Monthly Archives: June 2013

Beyond the Rainbow

Sometimes things happen that are just absolutely awful.  Their awfulness is beyond ken, beyond the realm of experience in the normal lives of most people.  Sometimes, the years pass and the memories fade and we spend so much time learning how to be strong and how to be tough and how to show the world nothing but a confident, together, strong individual.  We spend so much of our time learning how to be the person that we show others, that we begin to truly believe that we are the person we show the world.  This façade can prevail for years.  Then suddenly, a single block is pulled out from under us and the tower falls.  Something comes along to pull up the past, rekindle those buried memories, and ignite a backdraft of memories as the door is opened.

There is nothing we can do in these times but ride the wave and cope as best we can.  Perhaps some may say that had we taken the time then to deal with the thoughts and heartaches and pains and feelings when they occurred, that we would not now be experiencing this firestorm.

I disagree.

Perhaps, even with suffering, familiarity breeds contempt and perhaps there is something to be said for desensitization.  But in the grand scheme of things, even when you feel desensitized towards whatever particular ghosts your closet holds, there may always be a catalyst that brings it all home to roost.

You’re reading this from one who knows.

I can’t claim that majorly heinous things have happened to me.  I’ve not been kidnapped and sold into child prostitution.  I’ve not been the recipient of a gang bang or tied down and had my skin flayed from my body.  I’m a simple girl, yet one who has undergone some singularly annoying unpleasantnesses.  I’m fairly certain that in a knock-down, drag-out, what’s-the-worst-thing-that’s-ever-happened-to-you contest, there are quite a few people who could one-up me.

Truly, my heart goes out to all these people.  I wish I could take their pain and their sorrow and their hurt and their anger and make it go away.  I wish I could bury them in kindness and love and warm fuzzies for the rest of their lives.

But we all have our ghosts, we all have our demons and I am certainly no exception to this.

Recently, I have had occurrence to relive something which I didn’t even believe overly affected me.  It wasn’t a long time, it wasn’t a particularly sad time, and I feel that I emerged victorious.  Perhaps I was a bit mistaken.

I had a relationship with a sociopath.

This is not something that I am either proud about or ashamed about, it simply is.  This is not something that I thought I still needed to deal with or come to terms about, it was simply a lesson I thought I had learned, albeit the hard way.

I now try to excuse other people’s idiosyncrasies because I am aware that I come with a lot of baggage.  I attempt to make room in my rather narrow way of thinking for those things that would normally irritate me about my loved ones.  I understand that sometimes, we do the things that we do because we were brought up the way we were or because we had occasion to be trained into some supra-normal way of thinking.

And in these instances, and because I love, I bury my irritation and attempt to learn to accept those thoughts, ideas, ideals, or mannerisms.  I’ve learned to have patience where I never had any before.  I’ve learned to allow imperfection in things that seem to me to be common sense.  I’ve fought against my beliefs because I am aware that someone else simply cannot know, understand or empathize with the reasoning behind such beliefs.  Some of these irritants will still sometimes get the better of me, but for the most part, I have found that I can live with things that would have driven me stark raving bonkers for the majority of my life.

But sometimes, just sometimes, a random gesture or phrase or situation can bring it all crashing back and the moment comes when a small piece of you really does go ‘round the bend.

““In bello parvis momentis magni casus intercedunt.”  – In war, events of importance are the result of trivial causes.”

And sometimes, just sometimes, that small little moment will turn into a piece of your new reality that you just aren’t certain is something that you have the ability to handle.

There is only one thing to do at this moment.

Breathe.

You do it not because you want to do it but because you have to do it.  You take a trembling breath and capture it inside yourself.  You hold it inside and make it a part of you that you never wish to let go – but you must.  Let it out, slowly, carefully.  Think about nothing but the fact that this small, momentary bit of your life is being consigned to the world around you and that you are still here, still connected to life, regardless of the fact that you have let this bit of yourself go.

Do it again, only this time with a tiny bit less trepidation.  Continue to do the one thing that you need to do the most.  Just breathe.  Each breath will come a tiny bit easier.  Each release will go a tiny bit smoother.

Easy?  Don’t believe it for a second.  The hardest thing you might ever have to do is confront your demons in the face of something or someone else, especially if that something or someone else is your light, your heart, your world.

Decisions should wait for later.  You aren’t thinking clearly now.  Relearn to breathe, relearn to accept, relearn to see.  You may be misconstruing or misunderstanding.  You may be *gasp* wrong.  On the other hand, you may very well be correct in what you are seeing but … how often is it truly a good idea to act without thinking or considering the all the ramifications?

You’ve followed that amazing rainbow down to the end and found something other than a pot of gold.  Did you find a troll instead of a leprechaun?  Did you find your gold was pyrite?  Are you thinking you were cheated?

Maybe you were and maybe you weren’t.  Admit that you are a mess dealing with a newly revitalized demon and relearn to breathe.

You deserve it for yourself and you deserve it for anyone else this may be affecting.  Do not act rashly; do not live in this moment.  Do not do anything but go gently into this good night.

I may be one of the biggest proponents for living in the moment and enjoying the experience, the ride, and the subsequent emotions of the time.  Every rule must have an exception and this one can be no different.

Do not live this moment but live beyond this moment.  Do not provide your current self with new wounds based on old injuries.

Breathe.  Conquer.  Live.

**author’s note:  If what you are dealing with in the moment now is that sociopath, don’t pay any attention to this blog just pack your bags and run like hell.  You cannot change someone who is a sociopath, you cannot make the world a better place, and you cannot afford to take the time to breathe or think or recover.  You cannot make a sociopath a better person; you cannot make your life better by understanding them, excusing them or forgiving them.  Just run like the wind and save yourself.

“For he who fights and runs away, may live to fight another day.”

**author’s note #2:  Hold me closely and envelope me with your strength and your calm.  Monsters choose their victims carefully and are oft lazy.  United we stand, divided we fall.

Peace graves

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death to the Princess

Writers write.  A writer is an artist, painting pictures and stories with words like a composer with music or a painter with paint.  There is a fire inside, an aching, burning flame.  There is often an urgent feeling of want-to-do, must-do, have-to-do.  There is rarely a choice.  There is a feeling of being incomplete when one is struck by need and there is no outlet.

It is an illness, a disease, a beautiful sickness that storms feverishly through every fiber of your being.  It wakes you hot and confused in the night, it leaves you itchy and distraught when otherwise engaged.  It is a blessing.  It is a curse.

I have penned words on pristine lined paper and typed my way through screens and screens of text until it seems my eyes may fall out.  But I have also borrowed a pen from the neighboring table and written on scrap paper, napkins, or the margins of flyers – whatever may be handy.  I frequently have to fight the urge to jump out of the shower, soapy and dripping wet to attack my keyboard or jot something down.  I carry with me a notepad and pen and use it regularly.  If I am stuck without my notepad, my phone has a word program I can use.

The act of putting things down in print seems incredibly helpful to me.  No matter what problem arises, or what may loom ahead, pen to paper or fingers to keyboard seems to make the time easier.  There is a easing of my heart and a lightening of my burden when I write.  It is my catharsis, my meditation, my ability to self-help and work things out.

It is my thoughts, my feelings, my life.

It is the best of me, it is the worst of me.

I write angry.  I pound my thoughts down as furiously as they occur and strangle sentences until they cry for mercy.  I create a oddly detached place where I can create linear reasoning for what I would say if only I could.  I learn why I think as I do and sometimes I decide my anger is irrational.  I vent my frustrations or heal myself.

I write when I am sad.  My eyes close in a futile effort to contain my inner misery even while my tears stain the table as I type.  I pour my heart and soul and grief and turmoil into the bottomless well of my processor.  I tell my pages my secrets; my electronic friend who can never betray me or my trust.

I write when I am happy.  My passion knows no bounds as I eagerly allow my fingers to traipse across the keyboard.  The joy I feel translates itself into words of love and light and peace.  The beauty I see and think and feel blossoms across my page and is preserved like a pressed flower for my future self to enjoy.

I write when I write.  Instead of spending a finite treasure of words inside me, writing makes the next words flow more smoothly, more easily and refills the coffers in my mind.  The act of using words allows the remainder to multiply, propagate, and burst from myself with imagination.

I’m one of those people who always want to write, who always can write.  I may not wish to write about what I am contractually obligated to at that moment, but I never have trouble writing ‘wild’ (as one of my favorite esteemed friends calls it).  I am only unable to write when it appears the world may come to an end.

Yesterday I couldn’t write.  Today again I would say I couldn’t write, but that is obviously, patently, ironically untrue.  Apparently, the world, and my heart, will go on.  (I implore you to forgive the reference.  Please note that the author has imbedded that song into her own head as well and is being soundlessly yet musically punished, even as you fling curses at her yourself.)

The Princess is dead – long live the Princess.      tiara