Carry on my Wayward Son...

Moments stretch out like a languid hand, graceful unseen fingers caressing the sands of time in a methodical succession of loving repetition. It's in these shifting fragments, misplaced and floating within the void like fireflies flickering in and out of sight, that an overactive mind becomes still and complacent. Attempting to make sense of the spiraling chaos of imagination that dances like macabre shadows behind these focused eyes. Watching as a ghostly white face of a monitor fills with the delicate shapes of words that spill from swaying fingertips along black keys.

A pause. Jawline clenching in thought as the mind tries feverishly to find the correct prose to convey the thoughts that flow like a rushing river that's escaped past a broken levee from within. So much to say, yet somehow unable to properly explain it all. It is here that I am at a loss with myself.

Trauma does strange things to the mind, especially one whose ability to remember very intricate details of memories stemming from being in diapers, it really takes a toll. You don't just find yourself remembering the images, but the feelings, the smells, the sounds and the hyper focus of someone's expression. It's a terribly intense experience, especially when it is of many separate traumatic events that sometimes come spilling forth in one horrifying wave. Even harder still is to be immersed in the exact same setting, everything in the exact same place when something truly mind shattering had transpired and yet things have changed for the better. It's akin to being forced to live in the ruins of your home after a monstrous catastrophe had transpired but you have nowhere else to go. Trapped in the reminder of the hell you've gone through. It does things to you...

It's made the healing process much harder when you feel like it might repeat itself. What was once your sanctuary, your safest space...has been corrupted and stained. It leaves a residue; painful and poisoning as it continuously seeps into the pores, weighing down on you...suffocating. The pressure becomes nearly impossible to escape and you desperately wish you could make your screaming brain finally silent. To make it stop. Dear gods make the pain stop. But it doesn't stop. It's relentless in its pursuit to drive you to the very mouth of a ravenous abyss where inevitably you'll be swallowed by your own wailing lunacy.

That's a pleasant image, no?

Beyond the mental and emotional struggles, there have been the issue of health. Namely, my body had decided it was done with the insurmountable magnitude of stress that had piled up over the last seven years and began to break down. Years of running on empty had finally caught up with me and a chronic illness I've lived with since I was fourteen years old had revolted with a vengeance. My usually overactive immune system decided to go on strike and began failing. Last year, I had not one very high fever, but several in succession which left me increasingly weak and in tremendous amounts of pain that could not be quelled by any means. It made me very aware of my own mortality and that I was in very real danger of expiring much sooner than I'd ever imagined. I also realized that due to my quite morbid mental state, it was in fact having a huge effect on my body. In short, terrible thoughts of simply no longer existing had caused my body to start to fail. Talk about a terrifying wake up call. I was in no way ready to die... Realizing I was actually causing my system to shutdown, I quite literally scared myself into getting better. Like a light bulb had been switched on in my dusty brain-pan and everything went back to normal (well, as best as it could while being buried beneath so much debris).

The most amazing thing is how much I've bounced back in recent months. Once I convinced myself it was time to get healthier and to no longer depend on outside means to heal or to cope with pain, my body responded beautifully. I'm no longer dependent on strong medications to get by hour by hour. In fact, I convinced my body to have an allergic reaction to anything stronger than over the counter pain relievers. For the first in nearly eighteen years, I'm completely sober. Well, beside the occasional ibuprofen or caffeine. I rarely if ever drink alcohol (due to how I used to need 138 proof absinthe just to feel anything). My chronic illness has become increasingly easier to live with and I know that getting back into shape will also make a huge difference. I'm still not where I was physically a few years ago (gotta love emotional eating) weighing in at 195lbs instead of a much healthier 168lbs. So I've got some work to do...which wasn't easy to do before considering how much pain I was in despite having very strong painkillers in my system. When my body says, “NO.” I have no choice but to comply.

Getting back into a healthier place physically and mentally isn't as easy as it used to be. Thirty five isn't that old, but it makes a difference on how fast I recover. I'm grateful that it's happening now rather than be too far gone and not be able to change myself for the better.

I truly do feel better. One day at a time I've battled with myself mentally and despite it taking longer than I'd have liked, I'm finally seeing results. The panic attacks are fewer and far between and the anxiety has become a low trickle. My ability to function has greatly improved and my chronic pain is lower than it has been in years. The insanity brought on by a nervous breakdown has finally become nothing more than a whisper and I can think back on memories rather than drown in mortifying flashbacks. There's a new kind of peace growing inside of me and I am incredibly grateful for it.

There is also the promise of change in my future. One that is literally just around the corner. A new chapter to begin when I gather my earthly possessions (Eleanore included), retrieve my feline child GIR from my Mom (driving long hours with a cat will be interesting to say the least lol) and travel far north. I'm leaving California behind. Letting go of the noise and heat for the crisp forests of the pacific northwest. To start fresh with my amazing partner in a house of our very own. A place that will help us both heal from the tragedy of our pasts.

For many years I've wanted to move north, but like any interesting story, the plot changed mid chapter and I was faced with filling the pages with experiences and lessons that needed to be learned first before getting back on track. The story demanded twists that I was grossly unprepared for. Thankfully, I've gotten past that character arc and can finally move forward.

Don't worry, it won't be til after the faire season has come to a close. Just before summer graces our world with the promise of endless sunny days and star-filled night skies. I will not miss the heat. Yet another reason as to why I'm heading far north. My body has decided that anything over 75 degrees Fahrenheit is unbearable. I suppose it's my body's way of telling me that in order to continue healing I have to be in much cooler temperatures. Since I'm not gettin' any younger, my health comes first ;)

Also, with my mental, emotional and physical health recovering, I'll be more inclined to be more social. So you'll be seeing/hearing more from me on social media. I miss sharing what I can with everyone I care about. I enjoy engaging with my loved ones, even if it's not in person. I'm also cautiously excited about what comes next... Maybe it's the push I need to create something amazing? Guess we'll have to wait and see.

And on that magical note of doom... *Laughs when ASIA'S 'Heat of the moment' starts playing* I shall finish my second cup of coffee and find something interesting to distract myself with.

Adieu.

Well, hello there...

It’s been far too long since these hands have glided across darkened keys. Words trapped behind silent eyes, desperate to escape, to be unleashed. To shatter these terrible walls built up by a wounded psyche. Nothing more than a leviathan of scar tissue left in the wake of unimaginable mental torment.

Somehow…deep within the shadowed remnants of a broken spirit, a flicker of something remained. The smallest thing, nothing more than a trinket it seems of what used to be… By the grace of the unknown, survived intact.

I never meant for radio silence. To simply cease my activities as if I never existed. Sadly, there was a part of myself that wanted everyone to forget. So that I could crumble into a heap of my own self-hatred. But as many of you know…I’m too damned stubborn to simply disappear, despite nearly being successful this time. I had to heal and for the life of me, no matter what I tried, I had to slink back into myself and go still. No, it was not an easy decision to make. I just didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. My own reflection became a living nightmare. In fact, in my place was a monster from my childhood…peering back at me through these haunted eyes. It became a daily struggle to even chance the smallest glimpse of any reflective surface, knowing that this monster shared my features. That in doing so I wouldn’t see myself but the horrible reminder of the thing that nearly ruined my life.

So much time has passed, as if I’ve been isolated within a hell-scape I wasn’t aware I could awake from. Struggling to remember, to search through my fragmented mind at what was real and what was my own twisted creation. Swallowed whole by a ravenous ID.

“Change my appearance” I thought; which would do some good. So I tried dying my hair black, but that only made me feel invisible. Later I stripped the darkness away and went back to red…but the fire in me had gone out. There was only one thing I could do…so I chopped two feet of hair off. Only to proceed to lighten my hair through bleach baths and went golden blonde. Now… I want to change it again. Possibly back to my natural color or back to red, but I’m still on the fence. Because I’m also fully aware of the simple fact that in order to feel confident in my own flesh again, that turning point in my mental state must first come from within. A feat that has not been an easy one.

I’ve wanted to express so much to all of you, thinking that perhaps if I just filmed videos about it that somehow it would help. Sadly, that warped inner perception snarled that if I did, I was just doing it for attention. That I needed to stay on course and remain trapped in silence. That I had to suffer. Alone.

Well I’m done drowning.

In the face of experiencing flashbacks from an assortment of trauma, it has become easier. For the longest time I would shatter into numbing panic attacks if I even thought of stepping foot outside. Driving; a once soul-fulfilling experience became nearly unbearable. I was literally trapped inside my own body while silently screaming to remember what it was like to be normal. To just be. It has taken over five long years for Eleanore to be road worthy again and the first time I got to drive her on my own a few months ago was absolutely horrifying. Through blurring vision and trembling hands I managed to push through it.

This is one of the reasons as to why I chose not to work faire this year. I didn’t want to just jump back in when I wasn’t sure how my psyche would react to it. I did manage to visit briefly for one day of Pirate weekend just to see how I would handle it. It’s only by being there did I realize I had made the correct decision in returning as a patron. I wanted to enjoy myself this time and I did. That added responsibility of working/volunteering may have thrown me off the edge again, which was not something I could mentally afford after the progress I’ve finally been able to make. Last year proved that simply trying to push myself just wasn’t going to cut it this time. You can bring a horse to water but you can’t force it to drink. Lesson learned.

After doing much internal searching of my own fragmented mind, I’ve also realized that no matter how hard I’ve tried to force the pieces of myself back together, they just don’t fit right anymore. I am not the same person. Neither am I the ‘empty husk’, vile words spoken by the twisted voice deep inside the recesses of my soul. I am nothing more than an amalgamation of everything I used to be and might be. An old car that’s undergone an engine rebuild. The body is a little dinged up, the paint chipped and rusting in some spots but it’s still the same faithful machine that will get you to where you need to be. Like my beautiful Eleanore; we both needed some time in the shop before we could venture out safely again.

For the time being I’ll end it here. Gotta admit, kinda impressed I was even able to write in the first place considering it’s been a few years since my last update. I won’t make any promises about writing daily again. What I can offer is that I’ll try. Even if it’s an unimpressive drabble of thoughts piled into a few measly paragraphs. It’s better to try and fail, than sit back and do nothing as the forked tongues of unseen horrors whisper terrible lies to a fragile mind.

And with that, I shall bid thee adieu.

-Onyx

Careening through the universe

Broken fragments of time whisper along a cool breeze as summer fights against the early essence of fall while an otherworldly orb, bloated with an ethereal light, lifts into a dark blue velvet sky. 

I try, time and time again to remove these wayward thoughts from their tangled cage. Just so that they can travel from fingertip to keys; black font filling the white void of this computer screen. But they make no sound as they leave me. Shattered pieces of a soul that finally understands that time does not heal all wounds.

It’s become a struggle to create poetic prose. A thing that in the past was came as natural to me as breathing. Now, a horrible wall with jagged edges stands within my path and there is nothing I can do but try to scale it despite how weak I have become.

The moving sound of Third Eye Blind’s ‘Motorcycle Drive By’ fill my ears, filling me with the warmth of fond memories from my early teens. Staying up far too late with my best friend, away from the overwhelming heat of the desert sun, talking about our hopes and dreams of our futures. The days that held a great deal of heavy emotions and yet such amazement for the world itself. The moments we felt so alive and free. Moments I’d give anything to have again.

My mind has been screaming out for an outlet these past few weeks. Desperation for solace, seeking out a reprieve that will only be achieved by forcing myself out of this shell I have created to protect myself from everything that’s become a living nightmare. What once brought me joy has been twisted onto itself; becoming my very own hell.

I cannot allow this to continue. I must pull myself out of this cramped space; a tomb of flesh and bone and endless fears of the things that have and may come to pass. I can’t live like this anymore. I’m a prisoner within myself and I’m drowning.

Day by day I fight back what haunts me. Horrible memories slamming my head with flashbacks. As crisp and as shocking as if they were just yesterday. Sleep, you’d think, would give me some semblance of peace. Sadly I’ve found more echoes of internal pain thrown before me, forcing me to actively act out in these movie like dreams of the ‘what ifs’ only to awaken hiccupping the sobs from spilling forth into full blown hysterics.

I want to be myself again. I’m itching to emerge back into the ebb and flow of things; submerge myself back into the rhythm of life.

I miss she who was me, the person I used to be. Sadly, she’s only an echo behind these weary eyes. As though my hard drive has been damaged; a fragmented version of my core system. Slowly I find the circuits realigning, feeling the pieces reforming into someone I’m starting to recognize when I glance at my reflection.

As autumn finally draws near, I’m beginning to feel more like me inside this aging skin. Perhaps one day soon, the me I always wanted to be, will look back at me through that mirror. A glimpse of a better tomorrow.

Guess we’ll have to wait and see.

-Adieu

Neomorphs, Androids, and Xenomorphs, Oh My!

Thoughts trickle and swell through the intricate, hidden pathways just behind my eyes. Words fleeting, as I struggle to form them into a flowing rhythm of understanding. I pause; taking a moment to inhale slowly and exhale. A pause to find my footing as delicate fingertips tap, impatiently, at the edge of this black keyboard. When they finally resume their languid movement along these keys, I find myself wondering what exactly it is that I want to convey through this poetic-prose.

Something interesting has happened. Ever since the weekend of May 13-14^th 2017, something inside me proceeded to unravel. An unexpected epiphany, if you will. Events that threw me for an emotional whirlwind had also thrown me against a fragile barrier within my mind that shattered under the impact. Broken pieces of myself scattered all around me, and yet… When I managed to right myself, those same pieces had found their rightful places and I found myself remembering the person I thought I’d lost. The person I was the very same year my Father died. The person who became trapped behind a wall constructed by my mind without my knowledge. A way to protect myself as I went down a path that would bring more weight to bear on my already fragile psyche. For three years I was under the assumption that I was putting myself back together with what was left in the aftermath of all that I had experienced. Apparently, I was wrong.

The person I am now, was able to successfully integrate the person that I was. It has been strange, readjusting to my old chest pains and rising tides of emotion, but I’ve managed thus far. If those events hadn’t transpired the weekend of the 3^rd year anniversary of my Father’s death, I fear I’d still be fragmented. I remembered that old scorching rage inside me that helped me get through some of my lowest moments. An anger that was more like an old friend who had been greatly missed.

I’ve been forced to face things about myself, my past, which could have destroyed me. Sounds dramatic, sure. Sadly, it’s not an exaggeration. I have experienced an array of very traumatic sensory memories that I had believed I had made peace with. Which, in a sense I already had. Until something was brought to my attention late last year that shook the very core of my foundation. That was only the beginning of my internal butterfly effect. As I convinced myself that I was finally coming out of the other side of suffering a Nervous Breakdown, it was brought to my attention while volunteering at Southern (Renaissance pleasure faire) this year that, that was not the case. While attempting to remind myself why I loved being a part of faire, something that at one point had quite literally saved my life… I was sideswiped by events that completely stopped me in my tracks. I was forced to reevaluate my part in the whole of faire itself. Did my presence ever mean anything at all? Was I a fool in believing I was actually a part of something that meant so very much to me? Faire has always been a sanctuary, especially when my world was being taken from me piece by agonizing piece. Faire was my escape, a place that I was convinced I contributed to. But when these events made me rethink everything…I was suddenly horrified by a terrible truth. If by chance, my contribution truly meant nothing, it meant that I had given away precious time with my Father while he was on his Death Bed. He had encouraged me to go, even while he was trapped in that fucking hospital, because it meant so much to me and gave me purpose.

The thought that I gave up those fleeting moments with my Hero, moments I can NEVER get back… For a part of the faire I had Believed I was a part of… Only to be shown, I was easily replaced. It made me stop and think. Was I always thought so little of? Was I truly that incompetent?

Was my Brother right all along; was I really that worthless?

By what I was shown… It was an incredibly hard slap to the face. Especially considering it was the very same weekend of the anniversary of not only Dad going into a coma on Mother’s Day, but Dying May 14^th. So you can imagine how that devastated me. I was sick from it. Suddenly realizing that if this is truly how I was thought of, expendable, than that meant I had given up time with my Dad for fucking nothing.

That’s when I felt something in me snap and a cataclysm of rage erupted within the core of who I am.

Those old, painful chest pains surfaced with a vengeance (even as I type they coil inside my ribcage making it difficult to take a steadying breath) and they were almost comforting. Reminding me I’m very much alive and I am filled with an anger that was the only thing that kept me going from the moment Dad became ill in 2012 until his body gave up in 2014. Three years afterward, I was numb. I was broken and hollowed out by every horror I continued to face. I was the shell of a person I used to be. In a way, I’m glad that happened this year at faire. It brought me back. I’m still slightly off-center, but then again…I was never quite right to begin with.

When I mentioned before that Faire saved my life…it’s true. That is a place filled with the souls of people that I feel have become my Family. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t have been able to make it through the hell I’ve endured. Faire gave me Purpose, it filled me with Hope and Confidence. It was a place that I’ve always thrived. A place where I believed I made a difference. There are different facets to faire in its entirety, and the part I thought I was truly contributing to with my presence… A Rabble Rouser. Well, perhaps I was mistaken.

You see, Dad had a type of dementia when his liver was failing, so it was insanely hard for me to take care of him (Just go back through my older blogs during late 2013 and you’ll see) but when the hospital finally helped, when they took him in and got his toxicity levels down… He WAS my Dad again. It was as though he had woken from a long sleep and I had my Dad back. Do you have any idea how that screws you up inside? How that royally fucked me up, especially when he was talking about getting better, actively wanting to exercise because he wanted to go home?

I don’t know if I’ll be able to return as a Rabble Rouser knowing what I know now. Because of a memory that has been burned into my mind.

The last conversation I had, that fucking haunts me…was Friday, May 9^th 2014. Due to the Traffic, I wouldn’t be able to come and see him on my way out to Faire. He understood and mentioned that Monday, on my way home, I could pick up some doughnuts. We were going to have doughnuts… And then Sunday Morning, May 11^th 2014, Mother’s Day… Around 7am I got a call from the nurse that my Dad had gone into a coma.

We were supposed to have doughnuts… He wanted to get better. Because I thought I had to be At Faire, because I was needed at The Joust, that I was Rabble Rouser… Because of traffic… I never got to see him. I should have been with him. I was so fucking stupid to think I was honestly needed. I was a god damned fool.

I will never forgive myself for that.

*growls softly and wipes the offensive liquid from her face*

I don’t blame the events that revealed these painful truths to me. I blame my own blind stupidity. It only makes it worse knowing my Dad wanted me to go, because he always loved hearing about if afterward.

I also want to make it very clear, that I still love my fellow Rabble Rousers and my Faire Family. Hell, I still love Joust. Just because of a solitary sour apple doesn’t mean the rest of the apples on the tree are bitter.

What struck me the most, is how that event was handled. It was very similar to the treatment I was shown time and time again (that many of you were unfortunately subject to witnessing) by my brother. Someone whom I NEVER want to speak to or see again. Mostly due to the fact that if I did, only one of us would walk away breathing.

I digress…

*shakes her head and takes a steadying breath, hoping the chest pains will subside*

Onto something more pleasant, shall we?

As I’ve mentioned, I’m challenging myself to write a short novel. An ‘Erotic Romance’. Of course, since I’m tackling said subject, it’ll likely not be all soft and fluffy. I’m actually incapable of writing anything that would resemble those very cheap romance novels you can find at your local supermarket. Hey, I’m not knocking them. Those writer’s make bank popping those out. My problem is that it’s hard for me to cut stories short. Even when I do, I’m always requested to keep going *chuckles softly* which is definitely a huge compliment.

I want to write, I’ve honestly missed it. My Dad was always very encouraging about my writing. I even inspired him to write and I still have the emails of his short blurbs from what he was working on. Gods I fucking miss him…

This coming to terms with new and old emotions…not gunna lie, it’s absolutely horrendous. I’m getting through it in probably the hardest way a person can; facing them head on and trying desperately to stay rational in the process. I know I’m not okay, but I gotta keep going through it. I wish it didn’t hurt so much…not to mention how annoying crying is. I hate it. Everything gets all wet and snotty and your face turns red, your eyes and lips get all puffy and you’re suddenly a perfect understudy for the Swamp Thing.

Anyhoo…off topic again.

For the past few years, it’s been increasingly difficult for me to start writing again. Hell, even writing a blog post has been difficult. Then again, it’s hard to write when you feel like your soul has been sucked out of you and you’re nothing more than an empty meat suit. *smirks darkly*

But I have wanted to write. Desperately. I would open my word document thingy and just completely blank out. I would try to type and my mind would literally go elsewhere and I had to do something else. It has been incredibly frustrating. I think, also… It has to do with the fact that I wasn’t ready. There were things I needed to convey, I needed to purge, but there was so much turmoil going on inside myself that I didn’t have the right mindset to make sense of it all. I think it also has to do with the fact that if I can’t convey my own truths, no matter how cryptic, than I almost can’t write anything at all. Or I become afraid, my anxiety controlling me like some deranged marionette and I’m forced to hide inside myself, unable to express what’s going on within.

I suppose it’s safe to say that since I didn’t recognize myself, that I wasn’t sure who or what I was anymore… I didn’t know what to say. I also didn’t want to become a broken record. Despite knowing that if I were to use this creative outlet to release my emotional poison that it would help, I would stop myself because I feared those that would be reading… That it would have a negative effect on them. It’s funny to think…if this is my personal form of refuge, why wouldn’t I take full advantage of it? Simple. I didn’t want to upset anyone. Once again, putting others before myself. Yet, how is one to get better if they don’t try to help themselves first?

It hurts the brain, I know.

That’s another thing I’ve realized about myself. I was the kind of person to put others before me, even at my own detriment. Not as a martyr or some form of playing the victim. No, not at all. I’m a natural healer, in pretty much any form you can think of. I enjoy knowing I’ve helped, even in the smallest way. But I have also learned, the hard way of course, that some people do not deserve that kindness. Period. That they will abuse that kindness and instantly turn their backs on you as soon as you are no longer of value. They will also change and twist the truth to make you appear as the villain so they can play the victim card and not suffer the consequences of their actions while you’re left to pick up the pieces. There are two men that fit that description, and I absolutely despise them.

Happier thoughts, yes? A change of subject sounds good.

Alien Covenant. Ah yes… Maybe not a much happier subject *chuckles* I won’t get into it. I’ll just say that it was worth seeing in the theatre at least once. At a matinee.

I just realized something rather entertaining. I have written a great deal today and as I glance at the word count, thus far reads; 2,284. Damn…and I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface. I guess that happens after a dry spell. You start getting your rhythm back and find yourself several pages later and it doesn’t feel like much at all. Maybe this is what I needed to get back into my old groove?

Funny thing is that before I decided to challenge myself, I was compelled to write an Alien fanfiction. Where, it’s an Alternate Universe (An Aliens meets Riddick Universe crossover kinda deal) and the lead protagonist is basically my alter self (gee, how original lol) and you learn that she’s become ‘Mother’ to five Xenomorphs; 4 warriors and a young queen. They all live in harmony on a blissfully abandoned colony outpost in the middle of an unknown system. Unfortunately, she’s about to be tracked down by the very company that sent those xenos to her in the first place.

The story line is the alter me needed some alone time and found the perfect place on a habitable planetoid with an empty but working compound. Unfortunately, there are a group of Mercs that are sent out on a collection mission and end up with more than they can handle and instead of heading where they’re commissioned to for retrieval and payment, shit hits the fan and they make a detour, ending up on her planet due to picking up on a faint signal from the compound itself. So they make the stop, all hell breaks loose and POOF! She’s suddenly taking care of a bunch of baby Xenos. The company of course figures this out, and since they want answers, send a team in to find out what’s happened. And that’s when things get very, very interesting.

I haven’t written much of it out yet, but I have a solid storyline and looks like I’ll have fun with this one. It’s going to creepy and bloody and horrifying but of course with the right amount of humor and what not. If anyone is interested in reading it, I’d love to share it once it’s ready. I’m thinking about posting it on WattPad, FanFiction dot net and even on my facebook author page. Or at least excerpts of it with the link attached to the chapters.

Oddly enough, I began working on it before Alien Covenant was released in theatres. It was based off of the many dreams I’ve had in the past of Aliens not only coming to my rescue, but acting like giant frightening kittens. After seeing said movie… I was even more inspired to finish it because truth be told, I wasn’t happy with what I saw. In fact, I was disappointed. More so that because Ridley Scott decided to cash in on the Alien Franchise only AFTER Alien Isolation did amazingly AND there were talks about an Alien Five in the works. So instead of continuing the engineer mythos and steering away from Xenomorphs like he had originally planned, he went back on his word and because of it, the Alien Five project everyone was jazzed about (even Sigourney Weaver herself) it’s now completely tanked. Please forgive me everyone but I gotta say it… God Dammit, Ridley.

::WARNING:: 

You are about to read a very colorful Rant about ALIEN COVENANT. There may be spoilers. There will be Language. It might even be hilarious. You have been warned.

I don’t care if Alien was your baby to begin with. We all still honor that. But dude…really? If you’re going to make an Alien movie, make a god damned Alien movie. Don’t fuck off in this direction, then that direction. And when we’re introduced to the characters, (which we learn a helluva lot more about them on fucking youtube than we ever did in the movie), you half ass that too. We want to connect with the crew, you know, feel some semblance of understanding or some shit but nope. We don’t know who they fuck they are and it’s hard to give a damn when the movie is so all over the place, so we’re hoping the Creature Features make up for the blatant lack of introductions. Bad form, dude…bad form. Sure, we know we’re all in for some creepy, gorey goodness considering that we were informed (again, via youtube) that we’re getting the Neomorph (aka the Humanoid Sperm monster with Teeth that likes to cosplay as Slenderman lookin’ motherfucker) which, as promised, is a disgustingly nasty sonuvabitch that pops outta crew members in the most disturbing ways. Which is also the same crew we don’t really give two shits about because THEY LACKED PROPER INTRODUCTION. And before we even get to the best part (you know, the whole reason we all went to see this fuckery of a movie in the first place; Big Chap) you decided to throw in some weirdo android Hannibal Lector action in the middle of all this shit (David was honestly one of the Highlights) and then went, ‘Oh hey, have some Aliens!’ and they’re acting like armored spider monkeys hyped up on Cat Nip and Meth. This was like Prometheus and Alien had a drunken night in bed and this is the mistake we all now have to live with. Where was the suspense? Sure it had a few nicely done jump scares and bloody goodness but the Neomorphs and Xenomorphs honestly didn’t scare me. There was no heart pounding horror that Alien and even Aliens conveyed. And those were different movies. One was purely horror, the beginning of the franchise that has been my LIFE LONG LOVE. Aliens still held that horror while also having action. What the hell happened?

Look, I didn't hate the new addition to the Alien Franchise. It had gorgeous visuals and a beautiful soundtrack. The actors were honestly fantastic and the Neomorph was a nifty little addition before bringing out our beloved Big Chap to the spot light. There’s honestly a lot of good things to say about the movie as well. But it felt rushed in a lot of ways and personally, when I place it in the line of Alien movies before it (Excluding the AVP abominations…which yes, I own…not the point. Shuttup lol) Aliens is #1, than Alien, Alien Resurrection, Alien 3 and at the bottom…Alien Covenant. It’s cool if some of you don’t agree. You see, I’m not exaggerating when I say this is a lifelong love of mine. I saw ALIEN playing on a special night at the drive in when I was 4 years old, which was 1987. I loved the chestburster scene, hell it still makes me giggle like an idiot lol and of course, I grew up Loving Aliens. Ellen Ripley was and still is, my Hero.

Ridley Scott plans on creating more movies to go along with this current story line. I’m honestly not all that excited about them. I may see them once in the theatre, at matinee. Honestly, I truly hope that the Aliens Sequel gets picked back up. That is a movie I would be willing to see brought into creation.

-END RANT-

Talk about going off half-cocked. I’ve held this in since I saw Alien Covenant the day it came out, May 19^th. So I’ve been kinda stewing in this… Good times.

Anyhoo, I think this is where I’ll end my ramblings. Oddly enough, it’s the 14^th, on a Wednesday. 3 years and one month since Dad left me behind. The worst of it is… It was a Wednesday.

Some of you may be thinking I’m harping on this. Like some twisted version of self-punishment, constantly reminding myself of his death. But that’s really not it at all. Today, emotionally, isn’t all that bad. In fact, I’m clearer than I have been in quite some time. That’s the shit part about healing emotionally after tragedies; it doesn’t just go away and get better overnight. I’ve literally been thrown backwards due to my Nervous Breakdown, only to be thrown into another direction May 13^th which has resulted in me feeling like I’ve just been Dorothyied (Tornado reference) all over my god damned psyche. I’m picking up the pieces, putting myself back together and facing unpleasant truths as honestly as I can. So if you’re tired of hearing about it, I get it.

On that pleasant quip, I’m going to stop here, bid thee anon and chug the rest of this here monster so I can de-zombie-fy myself and do some chores and shit…

*chuckles and shakes her head*

-Adieu

What's to come...

Golden streams of light blanket the world outside of my shadowed hideaway as a cool breeze carries the sweet lullabies of bird song and life along its playful edge. It attempts to trickle past me, sneaking into the small opening of my darkened corner, but fails to capture my attention as a pair of small ear buds sit snugly within the cupping flesh of my ears, allowing the haunting melodies of my favorite music to distract me from the world itself. The soul igniting title music of Requiem for a Dream. I close my eyes and take a deep breath slowly, allowing the air to fill my lungs, enjoying the way they expand within their large cage of flesh and bone, hold it for a moment, lingering on that odd tightness…then like a shattered levee, I unleash it and feel myself begin to wither as though the emptiness I feel is all that remains. That it’s not merely an expression of emotion but a tangible thing. 

The words flicker and sway through the unseen winds of my memory warehouse as they slip from fingertips to the keys beneath them. Graceful in their movement along the screen, to be understood. To be seen. Wanting nothing more than to rid the self of the heaviness bearing down from within. A spirit weary, a soul crying out for a resolution to the coiling leviathan of pain twisting through the delicate pathways of a wounded heart.

I speak in poetic riddles, my secret language of honesty drenched in melodic prose. Desperate to escape this shell I have unknowingly cocooned myself in. The chrysalis of self-preservation no longer needed. To be like the coming of new life, to be free of what I once was. To emerge like the butterfly; beautiful in its new form and free. But I am no butterfly. I have become more like the Moth; a creature of beauty hidden under a darkened sky. Where the Moon is my goddess and I am a slave to the light despite how it burns me. To want so desperately to be near that warmth, that haunting glow… Only to realize it will be my very downfall.

Try as I may to be like so many that I admire, I find myself falling behind. My footsteps have gone still as I’ve unknowingly traveled along a path that has narrowed. One that no one has walked in what seems like ages. A forgotten path only the bravest or most foolish would venture. One there is no preparing for.

I feel a quiver of cold fear slither through me as I view my future footfalls along this new path; covered in thick, skin tearing thorns. There is no escaping them, no avoiding their razor edges. If I’m to keep going, it will not be easy. It will not be painless. Those thorns will rip pieces of me away as I force my way through them. I will not make it out the other side as I initially began. I know, within every fiber of my being, I will not recognize myself if I make it out alive. You’d think that perhaps for a moment, I would pause and weigh the options and consider the possibility of turning back and finding another way, an easier way. Perhaps it is Pride that refuses to fathom another way, or pure stupidity. I don’t have the luxury nor energy to go back… Besides, every forward movement of my weary form is only than swallowed by the keepers of time.

Sadly, there is no choice. There is nothing behind me but shadows and dust.

Muscles strain for a moment in hesitation before I finally put one trembling foot forward and already a thorn has sliced deeply into my calf; red bubbling to the surface and trickling down the pale flesh in stark contrast. The sting is sharp and immediate, but I don’t falter. I keep going. More cuts begin to cover my legs, more red welling to the surface, the pain a constant thing as I will myself onward. The thorns seem to close in, thicker, higher, and sharper; assaulting my entire form as I take one agonizing step after the next. It feels as though I feel nothing but this excruciating agony as I am now covered in that warm red water. I feel as though I will collapse, my body no longer strong enough to experience this self-induced torture… The echo of red footsteps in my wake…

Eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the agony, the constant reminder of where I am and what I’m doing…what it’s doing to me…

Suddenly, it stops.

Cool air presses gently along the open cuts littering my form and my eyes, slowly, carefully, flutter open.

The monstrous thorn bushes have receded and have faded into the nothingness behind me. Trembling, I suck in shallow breaths as the sting has morphed into a horrific throb along every inch of my bleeding body as I attempt to bring my arms close to my chest; gritted teeth holding back the hiss of mind-numbing discomfort as my flesh screams in protest at the simple action.

I force my tired eyes to focus on what lies before me and realize with an ache of confusion that I’m standing before a wall of thick, unearthly fog. It almost appears to be waiting for me as it swirls within itself like a clouded mirror.

Exhausted, weak and having nothing left to go back to, I take a few tentative steps toward the living mass of vapor. I know I should be afraid but perhaps I’ve experienced too much in such a short period of time for my mind to scream at me to stop, to be cautious. Or I’ve simply become too numb.

The thought of reaching out to investigate this wall of heavy mist dances behind my eyes, but I decide against it. I know what I have to do and trying to delay the inevitable is futile at this point.

There’s no use in trying to make sense of a thing when the world itself is bred of chaos. It is better to simply immerse myself and see what happens.

Besides, I have nothing left to lose.

-To Be Continued-

Where the hell have I been?!

I can feel it deep within churning, unsettled. Seething. There’s a fire beginning to blossom within the inky blackness of my internal warehouse. A soft glowing ember casting gentle rose colored light along cold, gunmetal walls. I can feel something there, hidden inside its growing light. An oddness that becomes ever so distinct. A heartbeat. I can feel its gentle thunder; a sacred rhythm within its shimmering core as the glow begins to swallow the shadows all around it. The beginning of the end… The words play behind my eyes like a mantra as this once soft ember begins growing into a brilliant flame. There are truths flickering playfully along the delicate curves of this dancing light. Old and ancient things only my soul can decipher. Not yet, not yet… The words whisper voicelessly within the endless catacombs of my inner labyrinth made of flesh and bone.

The words have long since eluded me; flecks of lights drifting into a vast open void of nothingness and creation. Where the shadows dwell. My hidden sanctuary. The place I go when the world is too loud, too bright, too harsh. I slip into that mystic space and feel myself expand. The constraints of reality torn away leaving me weightless, unrestrained. Free. A home where nothing can find me, harm me. The realm of nightmares… My guardians that come at my call. They swarm and slither, their obsidian forms a macabre chorus of beautiful horror only my twisted heart would love. The sound of their soft hissing fills the air as they flood the room. Blacker than the shadows around them; sentinels of my soul.

Peace weaves through me and I am who I’m meant to be. Calm, serene, unafraid. The terrors that would haunt any brave soul are my gentle warriors. My comfort. My family. They surround me, laying before me, around me. Safe.

I am truly alive in the hidden place, where the broken fragments of who I used to be are slowly, carefully, being pieced back together into a better me. A stronger me. Something I can be proud of; no longer haunted by the echoing tragedies of misplaced yesterdays. There is, however, a single truth I will forever live by. I am not a victim. I refuse to ever deem myself as such. Yes, I’ve journeyed through various degrees of living hells that will forever scar the heart held deep within, but I am no victim. I walk with wisdom, with experience. Not with a label claiming I am a porcelain doll. A silent exclamation that I’m fragile and in need of special treatment lest I break. That I’m incapable of being strong enough to drag myself forward, despite how battered and bruised I appear. I am not a damsel, no matter the degree of distress I may be in.

When I find myself feeling the vulnerability of my hidden wounds beginning to surface, I go into the shadow. I immerse myself in their comfort, their safety. To quell the chaos screaming behind my eyes so I can emerge as myself, more or less. It’s the introvert in me. I pull away to suss out my internal damage, seek out the ways of self-healing and when I’m tired of being alone, I return. Simple.

There is much I have discovered while licking my wounds. There are truths about myself I wasn’t entirely aware of, could never truly pinpoint or understand. Now, I have a better grasp on why I act or react to things the way that I do. Also the realization that I am deeply flawed and have a somewhat odd perception on the world around me. I truly do dance to the beat of my own drum. But there is nothing wrong in this. I’m simply me; weird, hopeful and eccentric. Not in the ‘Look at me because I’m soo different and unique!’ kind of way. Dear gods, no. Because I understand that though I walk a different path, there are others like me. Perhaps not many, but they exist. I know better than to assume the ‘special snowflake’ syndrome. Ugh, don’t get me started on how that irks me…

I digress.

My point is, that I’m aware of my quirks. The things that even if I don’t agree with, things that I find embarrassing, they are simply me. I’m accepting every skewed piece of myself. Because this is the only life I have. A short, painful and sometimes absolutely beautiful one that I plan to hold on until I’m finally ready to let go. Which, will not be for a very long time.

I know that my behavior has been somewhat worrying. My distance having been for longer periods of time and when I do return and speak, it’s more cryptic and less the bubbly overly silly expression than before. As though a piece at time, I lost more of that optimistic light.

The part of me that was so enthusiastic. So willing to be open and honest and frankly…vulnerable. After every wall that I’ve hit, every new scar etched into my metaphorical flesh; wounds so deep within my mind they will take a lifetime to heal… I have become so much more reserved. There is still that part of me that wants to burst forth like a solar flare of happiness and joy. To bring warmth to everyone that light touches, regardless of who they are or what they think of me.

But there is a more dominant part of my personality that once was dormant, biding its time in that secret labyrinth where my guardians dwell. A part of me that has no use for such sharing; vulnerability. Leaving me open time and again for attack. No, that is something it simply will not abide. This quiet storm that guards every piece of me fighting to heal into something that vaguely resembles who I used to be. It wants the best for me. Protecting this shell as the soul finds its footing again and relearns how to fill this shattered space.

I will never be who I used to be. That’s obvious. If you were to go back in this blog, to the beginning…you will see the changes happening in every post I typed. You will see how I started to transform and that I was in fact, aware of it. I knew it would come to this. I knew that I would never be the same person I was when I started this blog. Especially when Dad’s illness took hold. That’s when this me now, began to manifest. The life that I had planned, the life I was so hopeful about, the one I was ready to explore…to live in… Was ripped from my hands before I could truly get ahold of it.

It has hardened me. I have no patience for unneeded bullshit. I truly understand this truth, “If you don’t like me, why are you wasting your time telling me? Go use that energy on something that’ll benefit you.” I also understand the complexities of human behavior much more than I ever had. The emotional reactions to situations and how best to handle them. I watch others begin their experience and know that there are many ways for them to handle said situation. For a first time, I know it will not be easy. It will seem catastrophic. They will not react well. It’s to be expected. It’s only those that have gone through it time and again, those are the ones that walk with wisdom. Instead of boasting it to the world and all to hear how much they’ve been hurt, they keep it hidden, keep it locked away. It merely shows that they’ve been through it themselves and know that it too shall pass. No need to waste precious energy on something that will inevitably work itself out.

As I sit here, ready to conclude the thoughts that continue to pour through these fingertips like expert dancers along black keys… My phone is propped up to my left, music playing rhythmically into the air around me, keeping me calm. Background noise to fill the hollow space of my mind, forcing unwanted thoughts to remain quiet as I type.

Know that I am grateful for this ability to use poetic-prose as a means to convey the twisting war of my thoughts in a way that makes sense. That I’m still, in a sense, able to share parts of me even though I’ve grown rather distant and silent in the past few months. More than I ever have been. But perhaps, it’s nothing more than a phase and this is merely the beginning of something new. A better me…from the me I used to be.

On that not, I need more caffeine.

-Adieu

So Dark Is My Light...

It's been a hot minute since I've updated. The thoughts are always present, words and emotions desperate to be heard, to be felt. Yet, more often then not, I find it hard to bring the words to the surface. To allow the chaos of my mind to spill out through practiced fingertips along black keys. To make sense of the endless white noise that echoes within the twisting halls of my memory warehouse.

The shadows know me there, patient and diligent. Waiting for even the softest of whisper that I'll be there. Terrible shapes of monstrous things lie in wait for my return. What most would deem Monster are the very guardians of the wounded innocence I hide deep inside. My gentle nightmares.

As the days grow shorter and the darkness takes its rightful place along the cooling landscape, I start to feel, even for a moment, more like the me I remember. The hopeful spirit that brings warmth wherever it goes. Its very own light source even within the blackest of places. 

I remember what it was to dream. To fall victim to an over active imagination that would tear away the pain of the real world and allow freedom within the realm of dreams. The moments that were amazing and empowering; new impossible worlds all of my very own to explore and claim.

The internal process of my own inner demons has not been easy. Yet, I'm finally sensing a break through. Once again forced into a cocoon so that I could heal and reemerge as something stronger. The stone version of the fragile thing I used to be. Experiences having molded me, broken me, nearly taken away my light. Bled of tears and innocence, I was at a breaking point. It is at that moment, the eyeless shadows of my inner sanctuary came forward, encompassing me protectively in their skeletal arms and took me away to that hidden space between sleep and awake. They carried me home, tucked away beneath an ever watchful queen. The great mother of my secret shadows and personal guardian of my memory warehouse.

Sometimes you have to take a step back to experience the emotions tearing through you. You have to feel them, listen to them...understand them. They need to run their course. After the flood has subsided and the waters of the mind have finally become calm, only then can you start to move forward again.

For the first time, in a long time it seems...I feel like I can. One foot in front of the other, I begin my journey. Hopeful of what's to come.

-Adieu