My Dilemma

Wanted to share this song, it really gets to me because I do not remember most of my childhood and my mind has done the opposite of what the man says in the song. Which confuses me because from what reseach shows to happen with how your mind works and trauma. I included the video to the song and the lyrics.

Evanescence- Understanding

Lyrics:
"Understanding (Wash It All Away)"

"You hold the answers deep within your own mind.
Consciously, you've forgotten it.
That's the way the human mind works.
Whenever something is too unpleasant, to shameful for us
to entertain, we reject it.
We erase it from our memories.
But the imprint is always there."

(Can't wash it all away)
(Can't Wish it all away)
(Can't hope it all away)
(Can't cry it all away)

The pain that grips you
The fear that binds you
Releases life in me
In our mutual shame we hide our eyes
To blind them from the truth
That finds a way from who we are
Please don't be afraid
When the darkness fades away
The dawn will break the silence
Screaming in our hearts
My love for you still grows
This I do for you
Before I try to fight the truth my final time

"We're supposed to try and be real.
And I feel alone, and we're not together. And that is real."

Can't wash it all away
Can't wish it all away
Can't cry it all away
Can't scratch it all away

Lying beside you
Listening to you breathe
The life that flows inside of you
Burns inside of me
Hold and speak to me
Of love without a sound
Tell me you will live through this
And I will die for you
Cast me not away
Say you'll be with me
For I know I cannot
Bear it all alone

"You're not alone, honey."
"Never... Never."

Can't fight it all away
Can't hope it all away
Can't scream it all away
It just won't fade away, No

Can't wash it all away
Can't wish it all away
Can't cry it all away
Can't scratch it all away

(Can't fight it all away)
(Can't hope it all away)
Can't scream it all away
Ooh, it all away
Ooh, it all away

"But the imprint is always there. Nothing is ever really forgotten."
"God, please don't hate me"
"Because I'll die if you do."
"Because I'll die if you do."
"Because I'll die if you do."
"Because I'll die if you do."

Chasity

Set the Bird Free of Chains

    

         I shall open this discussion up as a question for each of you to ponder your own personal answers upon… Can the things from one’s past truly dictate one’s future, knowingly or unknowingly? Furthermore, if whatever you believe your previous answer to be and to know that, the unknown past will never be brought to light; can one change their destined future while in the midst of a fog? 
   In this confessional I shall divulge more than some may want to know, hear, or for other’s to find the truth of my secrets, but at this moment I am stuck in a place where I only know to pour out as much as possible to fully understand where I stand in the previous questioned I asked of you. I seek no pity, sympathy, nor am I raising my arms in honor for praise of my strengths. Realistically I am bowing my head and whispering my stories to lessen the burden withheld in my knapsack of life. I apologize beforehand to anyone whom I might offend or bring shame upon; there is no blame I am handing out here, nearly pieces to my life’s puzzle in hope’s to finding my solution. 


    There have been many a moments of timeless words and scars of wounds I bandaged on my own to heal in time, where time held no meaning and the wounds meaning much in silenced words. Most of my childhood is one of mere stories I have been told and quilted together through recollected stories and pictures. I am in a presence of confused truths and possible false self-experiences. I have listened to the stories for so long and looked at the pictures for so long; I cannot distinguish what is my own past and what are others. To look at a childhood picture of your own self and not recognize the face printed forever to be showcased back at you. Not that I am lacking my entire life’s past in the present, more like my mind can only rolodex the memories I should have forgotten. I should remember the gumdrops and lollipop moments, while my mind has decided that the Brady Bunch versions of my past are not as important as the memories for which have destroyed me eternally. I long for the normal memories of childhood to emerge. My sullen secrets are not unlike most others that have been in similar situations as I, but for some reason my mind has decided that is has hit overload somewhere and no longer functions beyond the reminiscence of those moments. Not only do I have so many of these memories, but also I cannot seem to put them in correct chronological order either. Therefore, without further ado, I shall explain myself in more detail even though I am not fully comfortable at the present to share, but all in optimism to overcome. 


      I grew up in a home where my Dad knew not of monogamy or of the promises that hold little girls pigtails tied together. The contradictions ran rampant in the household I grew up in, almost like a 1940’s marriage contract. My parents were in and out of odds with each other and I never knew when to expect the bags to be packed and “poor old Dad” to be sent packing. I say this in terms of looking at it from child-like eyes because the innocence of a child has no knowledge of marriage or what it consists of, only the presence of a Mother and a Father to make a family. With every new woman or previous woman brought back into the picture from my Dad’s infidelities, I was always put in the middle of that battlefield. He always ran home to me first to tell me some lie that would make my Mother look like the bad person in the situation and that she was crazy and never knew what she was talking about and how much she wanted to ruin our family. From one lie to the next, I remained a Daddy’s Girl and stood in his corner. With every infidelity, and I do not say that lightly because there were numerous ones, I was always put in charge of the proceedings to follow after the initial smoke blew over and I was given an ultimatum; to give him another chance or leave my Dad. Of course, as a child who should never be placed in those situations I chose what my heart understood, family and I wanted my family together. Among one of those horrific splits I remember coming home to my Dad packing his truck with all his belongings and crying in fear of the inevitable. I remember being no older than five or six and asking my Mommy why Daddy was leaving and instead of the condolences, I should have received, I was met with a screaming Mother who blamed me for my family breaking apart. I was told that because I was too much of a burden, because I watched too much TV, because I did not allow my Daddy to watch what he wanted he was leaving us. That day I ran as fast as I could to the closed door of a friend, eyes swollen with tears, as they are now recollecting upon that day. I knocked so hard, screaming between sobs of tears that I ruined my family repeatedly. That door finally opened and I was met with open arms that held and consoled my pain, not from the parents I trusted but by a stranger in my mind. He eventually came back and once again, it was my choice, and as time proved it would continue. He continued to return until I was at an age that I understood what he had been doing wrong. The night I understood the lies my Dad had been telling me is a controversial theory, but I believe in my heart it was immoral. My Mother drove me to the mistress’s home, where her family lived and confronted them all while I sat in the car watching and listening, by this time I was probably twelve. Once more I was the deciding factor as to what the fate of our family would be and this time my immature mind thought of a foolproof plan to make my Dad never cheat. I wrote him a poem letting out all my pain and made him sign a promise letter to never hurt our family again. Like the black to a crow, his true colors bled through again. Filled with shame, guilt, and the anger from the lies I believed I finally pushed my Dad out of my life and my Mother’s and we lived as a single family for many years where I cut off all connections to the Dad who betrayed me.  


     Throughout my life, I have always been chubby, fat, or what so ever you choose to verbalize it as. Which I still struggle to this day to lose weight and that is one of many of my races to win. What haunts me most about my weight is growing up where my weight always was to be blamed for things holding me back in life. My Grampa never failed to tell me that I would be prettier if I lost weight, that I won’t get boys to look at me unless I lose weight, that when I become interested in life and love I will lose the weight, etc. My best friend’s parents telling me that I have such a pretty face, why do I hide behind the weight, that if I lost some weight I would be gorgeous, etc. The stories I have been told since childhood could go on and on, as if my weight makes me more or less of a Granddaughter or a person, what it does is makes a child feel less worthy of love. Every day I look in the mirror I still hear those faint words being spoken in my ear, no matter how much weight I loose and no amount of reassurance can drown them out.  


    Throughout these years, many other things took place that I cannot pin down my age, only an approximate or the range from the period of which home I lived in at the time. I remember a close friend of mine who was years older than I used to experiment on me what her brother would do to her sexually. She would make me hide in her bedroom closet until her family was gone and tell me that she would tell them it was my fault or tell lies on me if I told on her for what she did to me. I will not go into detail, I am sure you can imagine. I could not have been any older than seven years old and scared my parents would believe her if I told the truth. Around this same time, the neighborhood kids all had a fill-in babysitter that all the parents used when the normal ones were unavailable; she was a teenager who babysat for extra money. I remember the first time I was at her house to be babysat, which was with my best friend whose Mother worked a lot, and she was used to this particular babysitter. She was not a stranger to me, I had seen her around, and if my best friend was comfortable with her, I felt comfortable. She always babysat when her mother was not home, or so I never remember ever seeing her parents. That day was one that would make me fear her forever more, no matter how much my best friend said, that it was normal girl stuff and that is was okay nor from my previous experience with the older friend previously mentioned. There is nothing normal about making young girls do things to you for your pleasure and then blackmailing them into believing it was their fault or their wanting. However, having a family member around your own age trying things that they learned on you as a very young child may have set you up for the future gullibility or naivetés. I will not go into any further detail about the molest/sexual abuse in my dark diary of secrets.   


     When the mask I wore my entire life started to crack in high school and I could no longer mentally or physically handle making the world happy while I struggled and died inside, my body finally collapsed in exhaustion. I lost all of my caring, I gave up the thrown that held up everyone else’s standards for me and my life, like quicksand I sank faster and faster into trouble.  I dropped out my Freshman year for two months before anyone knew, then more trouble came around when the truth came out which led to more backlashing on my part. It seemed like no one cared or understood, but who would when I could not tell them the truth, I felt they should know without a word stated. Like the waves in the ocean carrying me farther out to sea, my life was out of my grasp. Then came the next year when my Mother could no longer handle me anymore, she gave me a choice to straighten up or move in with my Dad and left boxes for me to pack on my bed. In my head, she no longer wanted me therefore; I packed the tear-stained boxes and awaited my shipment. What came next tore the world I knew completely apart and I thought life was over. My Mother sat me down with a small envelope and explained to me that the man I call Dad was nothing more than a stranger in my mind now. I remember sitting on the living room couch all day as she told me the story of my creation and who came to be my Dad and who my biological Father was as I stared at the old, deep rooted tree in the back yard like this was a dream I would soon awaken from. I spoke not a word, just cried, staring at that beautiful old tree with not a feeling of love left in my soul watching the day change in the leaves. I felt alien in my own body, I felt dead inside, I felt more alone than I had ever felt in my entire life in those moments. I felt more betrayed than I thought possible after the lies I had already conquered. The man in those pictures was nothing more than a complete stranger; there was nothing familiar in reflection. Who was I, who was he, who was my Dad, and who was my Mother to lie to me my entire life in that moment. A secret that broke down my entire being to nothingness. That was my proof that I was unwanted, that I was a burden of space. I felt more anger and sorrow than my mind could handle and things progressively spiraled out of control from there.
 
      This led me down an even more dangerous road of self-hatred, quarrelsome endeavors, and a lot more of the faking happiness to hide my secrets away. In the shadows of my life I started pulling my hair out, beating myself with hairbrushes till I bled, taking massive amounts of pain relievers to inflict pain upon myself for all the wrong I had done, which led me deeper into smoking, drinking, and drugs. The drugs led me down a road of dangerous and embarrassing situations amongst people that all fed off each other’s warped psychological needs. I found every outlet I could to put a bandage over the wounds I hid. When the previous methods did not give relieve I found other outlets. Cutting my hair off, chocking myself till I was in so much pain I could no longer handle it, trying to suffocate myself as many ways as thoughtfully possible till I would end up throwing up from all the coughing, banging my head against anything to inflict pain, biting myself, digging my nails into my body and clawing myself until I bled, anything to release the tension and anxiety I felt in my body . This was all a cycle of doom I kept hidden from everyone, a control only I knew I had, a problematic solution I thought would somehow heal or end me. Either way it did not matter as long as that dark hallway I crawled down gave in to some moments of peace for my mind. Along with these secrets, there are many more, which now my mind will not allow coming out in fear that the few that have escaped my body and mind’s security vault may have gave way to a skeleton key to potentially destroy me entirely.

                                          Chasity

Peter Gabriel- My Body Is A Cage

                  

Nail In The Coffin

This is not going to be a regular post as to anything worth your time for insight or comfort, but things are not right in this moment. In May I went back to the doctor, a totally different one in hopes that if just one more person heard me, they would know how to fix me. Unfortunately the therapist you have to see before you get to the doctor for new patients well mine was a male and there are things in my past that hinder my judgement and paranoia upon the subject of speaking to a male therapist while being a female patient. So the entire thing was a bust and the doctor once more diagnosed me with Bipolar and an anxiety disorder. Long story short I was placed on a higher dosage of the clonazepam and a new one for me Tegretol. I had only been on the Tegretol for 12 days before the horrible allergic reaction prompted the abrupt dis-use of it further, but today and last night I have found myself in a horrible place. I looked up on the Internet to see if there were other withdrawals from it but none. I have tried going to the maximum dosage my doctor allowed for the Clonazepam, but not helping. It is like my mind is lost. I packed up all my couponing things (which I started a few months ago) almost threw everything away even my printer, instead I just threw it all in bags and slung in the bedroom. I am fighting the urge not to disappear tonight, somewhere that is far away where the serenity of the ocean air can calm my depressed mind. It took everything in my power to get out of bed today, to not throw anger at every passing soul, and to not chop my hair off or do anything else to cause more problems in my life at the moment. I see the doctor again this coming week for a new medication to try and the last time I was there I requested a female therapist which I cannot see till the very end of this month. But I feel my pleas to look further into my issues and not automatically label me as bipolar has been unheard again and I feel like I am becoming a human guinea pig. I do not like the person I am without meds and I hate the person I am with them and I feel like I am stuck in a catch 22 situation where everything I do affects others in some way and I stuck in this place where no one cares enough to take the time to believe me when I say there is more to this story I am trying to tell. You would think with the years of in and out doctors I have been to someone would put the pieces together unless my years of disguising everything has lead to my ultimate demise. At the current moment I have been drugged with 2mg of clonazepam and some other unknown anxiety medication I am too lazy to get up to tell you the name of and yet I am still sitting here 4 hours later unaffected. I honestly feel like I am ranting here but when you see a therapist which is quite alien to me since I have only been to 3 sessions my entire life and all three were flops in my opinion, I am not one to openly tell a stranger who has the authority to either commit me or get me arrested for my demons or the things inside my head, I am one of the most paranoid people I know and the whole little saying of the angel is on one shoulder and the devil is on the other, well my little devil murdered the angel back in adolescence and no matter how much good I do for others I feel my mind is the unconquerable evil. If it is not the rage growing within me, its the ill-patience that conjures it up, then you add all the hatred that boils, and the self reliant sinister hands I bare, my mind is full of creepily whimsical plans I try to fight off every moment of every day. Now you are probably worried I am some closeted murderer which in fact is the most opposite of the truth. My mind can think all these things, but because I do not act on them changes the game plan. So do you understand my dilemma. Talking to a therapist about my issues is quite difficult without coming across as a threat when in fact the threat is my self and my mind. I no longer have the highs and lows of Bipolar, I haven't been in what they call full blown mania in almost 5 years, I am somewhere stuck in the woods in a horror film of an invisible threat. I literally can be doing okay one moment and the next it is a different story. I cannot plan things in advance bc I never know how I am going to feel. Among all this and the paranoia I have to deal with this weird so you wanna call it OCD ticks I have. I hate germs and do not like touching people, will not kiss even family, not even from the same cup unless I absolutely have no other choice and even then I want to vomit, when I eat I have at least three baby bowls I eat out of bc none of my food can come in contact and I eat with a baby spoon and fork. I do not eat at buffets bc they are over run with germs and unsafe food handling. And if things are not available the way I need them to be I break down crying bcbc I am not making a difference. I wash fruits and veggies with dish soap and a scrubber. I use bleach to clean dishes and everything else I can get my hands and bleach on. Everything has to be an even number or my superstitions kick in and I cross my fingers and knock on would twice etc etc. I got a flu shot even though I am allergic to eggs even though I will not go near friends or family who are sick just because I am afraid I might get someone Else's germs in me. If I have to go to the store it takes me hours to get ready because I cannot go out in public without looking presentable meaning hair, make-up, jewelry, and dressed nice or I feel people are looking down on me or talking about me. Even then I think people are watching like big brother or the cameras in stores will think I am stealing something and falsely arrest me just because I am sweating and all red from the anxiety of being in public or just watching me in general. I literally hate seeing people I know in public and will do the whole duck and dodge method because I am dead set to get back to my safe zone asap. If someone smells weird, or passes gas I want to vomit because I could possibly be inhaling their germs. I brush, floss, and use mouthwash at least 5 times a day bc I am afraid of my teeth falling out etc. I mean literally before and  after I eat I do the whole routine even if I am going to go back for dessert and I will then repeat once again. If I am somewhere where I have to sit and wait I have to count ceiling tiles over and over again to make sure I know for certain how many there are and so that I do not have to make contact with others. The last doctor visit I went to I literally sat there staring at a blank tv that was turned off for over an hour while some old woman and man tried to engage me in conversation and the entire time I am grinding my teeth not to scream at them to leave me alone. Which makes no sense bc as a child and growing up I was told I was very outgoing and talkative to strangers or anyone who would listen, but that I could not tell you since I do not remember much of anything of my life before high school. Another weird thing is how much I love animals, but I can sit on the porch with a can of high potency bug killer and laugh as I kill all kinds of bugs, maybe that is because I am so petrified of them and killing them gives me gratitude that they can no longer get in my house or what but craziness non the less. I don't know if this will help me any by getting some of this crap off my mind or if it will only harm the thoughts of others towards me, at this time is life my mood will alter back and forth and this entire post has been nothing more than ramblings back and forth about stupidity but my mood right now is oh well.

Chasity

Fluorescent Darkness

      It seems like it has been a lifetime since I have been able to put my thoughts into words and the past week my mind has been restless in its attempt to hide my emotions. Therefore, my apologies in advance if it comes out scattered. Whatever the reason, the rage within me has been growing stronger towards an invisible ghost I cannot identify. They say that if you can forgive and forget that you can move on. What if the knife that caused my wound is lost and the person that murdered my soul has gotten away with murder. Will I be left wondering this earth in search of my peace for all eternity? Will there ever be a whole person within me again. No matter how hard I try to find the hidden clues to the answer I am in search of, I hit a dead end. I have found myself in numerous conversational circles about my purpose in this life, my past, and I always find myself back at the end of the line in this game of a life I keep failing at. I am so tired of being told I sound like I have depression by the ones I open up to that I tend to stitch my lips until they are tightly sewn shut. I want answers for whatever has caused this blackout and if that makes me sound like a sad person then so be it, I will forever be “depressed” until I know why it is that I am not whole. I need peace and my peace lies somewhere in my past that has disappeared into oblivion. It makes no sense in my mind how I can remember such horrid things from my past, yet there are massive holes in my memory bank of time I no longer have record of. I want the truth of whatever my mind is hiding from me to surface already, but I have no idea where to start. Every effort I have thought would help unlock my mystery has failed thus far. Maybe my fury is being fueled by the mystery I have yet to uncover and my trepidations that I may be stuck in the eye of this storm blinded by all that reticently lurk around me inevitably. I have tried walking through this process on my tiptoes not to step on the land mines that I could set off, afraid that letting details slip where I might infuriate others herein no personal defeat. Pandora’s box unfortunately needs to be unlocked with a skeleton key and not twisted like a Rubik’s cube. Unambiguously, either I cannot do this alone or I have to commit fully to myself no matter my qualm of the outward acceptance.


    The murky past may make the treacherous roads of the future a nauseating journey, but hopefully I will soon learn if it is true what they say about in the end an easy road not being as rewarding as one buffed and worked into all its glory. Through all the mistakes and horrible mishaps I have encountered in my life, I have let go of regret and have learned to live one day at time and hold no grudge against myself for my faults or other’s. I have finally realized there is a great difference between what an actual regret is and the want/need to change the past. For so long I was baffled by the strange question, what are my biggest regrets and if I could, would I change them. Of course, I have done things in the past that I wish never happened and yes, if in that time if I were to be able to see the effects it would cause; of course, I would have talked myself out of it all. With that said, if I changed every situation I botched, then I definitely would not be the person I am today and I wouldn’t be where I am at presently, no matter the details of this journey. Therefore, my laments will always be there irrefutably, but thankfully, without my mistakes I would never find my way through this journey God has in store for me, furthermore, I have no place for compunction. In the wake of my past, I will only look forward, through every action is some sort of blessing, I refuse to believe otherwise. No matter what happens, I am finding my happiness and a life reliving my repentances as if I have not been forgiven, is not the road I want to take. The path I travel is always going to have its ditches and mountains, but when my soul needs rest and nourishment, I have faith my God will provide me with a shade tree to regain strength and a stream to quench my thirst. With him I shall conquer all.

Chasity

Massacred Firefly

   Where do I even begin to start with this, without divulging to much or saying things I cannot take back…? All around are faces of deception at this point. I do not know if I have met my lifetime maximum of bullshit, or my mind is playing tricks on me. The only thing I know for sure is that mentally everyone around me is turning into whitewashing liars without my accession. It is beginning to ruin me mentally and I feel like a hideously paranoid person for it, when I know deep down it is not true, but that I am broken some how. I have always struggled with interpersonal relationships, but it seems now that I am an adult it has gotten even worse. Combine my seemingly unapologetic bluntness, the ever reigning fear of being alone and abandoned, my opinionated nature, my social inadequacies and phobias, the varying paranoia, and so on, I am like a bomb often ignited just waiting to explode. Although, I can come off as a callous person, if you truly knew how my mind works or experienced the thoughts I fight on a daily basis you would understand that I am quite the opposite. I hate being placed in a position where I feel like I have to justify myself all the time. I often feel like I am turning into that cold-hearted person that I am mistaken for, just for the fact I often have to explain myself mentally on a regular basis, as I frequently feel like I am just that as perceived emotionally. I fight an inner battle with myself all the time about everything I say, do, do not say, or do not do. I do not know exactly why I am the horrid person that people make me out to be. I feel nothing I do or say is right after the fact, I feel like I am trying to conquer the unconquerable in every situation. No matter how hard I try to fit in or how much I try to be normal, in the end I fail. I have given up on the impressions and the manual I once used on a regular basis for guidance now has smudged cup rings covering the way. I feel that no one understands me and vice versa and most importantly I am tired of people making me feel like I have to “baby proof” myself for others to be comfortable. I am tired of being maimed as the bad person in every situation and I am tired of fighting for what I think is justifiable only to find myself feeling worthless in the end and the inflictions of others beating me down. I do now why I am the way I am, and I do not know how to overcome things. I often feel that the strong voice I carry gets laryngitis when it comes to speaking upon emotional matters relating to myself. I can hold my own on matters that I have a passionate standpoint on, but the one thing I should fight for, myself, clarity has been lost in the quicksand. Have I never had a backbone, is that what is to blame here? I do not see this being the reasoning behind all this foolishness, because I have courage, I lack the voice to vocalize it. There are certain things in my past that have partly lead me to where I stand now emotionally and mentally. I do not like to think that my past is to blame, or that it has made me who I am. Although, I am beginning to realize that no matter how I feel, it has to be true to some extent. Very few people know of these things, because I believe so strongly that they hold no power over me, yet repeatedly I find myself back to those moments. I am tired of being the one to blame and I am tired of blaming myself. I am exhausted from the apologetic life I have lived and all I want at this very moment is to walk away from everything and everyone and give salvation to my life in hopes of a fresh start. It sickens me to think about leaving the ones closest to me in life, but at this moment, I do not know what else to do. I cannot see beyond the black and the white anymore.
 

Chasity

Melancholic Anarchy

    I so very often have more questions than answers these days. I find myself in such precarious disenchantment rather than in sincere moments of joy, which I imprudently contemplated would marvelously surface once I shed light on the truth. The veil I wore and disintegrated has now evolved into something hideous. When I hid behind that prevaricator of a shroud, at least I always had a role to perform. I knew what I was supposed to be for the most part and rescinding it down piece-by-piece has left me in hell’s nirvana, fighting to stay clear of the conflagration. At least with the camouflage I once carried, I could feel something, even if it was second hand emotions. With practice, mimicking natural reactions and emotions becomes who you are, but the affection is never there. With my security blanket removed, I am running through a mind field with no destination in mind. Maybe my former self was incredibly preoccupied with the multiple roles that I was responsible for pulling off and I was unaware of the darkness growing within or was it there from my beginning. No longer portraying whom everyone wants to see, I sit amongst a crowd with a solemn mien and slouched gait where the reticence savagely eats away at my mind. Silently wishing to be in solitude, yet my soul thrives on togetherness. I do not have anything to give and I wish to offer nothing. There is no peacock charades in my previous endeavors, the complete explanation is beyond even my own recognition. Now that I am beginning to see how things truly are, the madness boiling over within is quite timorous to acknowledge without the heavy armor I once used to shield myself. Starting over is harder than I ever could have imagined it to be, especially when the people I have hidden the truth from are still in the dark.
    Oblivious to what is actually going on, my mind probes for answers. I most certainly am not depressed or manic; therefore, the thoughts and emotions I am feeling are real, as shallow as they may be. Without the use of my acting skills, theoretically I should really feel things now. Yet I am not feeling anything outside of my own personal emotions, and I find myself in avoidance of others or back to my deception games. I have always lacked the ability to empathize and support others when needed; therefore, I just went through the usual human motions when it was irrefutably necessary. That closeness sends me to an uncomfortable and unfamiliar place where I would rather claw my eyes out than to console someone with compassion. I am pretty much numb to the outside world, so looking to me for solace is like asking your mailman to perform open-heart surgery… nearly impossible. With that said, does that make me a narcissist? Have all the years of portraying someone that I am not, led to that part of my give a damn to combust? Could there be something more complex that I am missing? I bleed and hurt just like everyone else, so how inhumane am I? Is there nothing left inside me or was it missing from the beginning? My compassion paucity has made even the relationships with my family strained and taut, to the point that I avoid them for the elephant I conjure up in the room. I feel like I have auctioned my soul off to the highest bidder, someone whom does not care at all, but when did this occur. I have a handful of benevolence, so where did my affection and empathy run and hide?
    Oh how I wish it were merely the uncaring that I drew the short straw on; I often wonder if I even have the capacity to love at all. It may be that I do not know what love is exactly or that my heart had a birth defect unnoticeable by human eyes. What I once thought was love, has come to my immediate attention. I quite possibly never loved that certain someone, but I loved how he made me feel and the security I had in him. Once again, I feel we are back to the vanity of my situation. Love, feelings, personal emotions… it all seems so arcane to me. I love my dog, which ironically I treat like my human offspring. How can I know I love my dog and not a human and if I do love my dog, how is it that I do not love others. As full of loathing and animosity as that sounds, what I am about to admit might possibly stir up some odious reactions. Can you imagine having to live with the lies you tell your friends and family everyday down to the very core of your relationships. Telling someone, you love them, yet you honestly do not feel the love you speak of and having to set your autopilot-rehearsed speech for those moments it has to be expressed. Knowing deep down if that person or persons knew the truth behind your programmed lips; things would turn to an antipathy tea party to your own bereavement. Therefore, I try to keep my modicum debonair interpersonal impressions with those I cannot afford to lose. Honestly, I would prefer to have those feelings and emotions that I am supposed to feel, than being the callousness that I am realizing I am. Nonetheless, no matter how hard I try to allow myself to be vulnerable so that I may feel something, there is never anything there to sacrifice and I end up handing out empty messages. Frankly, I want to know why I have this modus operandi, only then can I initiate the reconstruction that is necessitous to remedy whatever it is that is damaged in me. At this moment my apex is nowhere in sight. I feel like I am lacking the moral consummation of my soul purpose and my relevance. Are some people meant to be the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

Chasity

Unpredictable Veracity

    

         First things first, I am not Bipolar, I have Bipolar (keyword: have; Bipolar is not who I am) and it may influentially determine many key points of my personality, but it does not have ownership of my being, no matter the fight entail. With that said, it is still a battle of such normal nature just different conception. In a manner of speaking, it is inevitably up to each of us in the bipolar suffering-ship to determine which Bipolar card you want to play in the end: an Adolf Hitler/Joseph Stalin, a Vincent Van Gogh/Ernest Hemingway, or an Ozzy Osbourne/Russell Brand. That is exactly how I perceive our society viewing people truly suffering from Bipolar disorder. Either we are completely insane to the sadistically cruel core, creatively brilliant to our own self-inflicted deaths, or inevitably under some influence from our own denial of maddening absurdity. In reality, I do not know where I personally stand… I have hidden my true self for so long that now that I have unfolded some of my truths I am becoming worried, that unleashing my inner demons any further will come to bite me in the end. Yet, if I do not completely open up, I feel that I would be lying to and perpetually hurting myself. My intention of this whole seeking help process was to get it out entirely so that I may be able to overcome whatever haunts my mind. Even so, I know what happens to people who hold the secrets I lock away and I do not want to persecute myself for the things that I do not allow unbridled for its manifestation. There are things that even the one person I truly trust does not know about, for my fear that I am broken beyond repair and the response that could enmesh me there after.

      Have you ever had one of those days where you were not fully there? Where it feels like something about you is nonexistent, but you do not know precisely what it is. I have so many of those days lately. Where I wake up, but somehow part of me is stagnantly sleeping in the bed that I crawled out of, as if a section of my brain has become a narcoleptic. I tend to feel this way when I am in what I call my “Transition Time”, the time between “normal” and falling into a depression or flying into a manic phase. Although, I am not transitioning, I am just stuck in this non-existence state for what seems like forever now. Sometimes…ok I will be honest more often than I care to admit I wish to truly be normal, for the state of things inside my head gets to be such a burden. I am superfluously aware that I am aberrant and as unconventionally abnormal as they come and I accept that fact. I am made well aware of this verity with every day that goes by, since departing the “Mental Illness Sequester” and letting the unfeigned yours truly be ascertained. In spite of everything, I get lost within my head with the ever-changing moods, likes/dislikes, ideas, and thoughts that are consistently steamrollering there way from different structural cortex lobes by way of the old school paper cups telephone game. Completely befuddled with indecisive dithering. Everyday is full of a million diverse mental changes that I was unaware had been annexed before I awoke. Every time I read a medical description of Bipolar disorder, I want to grab a permanent marker and scribble in uppercase letters the unwritten symptoms and the other Bipolar “side effects” that no PhD is adept to explain. As well, I am personally tired of our society jokingly or pejoratively labeling every person with a moody disposition, piss-poor attitude problem and such as Bipolar or a Jekyll/Hyde. Mental illness is no laughing matter, but with that said, there are days when I would rather laugh at my own mishaps than cry myself a river that I cannot paddle myself through, as hypocritical as that seems. Furthermore, I do have a habit of holding a misanthrope viewpoint unwillingly, but thankfully I have almost mastered being a dissembler; I will make you believe my subliminal lies.
       Appreciatively, I have a best friend who I completely trust, love, and can tell pretty much anything to without judgment, which is highly surprising for someone like me who does not trust anyone more than I can throw them. One for whom can and will be forthcoming when I unknowingly let my freak flag fly to high or when I need to shut my mouth, since the way my mind works often overrides the clemency threshold of others. So often, I feel like a burden even on my best days, because others should not be forced to guard themselves from me. However, with utmost respect, I do not believe anything I do or say warrants me with a rude or malicious disposition. I see myself as a straight to the point, sincere person, and one who does not put up with the bullshit others so easily overlook. Maybe it is my ego, maybe it is my own denial, who really knows… Not me, I am as lost in this bipolar triangle as you are my friends. Do you know where your genetic nature ends and where your influential nurture begins?

Chasity

For the littlest of mankind undoubtably deserves love, but kindness... Seriously?

  Welcome back reality and goodbye yesterday. Since I got to Virginia, I have struggled juggling things like my Blog, book reviews, keeping in touch with friends and family, doing what I came here to do, and my life in general. I give you all my deepest apologies for the neglect and abuse I have infringed upon you all, but hopefully things will fall back into place sooner rather than later. I have had so much on my mind, but couldn’t seem to get anything out when I sat down to write.

  On with the show… I really do not comprehend how any person with Bipolar disorder can or does handle/deal with raising and being a caregiver of any kind especially for children twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year (give or take depending on leap years, your child’s sleep/nap patterns, and babysitter’s and other heaven sent persons with or without monetary gain) without snapping and doing something morally wrong or going completely and irrevocably mad. The mere two months I have been in Virginia to help my best friend as she was well on her way to giving birth to her third son and the older two aged three and two while her husband was underway and so forth has been a real rollercoaster ride. Now don’t get me wrong, I love them all to death, but it wasn’t long before the bipolar in me kicked into high gear and I struggled just to get through each day without losing my mind completely. I have to give a huge congratulatory acknowledgement to all those bipolar and non-bipolar parents out there for their credentials, for this whole experience has just recollected for me all the reasons why I should not have offspring of my own. I have always jokingly said that I cannot have kids, for I shall end up killing them or at the very least abusing them when my mind slips into its crazy mode. No matter how much I adore children for the snotty nose kissing munchkins that they are, I prefer those that I can give away at a moment’s notice. The kind that comes out of one’s womb and that you have to drop off at a hospital or a fire station for a forever home when you have had your fill is not the right type for me personally. As bad as that may sound and no matter how bad that makes me sound as a modernized hominid; for all you evolutionists out there, I will stand up with my hand held high and state the honest to God truth, “My name is Laura, I have Bipolar disorder and I am capable of the darkest of shameful evils inflicted upon innocent children around the world, if we are abandoned together for long periods of time. Every Mom, Dad, and child BEWARE!”

                I am not a simple kind of woman, no I won’t do that for you if I can’t, and yes I am quite aware of the someone up above who I personally call Jesus and he is well aware of the capabilities here within my being. I will trust in him to only put upon my shoulders as much as we both can handle together. With this said I am also very aware that I have a part to play in this life as well and that my fate is variable upon my own actions. So put your hands together for all the honorable parents out there and give an extra pat on the back for those of which who suffer from psychological shortcomings (or a mental virtue, if you feel exceptionally spry today) and still pull off parent of the year, it is a hard job from what I know and I know one thing for certain… I would not fall into this righteous category.

“To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction.”
                                -Sir Isaac Newton

          *All names have been changed to protect the privacy and innocence of all persons involved herein.

Chasity

Lost In Preparation

  I have spent three entire days packing for my trip on Wednesday, for which I will be gone for at least two months and I am extremely overwhelmed with everything at this point. I have organized, packed and unpacked numerous times with no luck of contentment, weighed everything repetitively, placed everything in Ziploc bags that could perchance create a mess, put clothes in airtight travel compression type bags for more accommodation, etc. I have broken down crying twice today in my efforts to remain productive and sane in my efforts to get things prepared. My mind has been going non-stop since the whole trip has been finalized and now my happiness is turning into frustration and dejection. I am already missing my Milo, for who is my dog yet more like my child. Delaying in letting my brother and family know when I am leaving, since I am not up for any company and that guilt is killing me. I am apprehensive that I will get to my destination and be devoid of something I need or want that I ought to have packed that was forgotten or could not accommodate. Perturbed that the airline will lose my baggage and my things will be gone forever. I am already having panic attacks thinking that I will get on the airplane, which will be a sold out flight and crowded, which is a big problem for me. Worried that I will not get to the airport on time or not early enough to get on the plane before most. I am freaking out that I will get lost finding my way through the airport and have a breakdown in front of all those people that unfortunately happened last time. I have already read the entire airport website, analyzed the airport maps four times, and wrote out instructions for myself twice. I am losing my mind here, nothing is getting accomplished, and it is TUESDAY! I still have to pack and organize because at this point my baggage is busting at the seams and overweight. Amongst other things, I have read only two chapters of the book I am reviewing and that deadline is not to far off, I still have to bathe and give Milo his monthly medications, do laundry, dust and vacuum, go to the bank, and say my goodbyes that are looking out of the picture at this point. With all the stress I needed a moment to vent and relax and found this video which as funny as it may be only fed into my lost baggage anxiety. Happy Tuesday everyone and may all your future travels not be too insane!

Chasity

My Father Was Not A Glass Maker

     How do you shroud your lack of feelings or sensations from the outside world, so that your numbness and dearth of cerebral thoughts do not materialize? Never looking in the eyes of people who matter the most, for fear that they will see right through you to the hollow futility that resides. The only emotions you feel are seemingly egotistical in relevance, yet you lack the very fundamentals of being selfish in such a way. Elusive gestures and words portrayed in audacity likeness could not be more falsely interpreted. Incessantly masked indifference plastered all over your already veiled face for the expressions have melted away along with the emotions, leaving a concealed memento in its place. My perceptual self-atrocity streamlining through my veins conjoins with altered meta-cognition. Illogical psychological methods unremarkably bare the self-induced stupor of outlandish reactions to be expected in any given situation for meta-reasoning has taken over. The sullen visage welded to the once accurate and lively details without purpose of execution. I find it hard to comprehend, talking myself into circles of feverish nonsense in hopes of things to disentangle in the nadirs of my mind. For my inner thoughts are the only things continually working, leaving me maladroit in the hands of compassion and benevolence, deeming me a clandestine Nomad in a land of punitive detractors. The guise I have worn as a personal sanctuary has gradually mutated into a life altering costume of an inadequate junction with an unaccountable rationalization. I am stranded in limbo, unable to figure out how to amputate the pall that has implanted itself upon my essence at this point. I will not go down without a fight, for this transparent existance is no longer working for me any longer.

Chasity

Incoherent Life

   

   I have always been a “why” person, for me to fully comprehend and be contented, I have to know the whys of why. As a child, I exasperated my parents substantially with asking, “Why?” and when they would answer, there would be another catechizing “Why?” so forth and so on. As an adult I still have this “why” mentality. For things to make sense in my head, it is necessitating for me to grasp and be able to cognize the why of all whys until I have reached the fundamentals. Asking the why question up to the point that there is no more explanation to be derived, so that I may understand exactly how all things function or come to be. With this said, it opens up a whole assortment of problems for me to understand how I could have Bipolar disorder and why it exists. There is no real genetic link for me to have Bipolar disorder from childhood, especially since childhood and adult Bipolar have two different “why” concepts. While deducting the concepts of my Bipolar orgin, I conclusively can only state the fact that yes I have gentic markers for mental illness, but not Bipolar and yes there was trauma in my childhood. Unfortunately that is not a good enough answer for me to conclude upon personally.
  As I have gotten older, more and more symptoms arise leading me closer to wanting to know the why’s of my missing memories from my childhood and adolescence and if it is all related to something specific. It is almost as if someone has stolen them out from under my nose. I have always had an excessive memory bank which is why if baffles me that I have somehow started to discard them. Particularly seeing as if it is being done unbeknownst and involuntary to me, not by me. If it is some kind of coping mechanism for my brain, then, why am I left with all the vile memories that should have been shredded to save me? Furthermore, if this is to be true then why am I numb to most of my past and the emotions related to them. It is as if I have truly forgiven and forgot for the most part, towards the persons who I feel wickedly oppressed me. The preponderance of the memories that are waning is predominantly those of individuals. I am losing my memories of people, not particularly of events or occasions, not the things that hurt me, but the comprehensiveness of the people throughout life. I can remember pictures that were taken of these people and occasions where they were present, but to actually remember them or reflect on my memories of them, I draw a blank. As if, my mind has an internal strobe light or seeing things through an edited and fragmented standpoint. I can remember their actions and words towards me, but not them being in my life and I know they were in my past so why are they no longer in my memories.

“I am finding out childhood is the core of who we are, and we must face it and deal with it. Once we do, it will no longer chain us in the past with hurt, fear, hate or guilt. All this does is keep us in bondage. It is time to see hope, love and peace! This will lead us to light, and the light will be the path to the other side: our freedom, our destiny!”
- Ruby
  One person specifically is my Dad, not my biological father, the one who adopted and raised me from the time I was just a toddler. My childhood was not a pleasurable one to ever reflect on, especially when it came to my Dad. As far back as I can remember my Dad had cheated and lied to my Mother and I and they always put me in the middle of it. Every time that he was caught, he made sure to get to me first to bring “Daddy’s Little Girl” to his corner for backup. He manipulated me anyway he saw possible, to use me against my own Mother. I was a child and was unable to comprehend anything going on, so every time he badmouthed my Mother, I believed him as any naive child would. With every separation that a mistress was revealed, I was put in the hot seat to decide if I wanted Daddy to come back. I was not told as a young child the specific truth to why this kept occurring to my family and I do not remember the excuses I had been told by my Mother, I only remember being the deciding factor in my family’s time of “mending“. Throughout my life my parents separated, divorced, and got back together more times than I can recollect. The first time I remember my parents separating and divorcing, I was probably six years old. This day will forever be embedded in my mind I think, since it has yet to fade even the tiniest bit. I remember coming come from playing and my Dad was loading up his truck with all his belongings as my Mom begged him not to go. When he finally drove away, I asked the enviable where and why’s and she turned to me as she walked through the shrub walkway and yelled “Daddy is leaving us because of you. You watched to much TV and he wasn’t happy” then she went inside slamming the door. That day a six year old ran as fast as she could to her babysitter’s house and a piece of her died for the first time as she sobbed with blamed sadness. That was the first day I ever felt alone in this world, the first day that I began to be a child in an adult world.
  When I was about twelve years old, I had finally become aware that this is not normal behavior and the way that the rudimental elements of my family were not normal, no matter how much my Mother tried to portray it to be. When I was placed in that discomfited position, once again to decide if my family was worth saving, this twelve year old made the only “mature” decision she could think of. I made my Dad promise to never hurt my Mother or I ever again and if he did he would not be abided or sanctioned back in my life and I would nevermore forgive his wrongdoings. A promise is the height of guaranteed indemnities for a twelve year old. To a child a promise is the glue that holds assurance and I truly believed he would never break that promise, for promises are never to be broken in childhood. To bet your family and life on a childhood gesture or the decision making of an unacquainted and infantile mind is the ultimate cataclysm in my opinion. Not counting the datum verity of how negligent you are for placing your child in the midst of all the chaos. I will never be able to assimilate what my parents were thinking, predominantly my Dad. I fought for him every single time and grew to be ashamed and embarrassed of my Mother for the entirety of what I was being told by him. To this day I still battle myself with these feelings regarding her at times, even though I can only recall one instance of the event word for word, “She‘s a crazy insane bitch and wants to break-up our family. I love you and you need to know what I tell you is the truth. Do not believe your Mother because she’s a liar and she is going to tell you all these bad things that I did not do.” I was thirteen years old that day and it was one of many days like it that my life fell apart. I apperceived to be called upon once again to play conciliator and the grown-up, for he broke that indestructible promise and was caught once again with his pathological lies. The difference this time, he smashed my childhood belief principles with that one broken promise and I trusted him no more. This came with the fact that my Mother thought it appropriate that I go with her to confront one of his numerous mistresses and a long talk to tell me the truth behind all the years of lies I was fed. To this day, she holds strong to her conviction that I wanted to go, but I was a child. It was not in my best interest and I should not have been looked at in the maturity department to be fit to be in the situations I was placed in or make the decisions I felt forced to make. I remember that night with precision, the evening leading up to it, and the long emotional conversation held at a family friend’s house, which lead to me wanting to go with my Mother. “You shouldn’t go. You are to stressed and emotional right now to drive and I do not feel safe with you going alone,” stated my best friend’s mother, which was her best friend. This is what led me to wanting to go with her. For I did not want her to be alone since it was apparently unsafe for her. I was no longer “Daddy’s Little Girl” that day; I was now a choleric and emotionally destructed teenager, lost in the adult world with all my child-like feelings and mentality. With that solitary event, I lost my puerile innocence forevermore. I even fell in the Devil’s playground hating him with ever breath I took for a long time. I completely cut ties with him for years for what he did from that point until he showed up post-surgery for my last tumor removal almost two years later. I never really forgave him, but I felt obligated to accept his wrongdoings, as he was my Father. I gradually began to accept him fallaciously and open up to him allowing him back in my life, but never letting myself close enough to fall victim again.
  I have held a lot of resentment toward my Dad, for most of my life and I still struggle with our relationship, but I will never stop loving him. I have come to accept the unchangeable man that he is as uncomfortable as he makes me at times. It was not until I was much older and after I had been confronted with the fact that he was not my biological Father when I was seventeen years old, that I sincerely started to forgive and appreciate him no matter the childhood he gave me. I then realized that he gave me the best of himself, the best childhood he could provide for the person he is, and I was truly grateful to call him Dad. Now that I am an actual adult I know I had been lied to, yet at times I still find myself looking at my Mother through those same hypocritically shattered goggles that were repeatedly placed upon my head and I am trying to work through the shambles of my upbringing. Unfortunately there is something that I still hold inscrutably deep inside that I have yet to recognize, as I still hold umbrage bitterness towards her. Our relationship has long been a cynicism I am finding irrefutably intolerable and demising. Until I can let go of whatever is repressed involving her, I will permanently be finding myself running headfirst into a brick wall that already has my desiccated blood covering it from previous happenstances. I certainly do not aspire to abhor my Mother; I need to piece things together for good. Regrettably this only a few things haunting from my past and I have many other issues at hand, that I have yet to file away for the better.

Chasity

Morning Magic

  As an avid coffee drinker since my early teenage years, I soon grew out of the coffee drinking business. I went from drinking plain coffee to adding shots of espresso, then moving to only drinking shots of espresso instead when the triple shot coffee no longer worked for me. I graduated from coffee a few years ago to the point of brewing espresso in the coffee pot as you would regular coffee grounds in hopes of finding that long lost jolt. I thought if the tiny shots of espresso were not giving me the energy I needed, I must have more. I have drank coffee for so long that I no longer got the effects I needed from it or maybe I am just immune to the energy level it gave me and left me needing more. I currently put six heaping scoops of espresso into a twelve cup coffee pot and although most days I do not feel the effects, when I do not have my morning Joe I am quite aware I haven‘t. I am already on my second cup already, anticipating my third and let me just say my “cup” is one of those massive two handholding kinds that I fill to the brim. I am speaking of coffee today to bring you my experience with the new Starbucks VIA, if you haven’t heard of it, no sweat I hadn’t either till I received a sample in the mail. Starbucks VIA is a line of instant coffee, they designed in a last ditch effort to save their failing company from the every dropping market they produce. Now, I am not one to go and spend $5 or more on a cup of coffee or whatever else you may drink, that I can brew better at my own house, but I did receive the sample so why waste it. First off, the sample I received was the Starbucks VIA Italian Roast. Secondly, I have never really fancied the taste of Italian Roast coffee or any other coffee I would call gourmet. I was more of the original Folgers and strongly brewed at that. Thirdly, I only drink coffee when there are not any other options and I refuse to drink instant coffee. There is nothing less appealing than a steaming cup of impostor coffee placed in front of you. I have had this sample sitting atop my microwave for approximately a week now. I had no intention of drinking it and forgoing my delicious homemade brew. I simply kept it thinking I can take it with me if I have to go somewhere in the morning and have no time to make my own brew, since it does come in one of those handy single serving to-go packages. Well my coffee pot although it has one of those self timers, I do not get to use it often seeing as I have such horrid sleep issues and never waking at a set time would leave me with stale or unready coffee. I normally leave a half a cup worth of “coffee” in the pot so that I may start my energy rush while a fresh pot is brewing in the morning, but I had none left after yesterday. This morning I awoke very impatient and could not wait for the drip to run dry so that I may enjoy my coffee and decided I would try the sample. I had no expectations for this coffee to be anything less than repulsive, but I quickly was I slapped in the face by my lankness of faith for Starbuck’s. Furthermore, I usually do not doubt their genius in the coffee making business, I am not denying the fact they know how to make coffee. I simply am not prudent enough to just waste money on it and especially not something as contemptible as instant coffee. I was abruptly in awe of this once loathsome and now demitasse of instant magic. I am not stating this instant coffee beats a brewed pot, but it sure does give it a run for its money. I was pleasantly surprised at my liking of it. The flavor was good, it did not taste like days old stale mud and there were no un-dissolvable grounds floating around the cup. It was full of flavor and bold. It comes in a variety of flavors as well; Starbucks VIA® Ready Brew Colombia which is the Medium blend, an iced medium blend, and extra bold blends such as Italian Roast and Decaf Italian Roast. I have not been compensated in any way for this review, merely thought I would share my experience.

 

Chasity