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…

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Stop it Spell Check, Dysphoria is a Real Word.

Neo: “You ever have that feeling where you’re not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming?”

Choi: “All the time. It’s called mescaline, it’s the only way to fly.”

Have you ever had something stuck in your head on repeat? Its as if my brain is trying to tell me something. Assuming, mayhaps, that repetitive statements will embed themselves deeper into my psyche (despite my protests) OR my short term memory is broken and all I can remember are the last few points of input that bounced into my cranium like a game of Pong. Whichever one of those statements is true, I cannot relinquish myself of a specific Matrix quote (see above). Even here while I am sitting at work, I have that scene playing over and over again in my head….an insomniac Keanu Reeves, the white rabbit tattoo, the girl with the cool nose/ear combo piercing (Which I secretly really want), the gritty lighting in the apartment hallway…and then…the words.

“Not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming” “Not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming” “Not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming” “It’s the only way to fly” “Only way to fly…..only way to fly”.

For the record I’m not on any drugs and for that matter I’m not even caffeinated (an atrocity, I know, especially since I’m at work…the caffeine part, not the drugs. Obviously).

So what’s the point to all this? Probably nothing, I needed something to write about. Perhaps my subconscious wishes that I would watch The Matrix again or perhaps my mind is indeed broken. Its felt broken, all of a sudden, for a week or two.

Brace yourselves, we seem to be approaching Self Reflectionville!!

WAIT! Sorry, before we venture there I need to make a brief detour and let you all know that eating Doritos and then drinking cold Yorkshire tea makes it taste like fish. FISH. *stink eye*

As i was saying, I know for a fact that I am depressed (I’ve been diagnosed so it doesn’t come as a shock), however I have been so good at managing my emotions or lack there of, however these past two weeks threw all my determination into the dirt. Then stepped on it. With a truck. And then exploded.

You get the picture.

Nothing is very fun anymore, even writing this is a struggle. Why are words so hard? I would prefer to assault the keyboard like a monkey on crank rather then trying to be eloquent. Button smashing a symphony of savagery and raw untamed dysphoria (stop it spell check, that’s a real word). I can’t tell if I give no fucks or if I don’t care enough to give a fuck. I can’t even bring myself to drink, which used to solve these deadening numby episodes. That or marijuana, which I am sadly SADLY lacking in. That will be my next quest, the quest for the Green Leaf of Ganja. it will be epic.

All I want to do right now is play Skyrim (even though I have played the shit out of that game) and beat things to death with my sword. Yay therapy.

So in short, I am depressed and don’t give a fuck about shit anymore (or realistically, at the moment). Annnnddd…I just realized I failed to write and introductory post explaining who I am, what this blog is about, etc. SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS WITH ICE CREAM POOP!!

Just kidding.

More or less, this is a blog about stuff that can be found in what I call “the burn book”. A dark little memoir of my life. The plan is to share EVERYTHING in the hopes of using this liberation as a method of therapy. The alternative is hiding in the bathroom with my feelings. No bueno.

Back to work.