I'm scared!

Scared... It’s the one word that best describes how I feel today and mostly every day. I’m at the point where my goal when I wake up each day is to find some purpose to carry me to the next. My current motivation is the guilt I would bestow upon my family if I choose to give up. That is the only thing that is keeping me going. I don’t know who I am anymore or what I’m supposed to be. Obviously I know my name, but what’s in a name? I don’t even know my favourite color, what I want to do in life, or even what I want to do throughout the day. I sometimes choose to sleep (when I can) because it’s a whole lot easier than having to force yourself to do something. While in this state of mind, I am not living for myself. I make decisions based on the opinions of the people who say they care about me. After all, I don’t care, I don’t feel, so my own decision making could be unfortunate.

No, I actually don’t feel or care. It sounds like I’m posing myself as a monster. I guess I kinda am. Christmas was really hard. While I appreciate the gifts and the worry, it’s kind of hard to smile when you’re asking God why he let you wake up in the first place. In any given day my mood is flat. I have reactions when my body convulses in nervousness in normal everyday situations (mostly conversations). I do not feel excited (outside of hypomania), no adrenalin, no happiness, no warmth. I feel like I’ve been gutted and left cold, alone, nervous, and afraid. I have even given thought to how the use of illegal drugs could heighten my senses.

In the past while I have found the need to differentiate between suicidal ideation and wanting to be free of pain. I am not in fact suicidal, but I am in fact suffering from a constant gut wrenching pain that fills my entire soul. I feel empty and alone. I fear two things: being alone and being hurt, and in protecting myself from being hurt, I am forcing myself to be alone. If I could be fixed by some magical power, I would not even consider either option.
10 pills a night. I cringe after swallowing each one. I suffer the side effects. In the slim chance I decide to have kids, I will have to come off medications to spare my youngsters from being defected. 10 pills a night and I still find myself hyperventilating on my parents’ kitchen floor, because I’m scared; because I do not know why I should live each day with this monster inside of my body. I know I used to be outgoing and loving and creative at some point, but I don’t know where she is anymore.

A cancer patient living in excruciating pain which effected the way they ate, slept, and functioned, would be granted society’s blessing to pass into the white light. I guess there’s a double standard with terminal mental illness: we suffer a different sort of pain in which the severity is not understood. Nor is the extent to which the pain effects our daily lives. But it’s ok to tell us retards that we’re not allowed to rest in peace because our pain is all in our heads. So, just exercise, take your pills, and sleep your life away, because Seroquel is the answer to all of life’s problems.

Self Discovery is a Bitch!

I never thought it was possible, but I have actually cut myself off emotionally from the world. I do realize that depression can be seen as an emotion; for me it is a state of inappropriate emotional response to environmental, psychological, and/or psychological factors which is beyond my control. Either way, I do not feel things the way I used to. I tend to be emotionally flat. I guess we always wish for the ability to numb the painful feelings. However, the protective walls that have been built around me are not selective to the negatives.

Today was a real eye opener: I was walking in the snow, after conversations with two very helpful and kind people, on the day which I wrote the last academic exam of my Nursing degree which is four days before my 21st birthday... and I was miserable. My family is healthy; I’m soon to be an aunt (again) :-) ; my future is working it’s self out right before my eyes... and I am miserable.

I contribute my numbness to three things: my illness, myself, and my past experiences. When all are combined, I am a wreck. My medications (or lack thereof) have caused me to pretty much stop sleeping (I don’t really call 3 hrs a night sleep). In actual fact, getting diagnosed has sent me on a path of self discovery which target issues like these that I need to work on. And of course, everything cannot be blamed on external forces.

Though farfetched, I feel as though I have sent my brain to psychological boot camp over the past year and two months to toughen it up a little. My own mental conditioning was ultimately stimulated by my previous life experiences.

Without getting into detail, when something is taken from you (i.e. freedom, self worth, etc), you learn to live with it. You have vague memories of when you were allowed to be outgoing, to socialize, and to have an opinion. It is memories like having you count down the seconds to my birthday so you could be the first to greet me, still haunt me after the years; memories like that which still manage to cast a black cloud over the events any normal person would look forward to. It’s memories of having my hopes let down so many times that have taught me not to hope at all. I guess that my attempt to shelter myself from crushed dreams is parallel with my attempt to maintain any dignity I have left. I would rather command myself not to feel than place my soul in the hands of someone who does not respect the responsibility.

All of these issues have reflected on my social life. I have difficulty creating friendships and intimate relationships. I find it impossible to trust people and I always feel the need to defend myself. I also cannot be physically close to anyone and tend to try to give guys who show interest in me a reason to go away. I guess once you live by strict rules for a period of time, it is difficult to adapt to a broader, freer world.

I obviously have issues. But I’m working on them. Each and every day I get out of bed is a challenge; a challenge that I have succeeded until now and will continue to fight for the rest of my life. I have identified my issues, now all I need is time.

The Sex Theory - for the lighthearted only

So.... while watching “Pirates” one afternoon, I got to thinking; What is sex all about anyway? I have concluded that sex is untimely blood, skin, and friction. Let me explain...

See at one point us ‘humans’ used sex as a survival technique; a way to maintain our existence on the face of the Earth and carry on our gene pool. Eventually, sex became a method of expressing feelings of love and romance towards your mate.
However, things have changed.....

How do us modern time mammals mate today? Why of course, we go to the bars & the internet to pick up people just as sexually frustrated as we are. You go home. Lights off. Clothes partially undone. 5 minutes (if you’re lucky), then he is up and out the door. Wow... how romantic!

This act of release has become represented as a fun & competitive sport in our society. However, there’s a 9/10 chance that there’s no emotional connection between these two animals. No romance at all. The whole freakin’ process is physical! Guy sees girl/girl see guy. Thinks “S/He’s do-able”. Boom endorphins are running, blood is flowing, hearts are pounding, and their minds are set on one thing...fiction. Ladies, what the hell is so fascinating about this process? Is it about a blood filled piece of skin that thankfully we do not have? Is it that this feature can go from microscopic to miniature and vice versa on command? Or the fact that the simple in & out action makes it so dizzy it throws up everywhere? It’s so cute though... a penis is like a little kid trying to get on a carnival ride: it stands on it’s tip toes to pass for the accepted height to get on the ride, shrinks into it’s seat once the ride starts, and just when the ride starts to get exciting, it spews what it ate for supper. The duration of the ride is affected by two issues: preme guys & chronic masturbators that only get off in the comfort of their computer chair. But it doesn’t matter, you’re not going to feel it anyway! Wouldn’t one of those long skinny water balloons be more fun? At least then you can fill them up and get yourself wet without having to fake it.

As for the reproduction part... Chances are if Tom & Sally are knockin’ boots, then either he’s wearing a condom or his swimmers are as dumb as he. Not only are we not creating future generations by trapping our little men in latex balloons, but we’re wiping out our own by inbreeding diseases. Sypherea anyone? Although when I think about it, I would rather not get pregnant by some sex crazed animal anyway. 9 months later – congratulations... you’re fat, broke, alone, and have a kid that’s the spitting image of his father... wherever he is. Ultimately, you spent 10 minutes of regret for a torment that lasts until you die... or they die, but I don’t recommend interfering with fate.

Your advice to me after all this is probably going to be to not have sex with sex crazed stupid guys with small dicks. .....but who’s left? Seriously though, why go through all the trouble to take your clothes off & put them on for friction. Seriously! I feel friction all the time, by myself, whenever I want, where I want, with all my clothes on. I just rub my hands together. It gets all hot & sweaty with no mess to clean up afterwards.
As far as I’m concerned, if it doesn’t feel good, look good, or make you happy, then why do it? Until a handsome knight in shining armour with a large bag of flesh and blood learns how to light a candle and buy flowers, This Little Red is Riding the Abstaining Train. Happy Humping! (And for friction sakes, use a condom!!)

A Tall Tale of Patty Murphy

A few decades ago I met a man in the place I came from. Well, I'm telling you, all that man did was hum and sputter.

He said he was a fisherman, but I knows myself that he wasn't. I saw it with my very own eyes what that dear old man was able to do. Well, he did fish now mind you, but that was only in the summers. He was a well know carpenter. He built his house, his shed, and a green house for his old woman. He was a loan shark for the months when the neighbours found it just too hard to put some grub on the table. He was a lumber jack for he chopped down trees four or five times bigger than he. He was a mechanic that was known to have built more than one or three cars and trucks in his day. And this was all that I can attest to him doing. But I'm telling you, all that man did was hum and sputter.

He would sit down in his thinking chair and think about what he was going to do the next year. I always thought this was foolishness because knowing that old man either he'd forget it, or he'd beat it up trying to tinker with it. Well, that or what he tried to fix wouldn't would normal anyhow. Last summer he tried to build a book case with 45 nails. 17 of them were rustier than old hell, 19 of them was as crooked as he was, and the rest was both. So of course, being the wise old man that he was, he would get his welder out and make his own nails. After all, it was only done right if he done it his self. That poor old house still looks like it's gonna tip over. After all this, I'm telling you, all that man did was hum and sputter.

21 years and no matter how many times he had to do it to get it right, all I heard that man do was hum and sputter. Mom tells me I'm just like him, but I can't get the hums and sputters right. But I guess that was his thing, and he had it figured out: if everything else is gone haywire, at least you can control your hums and your sputters.

Tygers & Lyons

running. Through my head
pawing. At my dura mater
trying. To shred a door in my already leaky brain

cracking. Through my parietal bones
the chaotic confusion is screeching
ringing in their sensitive ears

choking. The evil snakes were too strong
too complex. Though they tried to devour the specimens
the epidermis was too tough to digest

are defeated. As it turns out
a pack of ferocious tygers & lyons
were no match for the thoughts created by my imagination.
The mind is a dangerous thing.
I ought to be careful how I handle such a thing

Awakening From the Battle

My skin has thickened into steel.
My heart pumps without resistance.
My mind is blank.

The steel is the ultimate barrier
to defend against intruders; to caution blows
If a parasite manages to break it's way through sturdy, but damaged wall -
the pump will not be affected.
It is no longer responsive to negative stimuli
It is immune to ill fated behaviour and cruel intentions.
The blank slate serves well for the machine to rest at night.
It cannot replay the vicious attacks;
Nor can it be faced by similar situations.
It is naive to the fact it is frail.
It is unaware that the assumed wall of protection by adaptation
has crumbled in front of her very eyes.
The best she can do is build a new wall -
a wall of sticks and stones held together by tears, hope and worry.
Oh, how wonderful would it be
if only the past stayed in the past
and my thoughts couldn't skin me alive

Thriving for the Unachievable

What difference does experience make? No, this is not a cry for help... just a realistic observation. We live our lives trying to grasp perfection; our niche, our one famous quality that is incomparable to others. If you are not elite amongst your peers are you significant? If everyone is good a something, is there a need for at least one "loser" to whom everyone can compare to to make themselves feel superior?

Life is a marathon, trying to answer the retorical question... to be or not to be. Should we strive for the unachievable or should we give up? Retire our fight and accept no challenge? But, if we don't have goals, what do we work towards? To get out of bed in the morning we must set a minor goal for ourselves. There is no such thing as perfect.. why waste the energy aiming for it.

What can we do? Go on as average, quit as average? Aim for perfection? Hope we're not the idiot that makes everyone else look good? Either way we are wasting out time either working towards the impossible, failing our attempt to be impossible, or a loser. Sort of depressing. Oh well... life goes on.

Angel on Earth

One day the daughter of a nurse

asked a question that made her mom curse.

"Can't you help her, the woman in that room

she looks so young but the doctor said she'll be dead soon"

She looked at her daughter and started to cry

"What's wrong mommy? Didn't you try?"

"I tried dear, but she got too sick too fast

the point that I can help her has long past"

The sick patient is a family friend

It is devastating that her life is drawing to an end

Disease... Cancer... they are awful things

Her name in Heaven, angels sing

One of those angels she will soon be

She's an angel here too and we all can see

For us all she's done a lot

Her time on Earth will not be forgot

I'll pray, she'll pray, and you'll pray too

Even though we know there's nothing anyone can do

"God we know angels belong above

Especially this certain one we will always love"

Dedicated to the late Edith Tucker, July 31, 1956-November 27, 2001

It was written while Edith was in the hospital, before she passed away.

In Speaking of a Person's Faults

This is a poem my Nan Murphy used to recite to me. I was unable to find the author.

In speaking of a person's faults

please don't forget your own.

Remember those with homes of glass

should never throw a stone.

If we have nothing else to do

than talk of those who sin

it's better we commence at home

and from this point begin.

We have no right to judge a man

until he is fairly tried.

Should we not like his company

we know the world is wide.

Should have faults, but who have not

the old as well as the young.

Perhaps we man for ought we know

have fifty to their one.

Now let us all when we begin

to slander friend or foe.

Think of the harm one word can do

to those we little know.

Remember curses sometimes like

our chicken roost at home.

Please don't speak of another's faults

until you have none of your own.

I Grew Up - written in Gr. 8

I grew up in a tiny little cove
Between two cliffs there was a grove
It was my favorite place to go
Whether there was rain or snow

I'd go and read, laugh and play
With my friends, I'd spend my day
I never thought I'd leave that place
Now in my heart there's an empty space

I still remember how time would fly
How I laughed, how I cried
How I would run, how I would play
And say to the trees, "How are you today?"

I never thought I'd leave that place I called home
But now I have a family of my own
In a town my children will grow
That happiness, they will never know

But I grew up in a tiny little cove
Between two cliffs, in a grove
It was and is a my favorite place
To go have fun and put a smile on my face.

Home

Gone are the days when things were planned

Our every step was clear

The word began at our front door

And ended in Carbonear

The world was our playground

As we laughed and made mud pies

So carefree and unaware

While lost in starry skies

Through the years we began to grow

Into responsible young human beings

We learned to care for ourselves

And actually make sense of things

Now we gaze off into the darkness

And realize it never stops

We are small, insignificant creatures

In a world of ambiguous plots

Worry fills our heads now
As we venture out from home

So much to discover

New responsibilities of our own

See, the time has come to go

To leave this vulnerable shore

The darkness holds for us a mystery

Of faith, decision, and more

Wherever life can take me

I will always wander back

To a tiny fishing community

Where nothing did I lack

Oh, how I will miss the certainty

And the warmth felt in your hold

I'll always be a bay man

In my mind, my heart, my soul

What is Success?

I stand on a mountain

At the peak of the entire world.

I have fought tigers and hawks.

I even spend a full 80 days in the desert

...Or so it seems.

Gloryfull and fufilled,

I have reached my destiny.

Though I never enjoyed those sunny days,

I learned theories which are much more important.

Knowledge is better than experience afterall...

...right?

So I stand here and smile an empty smile.

Fitted out in my Helly Henson gear on the peak of my so called eternal happiness.

I may as well be a bum on the streets.

For she who has knowledge and money has nothing,

But the she who has experience and happiness is the richest of them all.

Party to (not) Remember

I went to a party

it was really grand.

My best friend gave me the beer

he was holding in his hand.

I talked to my friends

feeling tipsy at this point.

They sad that it was time for fun

and handed me joint.

I started to feel real funny

so he handed me a drink.

I was outta this world

so I didn't stop and think.

I guess I had a good time.
I don't remember much more.
All I know is that I got really tired
and passed out on the floor.

They put me in his car

for him to bring me home.

Not a good idea.

Couldn't function on my own.

So here I am 9 months later

with a baby of my own

because my friend raped me that night

before he brought me home.

Brief rhyme of inspiration...

When upon a sunny day,
Nature casts a sky of gray,
Mind that it will return,
If the face isn’t stern.

When the sun shining bright,
Falls down and leaves us night,
Our hope must stay alive,
Only then the sun will thrive.

Sara

I can remember that morning like it was yesterday.
I had heard the phone ring and I knew it was early because dad hadn’t gotten up yet. I could hear my mom on the phone “where are you”, “is she ok?”. When she hung up the phone I heard her say something to dad, “they’re in Perlican hospital… it’s not good”. Dad says “I might as well get up now”.
Despite my parent’s best efforts to whisper and with a word missing here or there, I knew something was wrong.
“Mom” I said. She tried to pretend she was asleep. Dad went downstairs.
“Mom.” I got out of bed. “What’s going on?”
“Go back to bed”
“No, tell me what’s wrong”
“Come here”
So many things running through my head right now. Who? What? When? Are they ok?
“Mom, what?”
Then she hugged me. “Something bad happened to someone close to you”
“Who”
“Sara”
“What happened?
“She got into a car accident”
“Is she ok”
Mom hugged me tighter… “she passed away”

It was July 22, 2007. Sara Veronica Clarke. Aged 18. The pain felt that day by everyone who had ever been touched by Sara was pain that should never be felt by even the harshest criminal.

It had only been about 3 hours before she died that I had seen her. She had parked her car and we went in my car to drop Ashley off at her house. Then I brought Sara back to where her car had been parked. We had been laughing & carrying on as usual.
“Give me a call tomorrow Mander”. Little did I know these would be the last words I would hear from her and the last time I would see her alive again.

In only 3 hours she went from laughing to stone cold dead. No one knows everything that happened that night. Probably not even Sara herself. In short, she had flipped her car and flew out of one of the windows. She was found on the road by her boyfriend. I can’t even stand to imagine what he had seen. To name a few of her injuries, her neck and jaw bone was broken, she had some sort of damage to her head that resulted in a part of her scalp being torn off, and one of the arteries had detached from her heart. Stephen had held her in her damaged state for the final moments of her short life.

Alcohol had not been a factor, but she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. Sara always wore her seatbelt. When ever we got into her car, she would say “Put ya seatbelts on b’ys”. It boggles my mind why on this particular night she decided not to wear it.

Sara was so full of life. She didn’t always have it easy, but she always made the best out of every situation. No matter what happened, she had the power just to laugh it off. She would say “Ha” and go on as if everything was normal.

One day when Sara, Ashley & I were parked up by Pete’s, we took notice to the clouds. Ashley said “it’d be some nice to be up on them wouldn’t it”. Sara commented “yes, up hoppin’ around”. Well Sara, we thought that we would all be there one day, but not this soon. I hope you are having as much fun as you imagined that day. It is so surreal. We will never see you alive again. God knew you were one of the best, so he took you up to be with the rest of his angels. We miss you and I know you miss us, but you’re in a better place now. I love you Sara. Best Friends Forever. I’ll see you soon.

In memory of
Sara Veronica Clarke
November 2, 1988 – July 22, 2007.

Her Journey's Just Begun

Don't think of her as gone away - her journey's just begun,
life holds so many facets - this earth is only one.
Just think of her as resting from the sorrows and the tears
in a place of warm and comfort where there are no days and years.
Think how she must be wishing that we could know today
how nothing but our sadness can really pass away.
And think of her as living in the hearts of those she touched...
for nothing loved is ever lost - and she was loved so much.
- E. Brenneman

I don't expect you to understand...

Everyone lives their lives battling through various hells. Whether it’s a couple of juvenile delinquents robbing your innocence when you’re in grade one, having your asshole boyfriend toss you around for coming between him & his drugs, or having your best friend die in a car crash, we all tend to cope in one way or another. We often end frightened and alone with memories etched into our flesh, but we get through it. Sometimes we can manage to find some happiness in the eyes of our nieces or the embrace of our mother. Sometimes underneath the presented cool exterior is a big ugly monster whose wrenching smell was masked by the hell you were walking though. Only when you have fought off the delinquents and assholes does the monster present its self for what he actually is. After delightfully snacking on your heart for breakfast, the monster gnaws on your soul for lunch, and ends with your self-worth for dinner. While you are completely gutted, you tend to feel cold and empty. You wish to seclude yourself because you’re not like the others. You find yourself completing daily routines of “have tos” with lack of motivation and/or compassion. Like a tape worm, the monster consumes all pleasure and happiness that ever existed in your life. Sadness and anger is not sweet enough for the monsters palette, so he leaves it for you to survive on. Unlike a tapeworm, the monster cannot be destroyed. The doctors can feed it all kinds of pills; pills that can fuel the monster rather than killing him. He is living inside you forever. And while you and the monster are two totally different subjects, you are never without him. He does not define who you are, but he does rule your every emotion. I have gotten to know my monster quite well and have given him a name. His name is Bipolar. He has already devoured my heart and my soul.

I have walked though my hells and have come out alive, but my monster stands tall, bearing arms. Despite Bipolar’s unpredictable plan of attack, I will overpower him and I will not let him define who I am. I am Amanda; he is Bipolar; I will keep him straight. After all, if I can win the battle against molesters, abusers, and drugs, then I can live with my monster without letting him destroy me from the inside out.

Waiver

Before I begin to post I want to ensure that everyone is aware that my posts will be based solely on my opinion unless otherwise referenced. My views are in no way representative of my employers, school, family, or friends. Any comments I make are not intended to offend anyone. However, if you are offended by my views, please redirect yourself to another site.

Enjoy! :)