The Journey of Eternity

I’m still here, but I’m not me. I’m buried under the tides seeking a time when I felt more alive. I’m seeking a time of simplicity & contentment which had fallen to the end of the ocean during unspoken times. I can’t stay on the bottom forever. At some point I will have to come up for air. Maybe when I come back to shore I will bring bright corals & tell of sea horses & mermaids in a land you’ll never know. But it’s getting dark & lonely down here now. Would you mind lifting the world off my shoulders so I can catch my breath?

i smash beer bottles when im drunk

There are moments in life when the weight of the world is lifted off your shoulders; when you forget everything and get caught in the bright lights; moments when yesterday & tomorrow doesn’t matter because you’re living now. There are moments in life when you snap back to realty and realize you have broken glass in your foot.

Life is full of stressors; stressors that we cannot outrun or hide from. We cannot detach our selves from many of these stressors by using the 'out of sight, out of mind' method. Sometimes the constant supply of energy our lives require can only be interupted by shutting off our brain. To shut off our brain temporarily we party. Nothing says encephalopathy like tequila shots and grinding on the dance floor.

With all of life’s stresses and uncertainties it is very easy to get caught up in the brightly lit absence on the dance floor. The lights may distract us for a moment, but the inevitable remains splintered into our minds for eternity. How precious are the moments we cannot remember, in a life we cannot forget.

It's the ties that bind that keep us all alive...

It’s sunny today. I have finally wiped the mud from my eyes and can see the sun shining down on me. My body is bruised and fatigued from the fight, but that can be fixed. It has taken a long time and great effort, but the walls have finally tumbled to the ground. The tall, over bearing walls are merely little twigs now left on the ground to decompose and to be walked on, much like the monster who once lived inside me. The blueprint for the foundation still exists somewhere deep within my trail of thought. Thus, there is still a possibility that the sense of eternal damnation could return. I will stomp on the twigs each and every day in attempt to prevent a return.

The weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders. I can only hope and pray, and live each day to it’s fullest. This is who I am. I have finally risen from the smothering depths of depression and been revived. I owe a lot to the heroes who never cut the ties that kept me alive when I had convinced myself I was dead. No matter how deep “I” buried myself, you always managed to radiate your strength and your courage into my soul. Thank you for keeping me alive.

Now that I have risen to Earth and freed myself from confinement, it is time to begin my journey to the moon. You never know when you’re going to die, biologically or psychologically, so take advantage of the days you have as the free, happy, caring, creative, and stubborn person you are. I forgot I was a person once, and where the moon was, and how to stay on Earth. But because of you, I’m half way to the moon, & I’m never turning back. :-)

Thank you.

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.