"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Saturday, November 27, 2004

My Addiction to Pain

Sweet pleasure…
biting your lip so hard it bleeds
Picking your fingers raw
Drinking yourself to obliteration

Why does it feel good?
Pain

There is sweet control
In slicing your arm

Watching
Red blood flow

and you feel nothing.
-MLW 11/2004

I wrote this poem tonight thinking about pain. Sometimes I think I like pain. It’s as welcoming as Saturday morning cartoons. Occasionally, I create my pain in some sick attempt to capture “control”. As of late, my heart feels numb. Days and weeks can pass and I feel nothing. I feel empty and hollow, as if someone ripped my heart away.

It’s been years since I cut myself, or scratched up my arms with my own fingernails. But I do other things to hurt myself, like chewing up my lip, or neurotically picking at my fingers. Bulimia served as a form of self-torture. My life seems like a cycle of self inflicted tribulation.

It’s hard to cry when numb and cold. I’m so wrapped up in my private battle with demons that I don’t notice the world around me. I don’t see the pain of others and how my pain and actions affect the world. I can smile and pretend to be okay. The pills somewhat numb the pain, and keep me moving. Sleep becomes my world…. My escape. I can sleep for hours, and for days. Why wake up? Life hurts too much sometimes.

I feel unlovable. I am forever the unwanted little girl waiting on the doorstep for daddy to come rescue me. Love hurts and causes you to hurt. Unconditional love from a child seems such a safe love. But that hurts too because they grow up and leave, and then you are alone.

Until I slay my demons, I can never mature past the wounded child. Staying numb, walking wounded, isolating, existing but not living, not again loving. This may be the easy path

This is me, and how I think. If it disturbs you to read this, then by all means, click the box and leave. I blog to vent, to write, to heal. This is my cheap therapy. With my computer connection being so fucked up its impossible to enjoy an online life. I’m sad because I really love a lot of the bloggers, and I so enjoy reading other writing. However, living online as much as I did distracted me from dealing with my life. So maybe it’s a good that I am somewhat cut-off. In any case, I do appreciate people reading me, listening, and being supportive. I’m sorry I’m not able to return the support.

For now I’m stuck dealing with my life, and how I’m going to live it alone. I never had to think about that, being a single mom for so long. Some days I’m excited, other times I’m fucking scared out of my mind. Thanksgiving was rough; my family drama combined with not having my son.

But pain feels good I suppose. Otherwise I would stop getting into relationships that hurt me. That’s why I think its safer not to let anyone get too close. Though I would love to be held right now and feel the warmth of someone’s rescuing arms, I think its better to do this on my own. There is strength and pride in knowing you can save yourself. Lord knows Prince Charming fairy tales just don’t come true. Not for bad girls like me at least.

Writing serves as my form of exorcising demons. I can release my rage, anger, sorrows and pain. Putting into words my raw emotions, expunges the dead debris of forgotten yesterdays. Tonight, I will sleep, waking tomorrow with a new day to heal.

I wish I could take tha pain away
If you can make it through tha night, there's a brighter day
everything'll be alright if ya hold on
it's a struggle
everyday gotta roll on
and there's no way I can pay ya back
but my plan is ta show ya that I understand
you are appreciated.......
-Tupac "Dear Momma"

Monday, November 22, 2004

Why I hate holidays…..

Broken Family Blues..
Looking back at my childhood, I think there must have been a time I enjoyed the holidays. I still can remember a little of family life before my parents divorced. I remember sitting on my dad’s lap as he played chess, or some glimmers of magical holiday memories. I was “daddy’s girl” and with 2 other sisters and a mother who resented that, it definitely broke my spirits after my dad left. I cried so hard the day he packed up his things to go I remember begging him at the door to take me with him. I think a part of my heart broke that day, and never truly repaired. My dad still talks of this day, and will tearfully apologize. In any event, I was 6 then, and holidays never seemed to be the same after that. I guess the magic disappeared.

Kitchen Disasters with my Bro
A lot of my childhood memories I black out for survival reasons. Most holidays, I can’t remember. My sisters were older than my brother and I by at least 5 years, so we experienced different childhood realities. I can remember some holidays with just my brother and my mom. My sisters were out of the house, and not coming home for the holidays. My brother and I would make the meal because we worried my mom was too stressed from working full time. Though much of our recipes turned into disasters, I still recall these times fondly.

Wacky Science Nerd to the Rescue
My mom being a single mom always verbalized how difficult it was for her. My brother and I basically raised each other, with my mom exhausted and over stressed from our burden on her life. She told me that she wished we lived with our dad so that she could be free and single. Unfortunately, hearing this at 8 or 9 really hurts. My stepdad came into the picture when I was in 7th grade. My mom was tired of dating, tired of being a single parent, and rushed into a marriage with this odd junior college professor. My step dad has no social skills, and epitomizes the odd, quirky, quiet science geek. My mom let him know that my brother and I were “out of control brats” and that she needed help. The man was completely unprepared for this task. Hence ensued the disaster.

Morning Paper's Dead Discovery
My mom married my stepdad Christmas time my 7th grade year. I cant remember much about the wedding or the holiday. It’s all a blur. I do recall spending “their honeymoon” /my Christmas break at a friends house. Waking up hapily to fresh snow and endless hours of Sega videogames, my friends mom shoved a newspaper in my face and asked me if I knew the kid on the front page. I told her that I knew him from pre-school and I used to go to daycare at his house. His parents were good friends with my mother. She then said, “well he died” and showed me the article about him and his father and brother getting into a serious accident and being decapitated by a semi truck.. This hit me hard, it was the first death of a peer. The fact that it happened right after my parents marriage almost seemed like a bad omen.

Batteling the Bi-Polar Bear
My stepdad has recently been diagnosed as bipolar. We didn’t know what was wrong with him at the time, it just seemed like he hated us, and nothing we did was right. He was a perfectionist in the kitchen, and immediately took it over. We were no longer allowed to cook, or use anything but paper plates and the microwave. Even then, we would make some kind of mess and get in trouble. His way of rule, was Machiavellian fear and nuclear explosions. He would throw us up against he walls by our necks, slam us down, choke us, and grab my arms so hard it left bruises. That hurt yes, but I always fought back using my fingernails. My mom would then accuse me of abusing my step dad. Words hurt the most. Those wounds never heal. Being called a “bitch”, “worthless piece of shit” “God Damn Kid” etc, EVERY day wears on your soul. Especially for a kid. My mom says to me now, “Well didn’t you realize your stepdad had psychological problems and didn’t mean it?” Who understands those things as a kid?

Hurricane Holidaze
Every holiday with my stepdad turned into a disaster. He insisted on preparing the meal himself, and we were not allowed to disturb him in the process. Just walking from our bedrooms to the bathroom could potentially “disturb” him. Inevitably, we screwed up, and some sort of fight and drama would entail. This is before the meal even was on the table. Once the meal was prepared, my stepdad would be pretty drunk from a long day of sippin on gin and tonic. He would also feel entitled to praise and thanks for his hard efforts. By this time, we were stressed out from already being in trouble and walking on eggshells. Plus, its hard to seem thankful when your mad. During the dinner, someone would unavoidably say something wrong, and be sent to their room for the rest of dinner. Usually it was me and I grew to despise the holidays at this point. This might have been the time I started to hate eating turkey and eventually turned me vegetarian.

Collard Greens and Navy Dayz
As a young wife, I can remember trying really hard to make our holidays special. My young husband would cook collard greens, and we would try to get along. I can remember some good holidays with him, and I have blacked out the bad ones. By this time, it became pretty clear that I experienced seasonal depression.

Trying to Grow Up
I can’t blame my parents for my problems in life. I know that until you forgive your family, you never really grow up. I have forgiven my stepdad, and I even empathize with him now. It’s my mom I’m still mad at. This is one of the reasons I want to leave Bremerton, to escape family issues.

Un-Holidays
Recent good holidays have been spending them alone with friends at a bar, or going to Amsterdam for the Cannabis Cup. Those holidays were GREAT! No stress, no family, no hassle, just party, party, party.

Fadin to Black Holiday Time
Family drama takes too much out of me. I think the stress of moving, saying goodbye, and dealing with the holiday shizat is starting to take its toll on me. My cat scared the hell out of me yesterday. It just set me off into a depression. I could not get up today and I slept it away. I didn’t want to deal with anything, or anyone.

Thanks All!
Writing this post has been therapeutic for me. I needed to put into words why the holidays upset me. Damn us neurotic emotional grrrls! (Trashman Grrr in Grrrl is from Riot Grrrls and I think it basically means GRRRR + Girl) I know I have been bad about visiting blogs and I’m sorry. This is going to be a hard time for me until I move. Its nothing I can’t handle, but I expect to ride roller coaster the whole way there. I appreciate you guys for reading me, and listening to my whiney rants. Thanks for leaving me comments too, especially since I have been so bad about visiting other.

Happy Almost Turkey Day. Lord Help Us!

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