Christmas). One game that comes to mind is The Return to Zork, a first person point and click video game released in 1993 that was very much like my other favorite game, Myst.

I’m sure anyone whose played this game is getting misty-eyed nostalgia right now. 

One of the best parts of that game, which also happens to be a running joke in the family, is the scene in which the player encounters a man named Boos Myller. He offers you shots of rye, and the purpose is to drink him under the table so you can take his keys or something like that. But his catchphrase is, “Want some rye, course you do!” (pours the player a shot of rye whiskey). My family has joked about making tee shirts out of that.

In your travels throughout the game, you meet all sorts of characters along the way, I think one of the first people you come across, other than the wizard in the snow-globe and the lighthouse dude is a teacher. My eight-year-old brain equated her to scary person, perhaps because she was an authority figure who liked to give impossible test questions. Seriously, the first question on the test she hands you the moment you walk through the schoolhouse door is, “Barbel of Gurth, the tenth century arbiter and diplomat, is famous for inventing what spell?” My eight year old brain was like WTF and thought I missed something earlier in the game, but oh no, you just had to answer questions that made no sense. But later on in the game it becomes relevant to know said answers because you get interrogated by a woman who punches you out in her bathroom (you were intruding while she was brushing her teeth so it was justified). And if you answered wrong, you got your brains blown out with a shotgun. Game over.

punch

I’d be mad too if someone snuck up on me in the bathroom

There were so many good moments in that game, like annoying the blacksmith, trying not to be eaten by a grue (unknown creatures that live in the dark. Hence why it was VERY SMART to be afraid of the dark in the game), traversing through the Forest of the Wandering Spirits (the music there was lovely, but make a wrong turn and you’re dead), and last but not least was trying to get through the bog without a stick. That always ended badly. SO MANY WAYS TO DIE!

It’s after 3:30 am now and I believe it is high time that I attempt to go back to bed. I hope you all enjoyed this post and I look forward to hearing from you! So, what was YOUR favorite childhood video game? I’ll make more posts about games, I HAVE TONS.

Beyond Our Control

I almost cut myself today.

It was my first day back at work after being on vacation for a whole week with boyfriend. So if you were wondering why I hadn’t posted last week that was why. Today started off alright, but then a thought crept into my head and burrowed its way into my personal knot of paranoia and anxiety. It nested there until it grew too large for me to ignore. The thought screamed at me until I paid attention to it. Within moments I broke down and acknowledged my fear, it was so loud I found it impossible not to.

That set the mood for the rest of the day, unfortunately. Have you ever felt so anxious that you couldn’t stop shaking, you can’t breath and you forget how to swallow? That was me all morning leading up to the afternoon. I ended up not eating anything other than a Special K chocolate protein shake. I still don’t feel hungry, but then again stress will do that to you.

My boyfriend is currently talking me down via text message since he lives in Maryland. I can’t imagine how he deals with me. I guess love truly does conquer all. But I can’t help but feel horribly guilty for how I feel. I don’t want to feel this way, at all. Its awful!

In other news, I keep seeing people in my room at night. They won’t let me sleep, they talk to me (asking me to play games in the middle of the night) and scare me awake (I saw a young boy with shark teeth rush my side of the bed from the corner of the closet). I don’t know what to do about this, am I going mad? I see my psychiatrist again tonight so I’m going to bring all this up to him. The paranoia, the anxiety, the depression, seeing people in my room at night, and finally the cutting. I haven’t cut myself in so very long, I am afraid to have a relapse.

This is going to be a long post tonight, and for that I somewhat apologize (unless you guys enjoy longer posts). I wrote a poem based off a dream that I had and I wanted to share it will you all. The poem is also an illustration of myself in some regards and if I remember correctly, it highlighted a separation that I experienced. I wrote this poem with heavy imagery in mind, chronicling a journey between two people through fantasy and chaos. I hope you enjoy it. It is a long poem, but worth every line.

Continue reading “Beyond Our Control”

My Predetermined Suicide

“A pill to make you numb, a pill to make you dumb…
A pill to make you anybody else…
But all the drugs in this world won’t save her from herself…”

I was flipping through my burn book this afternoon with my boyfriend. I’ve never come that close to sharing the contents of this book with anyone. No one has ever read my black book before. You here on the internet are the only ones I have shared anything with in regards to that. However, in the interest of trust in the relationship between boyfriend and I, I want to show him the entire journal. But its so hard! In the past I considered burning the damn things, hence the title burn book. But, I can’t. Its like one of my horcruxes. It’s a part of me and if I destroy it I’ll be destroying what has come to define me, my past and my madness.

So in short, I haven’t shown boyfriend everything of the book’s entirety just yet, that’s something I’m not ready to do at this point in time. Even though I want to, the thought makes me panic because there is that air of uncertainty. What is he going to think? Will it help him understand me or will I just make him sad? I don’t want to make him sad or upset.

I found another poem in the burn book that I wrote back in July of 2005. It may sound completely cheesy now, but at the time it expressed my concrete desire to kill myself, but it also radiated that sense of apprehension. However, at the time I sincerely believed that I would die by suicide, that was how the light was going to go out. I thought it was fate. Enjoy the poem and thank you for reading everyone.

burnbookpoem1

Do you like my demon dragon?

The Emptiness

I’m going to share an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote back in April of 2007. This was a time where the relationship with my abuser was almost at its worst. He was getting bolder in his actions. He was getting physically and more verbally abusive. All I wanted to do during that time in the interest of escape was to drink, smoke, cut myself and cry. And cut myself I did, the pain reminded me that I was still alive even though I felt dead inside.

This diary excerpt is a scattering of incidents that happened during one of our frequent arguments. He loved to torment me with fighting, yelling at me, degrading me either alone in his room or in front of friends. It didn’t matter to him. He was always right and I was always…always in the wrong. To him I was a failure and he would remind me that I should have been more grateful that he loved me because no one else would. But now I know better, he was a manipulative bastard who toyed with my emotions and sense of self for his own twisted means. That’s two and a half years of my life I will never get back. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I know better now.

APRIL 2007

“He called me oblivious, a quitter, told me to make some goddamn sense.”

“I’m so hurt because he hates my family and dislikes my sister.”

“He asked me if I have a pair of fucking ears, claiming I don’t hear things the right way.”

“He said I have no brain, asked me if I was mentally challenged.”

“He said to me….’fuck you’.”

In response to our frequent fights which he always started, I would write poetry to express my sorrow, guilt and shame. I also heavily contemplated suicide during those days. One said poem stands out from the rest in regards to this time, it was titled, The Emptiness, which perfectly summed up how I felt internally. Every time I read this poem, I can’t help but imagine a landscape in black and white, desolate and barren, just like my soul.

The Emptiness

The mourning comes again
When the night lifts its sully veils
Revealing only a paleness; in the air
I sense a discoloration
Which a prism can never capture
But, it seems to me a blur
In every shade of gray
With shadows populating my vision
Like a thicket of phantom trees
And so I crumble
Along with the bones of the past
To which I vanish; alone
With the memories

 

Forgotten Under

I recalled a poem I wrote back in 2007 when I was going through one of the worst times of my life. I was living with an abuser and consequentially I was the victim of domestic violence. Now I call myself a survivor. As I reread this poem, I do still consider it beautiful, however its interpretation can vary from opinion to opinion. When I wrote it, I was recounting the loss of myself as I fell deeper into my partner’s twisted ideology. I was drowning and I didn’t think I could be saved. It was my friends and family at the time that rescued me from that storm, and my gratitude is unending. And so, without further ado, Forgotten Under:

As we walk these pattered beaten stones
Did we toss the flower of our hilarity
under trodden foot and venom’d scorn?
A mangled scar-wrought petal; smeared and torn
Cast over an ocean til each shade was lost
Lost…beneath the frothy tongues of night and water
Did it bury deep among the sailor dead?
Stowed between the boarded wood; drowned…drowned
It’s lively hues suckled harshly by those salty tears
Leviathan herself drove us deeper, just to be
Forgotten under…

I’m Baaaaaack!

My goodness, it has been awhile since I had last posted to this blog. My sincerest apologies for that. However, now that I am back I’m hoping that my mental health allows for my motivation to stay in check. My plan is post something on this blog once a week.

A lot has happened in the years leading up to this post. I have since found a much better job that pays halfway decently AND it gives me benefits! Last year I was engaged, but that whole thing fell through. My to-be wedding date is coming up, this October the 1st and I honestly feel a little weird about it. Is it normal to feel weird about that? I mean, I am not upset that I am not getting married to the guy anymore, but sometimes I think I mourn the concept. I was once almost going to be married. That whole thing. But ANYWAYS, the plan for that specific day is to make a new memory. My boyfriend (yes, I am seeing someone and he is completely wonderful) and I are going to take a weekend road trip…somewhere…and replace my once to be wedding date with a much better memory. It’s a brilliant idea.

My adventures in the quest to improve my mental health has been one seriously fucked up roller-coaster. From the first time I was seen by a psychiatrist at sixteen to current times at twenty-nine, I’ve been diagnosed with everything from Depression to Depression with Psychotic Features, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar 1, Bipolar 1 with Psychotic Features and now the new diagnosis my therapist has for me is Schizophrenia or Schizoaffective Disorder (basically that means I have schizophrenia along with a mood disorder like bipolar or depression). And the cherry on top is that I might also have OCD. Good god that is a mouthful.

I’m frustrated because while yes, my psychiatrist is treating my symptoms, which is important, I really want to know the name of my demon(s).

Most of the time, like 95% of the time I feel as though my mind is a perpetual Wonderland, a landscape of untamed fantastical wilderness and I am Alice falling down the rabbit hole forever. I wonder where I will end up. I’m not going to lie, but the diagnosis of schizophrenia or somewhere in that spectrum makes a hell of a lot of sense. And I haven’t been the only one to have noticed either. Two of my close friends have confided in me that they suspected this all along. Naturally I am on the fence in regards to how I feel about all this. On one hand I am afraid. Afraid of how people might treat me going forward, whether I could possibly lose my job and all that jazz. But, this fear was smoothed over when my boyfriend told me that he loves me for me, and that a diagnosis, whatever it may be, will not change that. Several of my friends and family members have also told me that this doesn’t change how they feel or relate to me.

I’m smiling right now, I feel safe and accepted. Like I can be myself.

First comes the fear and then comes the understanding. On the flip side I feel like dancing because I finally have a diagnosis that seems to make sense to me. After years of partial revelations, I feel as though my therapist actually hit the nail on the head.

 

Thank you for reading my come back post! I hope to see you all around her more often.