28 September 2009
File Under:
[.p.s.y.c.h.o.b.a.b.b.l.e.],
[.b.i.p.o.l.a.r.],
[.m.e.d.i.c.a.l.],
[.r.e.l.a.t.i.o.n.s.h.i.p.],
[.s.o.b.r.i.e.t.y.],
[.c.a.r.e.e.r.],
[.f.r.i.e.n.d.s.],
[.e.v.e.n.t.s.],
[.h.i.g.h.e.r././.l.e.a.r.n.i.n.g.],
[.p.o.l.i.t.i.c.a.l.],
[.r.a.n.t.s.],
[.l.i.f.e.]
Since I’m terribly bad at updating here – and elsewhere, for that matter, I’m giving those of you who care yet another way to peek into some of the corners of my dark life. Hopefully, I’ll get back into the regular routine of updating Plurk on a semi-daily basis. However, given the enormous tidal wave of . . . stuff . . . that’s hit my life of late even that may turn out to be a feat in and of itself. Things have been so chaotic and topsy-turvey that even my much beloved Bipolar World Cafe has gone by the wayside where my regular participation is concerned. Some things occupying my time are good, whereas others I’d ask that this cup be taken from my lips, to get Biblical for a minute. Anyhow, below is a mini-timeline of my Plurk posts. Enjoy!
3 January 2009
File Under:
A friend of mine, Rob, pointed out in a recent e-mail that I actually hadn’t updated this thing with any real news in some time. So, here I shall make an attempt to do so, although with everything that’s happened in the last few months it’s not going to be an easy undertaking.
Business is dead slow right now, so I’m looking for another full-time gig. Right now, I kind of don’t care what I end up with as a full-time gig as long as it’s not boring because I’m heading back to school this fall at least part-time (if I can’t find a way to finance a full-time run of it). I still plan on keeping the business going while in school, though. And maybe that’s crazy, but I am a master at insane undertakings.
Halloween made five years sober. Yay. I made it into 2009 not in the hospital – which I wasn’t sure if I would be or not because I was fighting off a pretty nasty MRSA infection. In other medical news, I was diagnosed with RA after months of testing and re-testing and wondering what was going on with me. It’s painful, yes, when it flares. I’m trying to find a manner of pain management for the flare-ups that isn’t as crazy as what was first tried: methadone. I withdrew from that just before the MRSA attack – and probably picked up the MRSA in the hospital, as irony would have it.
I’m taking care of a friend of mine who is terminally ill with bullous pemphigoid, which is a rare disease. Very rare. She was taken to the Mayo Clinic when she was first diagnosed so that they could study her. Anyhow, that aside, I’m taking care of her because there’s nobody else to do it. Some days are good, some are bad. But that’s the way these things go.
I got into a huge fight with Kevin. Meh. I’d explain part of it but right now if I did, I think my head would explode from frustration over the situation. Speaking of frustration, I’m still trying to help Leon out, but that’s not going so well. I hope that changes soon enough, though.
We’re moving soon and looking for a new place. Suggestions are welcome, although I think we’ve already settled on a place. We haven’t filled out the apartment applications or anything yet, so it’s not set in stone. If we go with the place I’m thinking we’ll go with, then we won’t need to get the gym memberships that we were thinking about because this place has a GREAT in-house gym, a sauna, a theraputic hot tub, tanning beds, a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE pool (part of which is heated!! T3h y4y!!), and more.
Life’s pretty quiet. All’s well between Steve and I. B’s moving to St. Louis (that’s the sad part) to get married (that’s the good part). I’ll miss him. He’s become more like a brother and less like a roommate.
I’d written a rant a few weeks ago which I still have saved in my "Drafts" folder, but somehow it seems irrelevant now. Meh.
(ephemeral)
16 August 2008
File Under:
I hope ya flip some guy the bird
He cuts you off and youre forced to swerve
In front of the beatles tour bus
A bookmobile and a mack truck
Hauling hazardous biological waste
The light turns red you have no brakes
And hard copy gets it all on tape
So you can see the look on your face
Die die die die die die die
Die die die die die die die
I hope your pinto begins to spin
Takes out a disabled vietnam veteran
Mows down a nobel peace prize winner
And maybe some orphans having christmas dinner
Perhaps even the british royal family
And the rabbi thats clutching the bottle-fed puppy
And we cant forget the newlyweds
And those jerrys kids are as good as dead
I hope this helps to emphasize
I hope this helps to clarify
I hope you die
I hope your cellmate thinks hes god
But c.n.n. refer to him as bowling ball bag bob
Serving time again for abuse of a corpse
Only this time the victims a clydesdale horse
While he masturbates to photos of livestock
He does the silence of the lambs dance to christian rock
Eats feces and quotes from deliverance
And fights with his imaginary playmate vince
Die die die die die die die
Die die die die die die die
I hope he grins like jack nicholson
And forces you to play a game called balls on chin
And whatever happens next is all a blur
But you remember fist can be a verb
And when you finally regain consciousness
Youre bound and gagged in a wedding dress
And the prison guard looks the other way
cause hes the guy ya flipped the bird the other day
I hope this helps to emphasize
I hope this helps to clarify
I hope you die
I hope you die
(ephemeral)
10 April 2008
File Under:
I’m calling all angels.
Actually, what I’m doing is calling my prayer partners and praying with them before I call back. If this is what is meant to be, then it’ll happen. I’m praying for wisdom and for my Higher Power, for calming and peace. I’m praying that I’m shown where I’m supposed to be, that I be given direction, that this spirit of fear be removed. I’m praying for God’s perfect will, that the Lord will open doors that other men would shut. I’m praying for discernment. I’m praying for being led down the path that my Higher Power would have me.
Mama, Audi, Kevin, Mike in The Valley, Blanca, and Hendrik for praying with me over the phone and taking time out of your day to back me up. Thank you to those I e-mailed because I didn’t have your numbers fr praying for me and with me in regard to this, including, most especially, Eldon, Gary from Western Trails, Laticia, Angela, Terry, Mr. Rosson, Glen, Beryl, Chris, Chase, Reverend Larry, Brian, and everyone else.
Thank you to Hendrik for the business advice that you gave me. It really made a lot of sense and hit home. You’re right. I need to keep it simple, I need to be direct, and I need to be firm. Most of all, I need to not worry about it because if God wants me to have it, then I’ll have it. All I need to do is walk through the process as wisely as I can and let go and let God. We do the work, and God does the rest. It’s not up to me, it’s up to God.
I think I’m going to do a fear inventory over this before I call or e-mail anybody at Alfresco.
(ephemeral)
2 April 2008
File Under:
My apologies to the folks who were kind enough to let me photograph them and/or their pets at Genuine Joe’s yesterday afternon and. I know that I promised that I would have the pictures up on the site shorty after I got home las night. However, I got home much later than anyone expected and, hence, it didn’t get done . . . yet, but it wil get a free moment and can find the mini-USB to USB cable that I thought was . . .
Oh, well, that’s okay. I’ve got several method I can use and they’re all readily available. One just requires installing some sotware on the Windows machine and then – ready, set, go! No biggie. Actually, it’s something I should’ve done quite some time ago.
However, they shall be up tody. Feel free to leave commens and remember to remind me as to which picture belongs to whom so I don’t send out the wrong picture to you!
(ephemeral)
9 March 2008
File Under:
So, as of a few hours ago – around lunchtime, Central Standard Time – I completed twenty-nine reolutions around this bright star of ours known as the sun.
This year has been rather interesting. I got married in this last turn around our celestial star, which I of all people didn’t expect, but at the same time I’m the last person complaining. And, to make it even better, my Dad loves him! My Dad has never liked anyone that I’ve dated, but he’s given this one his full approval, love, acceptance, and respect. He even calls him "son" – which is a major sign of just how much Dad’s come to bring Steve, my husband, into our family – fucked up though it may be.
And Steve’s family has fully accepted me, too. I have more family! It’s strange. They’re great people, too, and I’ve liked every single one of them that I’ve met. I really love his Mom and Dad. They’re so awesome.
I’ve also had a few old, but very close friends randomly appear back into my life. One was my best friend – and the most unexpected of all, Mr. Mason. Another was Miss Nicky. S. John was definitely the coolest by far. Erin was awesome to hear from again. Ken rocked because he’s just so damn awesome and I’ve missed him soooooo very, very much. There were others, but these by far stand out the most. I’m so glad to have you guys – and gals – back in my life again!
During this year with the stellar movements of the sky and earth in balance, there was Misery Journey, of which I am not sure that I have spoken of. Shortly after getting married I got to take a now former friend back home to Tacoma from Austin when she lost her job at Apple – with the promise that her or her parents would give me enough gas money to make it back. Well, her parents did, but she having Borderline Personality Disorder and being a kleptomaniac stole about half the money they gave me to get home on and thus left me in a major bind. I made it to California, because before I’d left I’d already planned to make a side trip there to visit with my ex-roommate and close friend, Jason. He cleaned me up, got some Starbucks in me, took me to the best sushi I’ve ever had in my whole, entire life (and I’ve had A LOT of sushi), and got me good for the road back home. Because of him, I made it back with under twenty bucks to my name. I didn’t eat or stop to rest on the way back, either. He saved my ass, though. And during that twenty-four hour respite, he showed me some beautiful things. California IS beautiful. I must give it that.
In this last year, this past tour in the sunshine, there have been some really bad things that have happened, namely two – and both have been in the past two months, funny enough: Steve and I lost our daughter; I nearly died last week from an accidentally medically-induced medicine overdose that sent me into grand mal seizures for a few days. One day longer, said the neurologist at the hospital to me after reviewing my EEGs, and I probably would’ve been toast.
My sponsor and I decided after much talk that since my last ‘relapse’ was what I thought it was and what she’d spent the last few years trying to convince me that it was – a suicide attempt driven by my ex. I used a lethal dose and it didn’t kill me, so now March first is my pseudo-sobriety birthday and October thirty-first of 2003 is my actual sobriety birthday, meaning that soon – very soon – I’ll be coming up on five years. Hella cool. So in my previous revolution, instead of making just one year, I actually hit my four. This is going to make things interesting come Birthday Night. LOL.
(ephemeral)
25 October 2007
File Under:
This was a triumph.
I’m making a note here: HUGE SUCCESS.
It’s hard to overstate my satisfaction.
Aperture Science
We do what we must
because we can.
For the good of all of us.
Except the ones who are dead.
But there’s no sense crying over every mistake.
You just keep on trying till you run out of cake.
And the Science gets done.
And you make a neat gun.
For the people who are still alive.
I’m not even angry.
I’m being so sincere right now.
Even though you broke my heart.
And killed me.
And tore me to pieces.
And threw every piece into a fire.
As they burned it hurt because I was so happy for you!
Now these points of data make a beautiful line.
And we’re out of beta.
We’re releasing on time.
So I’m GLaD. I got burned.
Think of all the things we learned
for the people who are still alive.
Go ahead and leave me.
I think I prefer to stay inside.
Maybe you’ll find someone else to help you.
Maybe Black Mesa
THAT WAS A JOKE.
HAHA. FAT CHANCE.
Anyway, this cake is great.
It’s so delicious and moist.
Look at me still talking
when there’s Science to do.
When I look out there, it makes me GLaD I’m not you.
I’ve experiments to run.
There is research to be done.
On the people who are still alive.
And believe me I am still alive.
I’m doing Science and I’m still alive.
I feel FANTASTIC and I’m still alive.
While you’re dying I’ll be still alive.
And when you’re dead I will be still alive.
STILL ALIVE
(ephemeral)
1 October 2007
File Under:
this post is brought to you by small letters because it is not a happy post.
this post bears the "friends" tag. rather it should wear the tag "ex-friends", "betrayal", "backstabbing", or some other such thing as the tag "friends" is in and of itself a lie because this post is about those things . . . about someone who used to be a friend. and while i’m one of the most forgiving people you will ever meet and will give you chance after chance after chance after you’ve fucked me around and hurt me bad, this person gets something very few people have ever gotten from me: the axe.
i guess the era era ended between this person and i a long while before this. no, actually, it did end. but i guess i just found a nice, clean line of demarcation to simply walk away from it, to begin the silence that should have begun a long, long time ago.
so, without further ado, i bring you song lyrics that when and if you play the song itself – which i highly encourage you listen to it as it’s a great song – it embodies the emotions that washed over me when i stepped up to this line of demarcation.
the eels – "guest list"
album: "beautiful freak"
are you one of the beautiful people?
is my name on the list?
wanna be of the beautiful people . . .
wanna feel like i’m missed.
hey – you – with the walkie-talkie,
i know my clothes are not right.
i wish i had my own walkie-talkie
that reached to god every night.
everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.
are you one of the beautiful people?
am i on the wrong track?
sometimes it feels like i’m made of eggshell
and it feels like i’m gonna crack.
everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.
i’m never on your list.
(ephemeral)
31 August 2007
File Under:
Thank you to my hubby and to my best friend, Kevin, for reminding me that I’m not useless.
As Kevin pointed out, what’s most likely going on with me is that things aren’t happening for me as fast as I’d like or the way that I’d like. There’s me . . . trying to wrest back control when I am powerless. In A. A. you learn a lot of things: personal powerlessness, surrender, humility, acceptance, letting go, boundaries . . . That’s just a small number of the myriad of lessons I’ve learned so far – and sometimes have to revisit.
Like right now while talking to Kevin he pointed out to me the above about things not happening "my way". This means I need to surrender them to my Higher Power and stop trying to meddle. My job is NOT to fix everything, but to do what I can and only that – the next right thing, as it were.
I’m powerless over a lot of things right now and that makes me feel ineffectual.
But I have to realize that it doesn’t mean that I am ineffectual. As Kevin pointed out, if I were ineffectual, things wouldn’t be where they are now. I wouldn’t have made any headway anywhere, or, if anything, I’d have already relapsed.
So, ummm, yeah.
I need to surrender. Again. I keep revisiting this one this year. Heh. And I need to remember where "you" end and "I" begin. And I need to keep in mind what personal powerlessness is and what it does and doesn’t touch in my life.
(ephemeral)
30 August 2007
File Under:
Not only do I feel useless, but I feel like I’m pissing someone off without meaning to. Great. Watch me fail all over the fucking place.
True to addiction, huh? Everything gets going good and you find a way to tear it apart. You can’t have nice things.
There goes the committee. Spin, spin, sugar . . .
(ephemeral)
13 August 2007
File Under:
It’s been an awesome weekend all the way around.
I got to pick some business brains, get stuff accomplished, and chill out. I got to hang out with Rob Landley for the first time in a long time, too, and catch up over coffee. We had a great coversation that was MUCH needed and some wicked stuff came out of it.
Hellz yeah.
And as if all that weren’t cake, the icing was mmmm mmmm mmmm . . . My hubby is beyond words. :)
How did I ever get it so damn good?
(ephemeral)
8 August 2007
File Under:
The last month’s happenings . . . in NO particular order:
- Road Trip From Hell 2007
- PTSD resulting from the aforementioned Road Trip From Hell
- Hanging out with Jason Goddard
- Hanging out with Calic0
- Mr. Bacon is back
- Drama on the business front
- My sole sibling is . . . I love him. If he gives my Dad a heart attack, though . . .
- Preparations for meeting my husband’s parents
- Meetings in other cities
I think that’s the short of it.
(ephemeral)
13 July 2007
File Under:
Here are the lyrics to Breathe by Prodigy:
Breathe with me
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I’ll test ya’
Psychosomatic addict insane!
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game I’ll test ya’
Psycho-somatic addict insane!
Come play my game
Inhale, inhale, you’re the victim!
Come play my game
Exhale, exhale, exhale!
(Like a fool)
Breathe with me
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game Ill test ya
Psychosomatic addict insane
Breathe the pressure
Come play my game Ill test ya
Psycho-somatic addict insane
Come play my game
Inhale, inhale, youre the victim
Come play my game
Exhale, exhale, exhale
Come breathe with me
Breathe with me
And this would be the END of my dealings with the two people at Dramapartment.
(ephemeral)
4 July 2007
File Under:
Wow . . . that was powerful stuff there. I mean, really. I can totally relate to the emotions there.
I can’t thank you enough for sharing that with me. I started crying soft, mellow tears. Someone got it. People around here haven’t been through the death of a parent. I’m the only one of my friends who’s had to deal with anything like that. The closest that anybody’s come is losing a grandparent at like three or four years old before they could really form a relationship with them, so even they don’t even really have a clue what this is like.
Most people have been like, "Why is this so hard sometimes, especially near the anniversary? It’s been so long? Move on already?" Heh . . . I wish it were that simple. My Mom died tragically, too. She had a brain hemmorage as a complication from systemic lupus and I was the one who walked in on her convulsing right before she died and tried to figure out what was going on. I called 911. I did what they said. I couldn’t save her before they got there. I was the one who held her while she died. I was sixteen. I’d been taking care of her solely since I was thirteen, putting my teenage existance on hold, sacrifincing any hope of being ‘normal’ – whatever that means – because my father was an absentee parent so the responsibility fell on my shoulders as the oldest.
She was abusive. Nothing was good enough. I struggled to please her. I tried to be perfect. She was Borderline and Narcisistic. She tried to live vicariously through me. No matter how much I achieved, it wasn’t enough. How many people in my position could’ve maintained a 3.95 GPA, taken college courses on top of it and maintained a 3.75 GPA there, gotten a hardship license, taken care of the household duties – including the budget and shopping and housework, taken care of a learning diabled and diabetic younger brother’s special needs, and their mother’s illness? Somehow, by some miracle, I did it for three years. At the end of it I had a nervous breakdown.
I was angry. My dad, when she died, came back into our lives like he’d never been gone at all. I hated him with such vehemence as he tried to control us with rules and regulations so overbearing and strict that they were insane. In the end he ended up sending us to a boarding school in Connecticut – until I attempted suicide after being raped there and checking myself into a psych hospital for it. And I learned to hate more deeply.
I knew depression. I couldn’t cry. I was comforted by few things at that time. Rain, dark winter days, thunder and lightning, deep gray clouds that promise storms . . . Yes, those things, too, lent me a measure of peace and calm for some reason. Perhaps it’s because they seemed to understand somehow, inherently.
I got diagnosed as Bipolar then, at sixteen, while at the psych hospital. The treatment seemed to help stabilize things over time, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t have to do a lot of work on my own as well. I’ve always been a writer and kept journals and I found that especially then it was a huge theraputic tool to put pen to paper. I wish I still had those journals, but an ex of mine threw them out. I still write . . . It’s something that keeps me sane, I guess you could say.
So . . . thank you, again, for your candidity this morning and the things you said to me on the site. They really hit home and meant a lot. How much I don’t think you know. And I truly appreciated what you sent me in e-mail, too. Hopefully this doesn’t come across as too self-absorbed . . . sigh I guess it’s just where I am today, thinking about all this shit with my mom. It’s finally come to a head and swimming around my mind in some strange mass I can’t seem to shake. :P
This, too, shall pass . . .
(ephemeral)
29 June 2007
File Under:
2007-06-29 14:19:06
Unread
Subject: just like coming to
Hi there,
Enclosed is an e-mail I wrote a little bit more than a year ago. I thought it might be worth while to share with you Today. Its kind of long … please excuse the type-os.
ragalg (aka: glagar)
——————————————————————
Hi there,
I’m glad to hear that even through all the insanity that personal, spiritual and professional growth and development requires you still take time to enjoy some simple pleasure such as tea. As I’m writing this I myself am enjoying a cup of tea in an effort to get myself ready for the day ahead. Since I enjoyed the structure of your epic e-mail I have decided to loosely follow it, this way I hope to be able to reciprocate my thoughts accordingly.
I find if of interest that you are moved and comforted by the fog. I will admit that for me its effects are a bit more on the detrimental side of things. When I think of the fog, I recall driving down driving down Crenshaw blvd in a fog so impenetrable that I could not see the sidewalk or the lane next to me. Driving blindly down this street brought back the feelings of anxiety and blindness that I too often feel in night time reveries. None the less, I do find the fog fascinating. It is as if the ocean has escaped its defined boundaries and has claimed possession of the land. Ahhh … and I do love the ocean. The ocean provides me with the gift of perspective. Even when my entire being is consumed with unbearable pain, the ocean helps me realize that this pain is not all encompassing, nor is it everlasting.
But going back to meteorological phenomena, what moves me is rain. I love observing the world when the sky is overtaken by gray clouds just waiting to release their cleansing (hopefully not acid) rain all over the city. During these moments very thing seems so crisp and full of potential. I am comforted by the thought of my soul being purified by these particles of water. I imagine that as the water touches my skin it takes with it a bit of the resentment and hatred that I have unwittingly collected over the years. Yes, hatred … in this life I have known pure, raw, intoxicating, deadly hatred … but only for one person.
Have you ever woken up after all hell has broken loose and, as you open your eyes, for a moment you don’t remember that your world has been defiled and that your soul has been mutilated? (Ahhh … even 11 years later the tears still spring up from my soul when I recall it) I remember opening my eyes and for a time everything was fine. But then slowly a wave of dread consumed my being. Then I remembered. I remembered that the previous night I had been a witness to death and murder. It was 7:35 pm on the Monday, December 26 (Entertainment Weekly was playing on the TV). That was when I heard the first shot and a small sound arising from my stepfather as the bullet hit him (he was outside). Then the terrible sound of my mother screaming, followed by a long silent pause. I was holding my sister (she was one year old). The silence was shattered by the sound of 13 more gun (rifle) shots, one right after another. (I can still hear the sounds of the screaming and bullets ringing in my ears). Then silence again. I don’t know how much time passed before I went outside. But there he was, Ken (my step dad), lying face down on the pavement. I knew he was dead. I imagined (or saw?) his spirit above looking at me as I looked at his body. I went inside and called the police. I wasn’t hysterical … I was for the moment in control … I has stuff to do … I needed to take care of my family … I needed to make sure we were going to be OK. I called 911. I steadily gave the operator a summary of events: my uncle’s name, my name, my age (13 years old), our address and phone number. The operator then told me that the police were on their way and to get towels; so that I could cover Ken’s wounds (again more tears). So I did as she instructed me to do. I got a towel, walked outside, and looked at him. I knew he was dead. I kneeled down and placed the towel on him (he was warm). His body had been disfigured. There were no little bullet holes, instead it was as if parts of his flesh had been scooped, or burned, away. In the background I heard the police so I walked to the front of the house. The police saw me and pointed their guns at ME. That was when I saw HIM, there HE was, the murderer, my beloved uncle. I told the police that HE had done this … he confirmed it and they proceeded to arrest him. Meanwhile, I took the police officers to where Ken’s body was, and then I went inside to see my mom and sister. My mom was hysterical. My uncle told her that she would be the one responsible for Ken’s death, and she believed him. To this day, 11 years later, she has not been able to release herself from that burden. We waited for the police to do their job and for a moment there was calmness. And for a moment things were alright: the police were taking care of business and my uncle was in custody. During this temporary moment of calmness I recall entertaining the idea that Ken was alive. I imagined us at the hospital visiting him while he recovered. Then there was a knock on the door and the police confirmed what we already knew: Ken had died … Ken had been murdered … my uncle was a murderer … my mother was a widow … Ashley would grow up without a father (she wouldn’t even be able to remember him) … the realities of so many lives were irreparably altered. I too was changed.
That is the moment when hatred was born unto me. I felt it. (tears) It landed on my soul, took root and relentlessly began to overtake my spirit. That was the moment when I lost complete control. I can’t really remember it, but I know there was crying, yelling, screaming, and a complete and total disconnect from reality. I was hysterical. I was broken … devastated … and I could no longer endure my own existence. I felt the hatred spring from my eyes, pulse through my veins as it created a home for itself within me. It filled me. I embraced it. I welcomed its numbing touch. I loved it and it loved me back; and for a time (10 years) it sustained me. I felt strong in it; it felt strong in me. It was hate that helped me get up and continue to exist in order to achieve my newfound goal. I knew that I had to go on … to go on to witness the destruction of the man who had polluted my soul, the man who had introduced me into the darkness, the man who had so willingly opened the doors of hell for me and who had beaconed me to walk through the threshold.
As the years passed I learned that hatred grew exponentially. I discovered that I hated Him for so many GOOD reasons. I hated him for his murder. I hated him for destroying my mother. I hated him for leaving my sister without a father. But most of all, I hated him for the annihilation of my innocence (tears). Several years down the line I realized that even though I harbored hate within me, it is not in my nature to hate. And even though the hate sustained me, it also destroyed me. So, since my soul was in need of healing I sought council form the church. What better place? Right? Well, the "church" proceeded to inform me that because I harbored hatred in my soul I was damned, and as a result I was denied God’s love and blessing. They basically let me know that in my current state I was destined for hell. That was unless I repented. That’s right!! Now I had to repent
I was the sinner! Well this just added fuel to the fire. Now I hated Him, because I hated him He had indeed sent me into hell. And there it (hell) was, just waiting to open its doors for me and take me in as its newest resident.
Please keep in mind that when all this was going on I was between the ages of 13 to 23. During this decade I developed a theory of two about life and hate. I came to the conclusion that if one is steadfast in the internal, or external, proliferation of hate, there is but one end. I believe that, when one truly hates, one inevitably becomes what one hates. When I came to see this I decided to stop and alter the course of my existence. I decided that would no longer hate. Since that time I have reclaimed my soul, and myself, from the powerful and intoxicating embrace of hate. But, make no mistake; hate has left its make upon me. I am forever changed; I feel it every time I awake and open my eyes. This is why I love the rain. When rain appears I imagine (hope) that it takes away some of the soot and filth that that hatred bestowed upon me during its decade of residence within me.
Now, even though I have made progress, I am painfully aware that my journey of healing, and growth, has just started. The other day I was driving to the office and I thought, "You know what I don’t hate him any more. I no longer revel in the thoughts of possible tortures that he might be victim to." When I realized this I was so excited and pleased with myself for my spiritual and emotional achievement. Just when I was about to pat myself on the back, the Peeps (that is how I refer to the angels, elders, spirit guides, etc … who take the time to chat with me … we have a very casual dialogue) said, "So … umm … have you FORGIVEN him?" I was blown away! Not just because of the unusual clarity with which I heard them, but also because I had never even considered the possibility of considering the possibility of ever even thinking of maybe forgiving him. Damn it! The fact is that NO, I have not forgiven him. Damn! Nonetheless … now … unlike any other moment before, I am open to it and I see the necessity of it in order to release me (and my family) from the grasp of his (my uncle’s) hatred. Otherwise I KNOW that I will be bound to the earth to exist and experience life yet again … and again … until I am willing to surrender and let go.
……………………………………………………………………..
This leads me to answer the question of what is it that makes me get up and go every single morning. Why do I do what I do? What is my purpose? Naturally I have thought deeply about this and I have a response … it follows:
I was five years old when I first had a true sense of self. That was the time when I was able to truly understand that I was alive on earth. I knew there must be some reason for my existence. And that was when I first realized how awkward I found the human experience (and that I didn’t really like it). This may sound odd, but I have never really gotten used to being alive. I can recall being five and informing my mother that, "God must have made a mistake when he made me a person." I proceeded to tell her that "I was supposed to have been a bird or something else … because it is too hard to be a person." Even now the human experience seems like a pair of shoes that just don’t fit quite right. It seems that no matter how much time (or how many lives) passes there is something about living that is so innately unnatural for me. I think it has to do with there being a physical separation from the perfect love of God (the source).
Anyway, even though it I find it unnatural to live … it is my nature to try to help, guide, try to make the experience of living a little bit more bearable for those who live. This may sound cheesy, but the moments when I aid others to "see" more clearly, are the moments when I feel the pain of living a bit less. During the time that I worked in marketing, I found life utterly unbearable and I knew that I could not exist that way … because I was not doing that which helps me live. That leads me to talking about why I do what I do.
It may not surprise you that this is not the first time I am asked this question. I have a reply … but I wonder if my answers will reveal my emotional/spiritual immaturity. Nevertheless they are my realities, so I stand by what I am about to write.
There are several reasons why I get up and out every single damned (or blessed) day. The first reason is to learn, learn, and learn. Ahhh … so much to learn and so little time. Please note that I am not referring to trivial facts, those do not interest me. I’m talking about concepts, ideas, experiences, abilities … that is what I live to learn about. Things that have captivated my mind in the past have been art, music, books. Ultimately I guess I want to how the experience of living is perceived by others. Do they like it? How do they bear it? What are their vices? Do their vices help or destroy them? What is their favorite thing about being alive? (For me it is chocolate, mustard, flaming hot cheetoes, the sound of the violin, and the emotional and physical aspects of loving & being loved back) The second reason why I do what I do is for my family; my mom and my sister. I know that I was placed here to care for them. And since they are my biggest strength, naturally they are also my biggest weakness. I know that when I die, letting go of them will be my biggest challenge. The third reason why I continue is to finally escape, or graduate from, the seemingly endless cycle of human experience.
What follows is the essence of a little chat I had with God some time ago:
I say to God: "I want out!" He says: "You’re the one who asked for this."
Me: Yes … but
God: No excuses. You must finish what you started.
Me: I didn’t understand what I was asking for!
God: No matter, I warned you and now you must follow through. However, I will carve a path for you to go through, but you are the one who must walk through it so that you may return home.
Me: Fine, (sigh …) I will walk the path.
God: I know. But take heart, I will guide your way, support you and walk with you, but it is up to you to take every single step.
So, every single day, I walk the path. Some days I walk faster than others. Some days I lead myself to the wrong way (but eventually find my way back). Some days I fall (God helps me get up). And some days I sit down and refuse to move at all. The only constant is God, and the Peeps, who walk with me, help me find my way when I am lost, and comfort me when I fall.
Ultimately, the only real reason why I do what ever the hell it is that I do, is to return home. So that I can exist as I was originally meant to exist, in my true form. And in doing so, I can better love God, the Peeps, and his creations for all of time.
……………………………………………………………………..
I agree with you about the process of writing. Somewhere hidden in my closet are several journals filled with passed thoughts, fears, passions and yearnings. However, during the last couple of years I stopped writing. Fortunately for me, you have inspired me to explore and examine my thoughts again. Thank you. Hopefully my rantings have not been too radical for your taste.
Your thoughts?
-glagar
(ephemeral)
File Under:
2007-06-29 13:35:10 it’s been twelve years today since my mom died.
ephemeral
200706-29 13:36:10 i wish i could see her again to reconcile the things we never got to . . . to say to her the things i need to say to her now.
ephemeral
200706-29 13:37:10 so i guess i’ll write her a letter and burn it and scatter the ashes to the four winds.
ephemeral
200706-29 13:41:10 Nothing lasts forever, even a promise "for eternity." Offering this moment of your best self is good enough. *** You have options. ~~~~~~~~~~Yeah- Those Crazed dreams that wake me up going: Wot? what…What…WHAT?
sand
200706-29 13:44:10 Nothing lasts forever, even a promise "for eternity." Offering this moment of your best self is good enough. *** You have options. sand . . . Empty yourself and let the universe fill you . . . -raglag words of wisdom there. words i should follow.
-ephemeral
200706-29 13:50:10 One last thing: Ephemeral I have found that the 12 year mark after the death of a loved one is a true turning point. For me it was a moment of reconciliation with the past and more importantly a moment of reconciliation with myself. More often than not, the pain we experience is a direct result of those things that we have not forgiven ourselves for. I wish you freedom from the past and peace.
ragalg
2007
06-29 13:52:10 words of wisdom there. words i should follow.
ephemeral ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ACTually What you are experiencing>here & Now…must be dealt with. Yes forgiveness- Letting go- Is a Big Journey- & a
GIFT only you can give to your own Heartself.
sand
2007
06-29 13:54:10 thank you, raglag. today’s hard. the last few weeks leading up to today have been hard as i’ve been contemplating our relationship and the past, our interactions, and the truths that bound us for what they were and have come to new conclusions. it seems like i’m at a watershed. i feel you’re right and i’m seeking catharsis. this seems like a turning point. thank you for your insight.
ephemeral06
29 13:59:10 The "truth" of our "parents" may not fit the "ideal" of our society- All forms us- you get the opportunity to Choose a new construct> For yourself. Work In Progress : )
sand
200706-29 14:04:10 The "truth" of our "parents" may not fit the "ideal" of our society- All forms us- you get the opportunity to Choose a new construct> For yourself. Work In Progress : )
sand for me, the "ideal" was never the truth, but i knew that all along about both of them and accepted that. however, when it came to my mom, realizing that she was colder than ice and and as sick and toxic as she was came as a shock while i was going through therapy and fourth step inventory. my new construct is truth.
-ephemeral
200706-29 14:07:10 Yes. Work in progress. Free even from the limits that we set for ourselves. Free even from the idea we might have in our minds of who we think we should be or what kind of live we think need to be living. Freedom is courage to really be who you are, not who you think you should be. Good stuff this morning. Now I know
WHY I got up so damned early ⦠so that I might enjoy this exchange. (
_) OK. Now I’m out. For realz.
ragalg
200706-29 14:09:10 thank you, raglag. it’s been an honor.
-ephemeral
(ephemeral)
21 June 2007
File Under:
12:11] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: went and took a nap
[12:11] Charles Riordan: niiiice
[12:11] Charles Riordan: I wish I could take a nap :(
[12:12] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I hadn’t slept in two days
[12:12] Charles Riordan: really? why not?
[12:14] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: stress
[12:14] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: roommate bullshit
[12:14] Charles Riordan: oh?
[12:14] Charles Riordan: from Mischa?
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and Eileen
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: who I introduced her to
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: big mistake
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: dude, I’d get into it, but . . .
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: ugh
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I’ve started calling this place the dramapartment
[12:15] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and I don’t spend any time here, really, anymore
[12:16] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: most of the time I’m at Steve’s because we’re married, oof the drama, etc.
[12:16] Charles Riordan: awww
[12:16] Charles Riordan: you going to move in with your husband?
[12:16] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: so don’t tell them, but that’s the plan
[12:16] Charles Riordan: gotcha
[12:16] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I’ve already given her the rent for July, too
[12:16] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: but fuck it
[12:17] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I can’t handle this
[12:18] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: her borderline and Eileen’s schizoaffective and addiction issues and her refusal to work a program anymore – she was my sponsee until Mischa convinced her by buying her things that she didn’t need a program, much less a sponsor – and, well, I’m not doing this
[12:18] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: plus, after Mischa insulted our marriage the other night, I’m outie
[12:18] Charles Riordan: :(
[12:19] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: she also convinced Eileen to go off her meds
[12:19] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and that’s been a nightmare in and of itself
[12:19] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: Eileen’s secondary DX is also borderline
[12:19] Charles Riordan: how did she insult?
[12:19] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: And Mischa’s not been taking her meds either
[12:19] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: She said in a very insulting and sarcastic tone to me and Steve that she hope it lasts but she knows better because Steve is just as controlling as Seth ever was
[12:19] Charles Riordan: ugh… this isn’t good
[12:20] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: which is SO NOT TRUE
[12:20] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: no shit
[12:20] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: so I’m outie
[12:20] Charles Riordan: I don’t blame you
[12:22] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I paid her back for what Seth owed her for rent last year and on top of it, I’ve bought groceries, a carton of cigarettes that I saw none of – Camel Signatures – and paid 400 for June and 400 for July rent and then her electric bill for two months
[12:22] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: since it was overdue
[12:22] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and she still says I owe her
[12:23] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: It wiped out what reserve I had and I’ve had to borrow from my friend Scott to pay my cell bill . . . okay, only a hundred bucks for the last two months, but still
[12:23] Charles Riordan: ugh
[12:23] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and because of her broken promises, I owe Brian and Jeff about 120
[12:24] Charles Riordan: for what?
[12:27] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: gas money that she promised to pay him when he came up here on her beck and call and a bus ticket
[12:28] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and Mischa says she’s broke, but she keeps buying Eileen stuff – a cell phone, adding her to her cell plan, books, clothes, anything she seems to want, cab rides . . .
[12:28] Charles Riordan: ...
[12:29] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: but yesterday when I asked her if I could borrow enough money to get a pack of smokes and then then pay her back when Steve got here to pick me up, she screamed at me.
[12:29] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: about how she has no money
[12:31] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: [13:39] adam_s_brown: So, think Mischa is trying to make eileen her pet?
[13:39] ephemeral_ether: [13:39] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: but yesterday when I asked her if I could borrow enough money to get a pack of smokes and then then pay her back when Steve got here to pick me up, she screamed at me.
[13:39] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: about how she has no money
[13:39] ephemeral_ether: I duno
[13:39] ephemeral_ether: but it’s pissing me off
[13:40] ephemeral_ether: Eileen was working a program and on her fourth step and all this shit and doing okay before she got here
[13:40] ephemeral_ether: her only thing was her parents were driving her crazy
[12:31] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: Mischa even bought Eileen a kitten
[12:31] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and when I asked about getting a guinea pig, well . . . hahahaha
[12:32] Charles Riordan: dayum
[12:33] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and they’ve both depleted my pretty expensive Biolage shampoo and conditioner and other stuff because they dyed their hair and my stuff is for dyed hair, so they figure they can use it because of that
[12:33] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and that shit is 20 a shot
[12:33] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: and they refuse to contribute to replacing it
[12:33] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I’m not asking for full replacement cost, either
[12:33] Charles Riordan: I’d make mention of that
[12:33] Charles Riordan: no, if they want to bitches about it, then bitch back
[12:33] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I didbn’t
[12:34] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: I asked for help
[12:35] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: brb – phone with Steve
[12:36] Charles Riordan: k
[12:43] Charles Riordan: < - broke
[13:30] ephemeralether@gmail.com/Meebo: me, too
(ephemeral)
15 June 2007
File Under:
I just need eveything to stop for just one moment.
And then in that moment I need some serenity.
(ephemeral)
21 May 2007
File Under:
All day
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
I’m feeling like I’m headed for a
Breakdown
I don’t know why
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Me
Talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
I know
I know they’ve all been talking ‘bout me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong
With me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow
I’ve lost my mind
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they’ll come to get me
Yeah, they’re taking me away
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be, yeah
Well I’m just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be
Matchbox 20 – Unwell
(ephemeral)
10 April 2007
File Under:
[19:16] John: Show me a bipolar in a happy relationship and I will show you a peace-loving President
(ephemeral)