Just a glimpse in the trees

 (Started at 12:13pm)

The soft whirring of a box fan to my right pulls cool, fresh forest air into the kitchen where I sit, a hot cup of coffee placed on the old kitchen table before me. A table that belonged to my Dad that is actually older than myself.

Gentle bird song drifts in, spring having taken full effect, the trees now vibrant with lush new growth as flowers bloom and face the early afternoon sun. A break in the typical Pacific Northwest constant rainfall.

It reminds me of those late mornings back when I lived with my Dad in that apartment near the sea. When the early morning fog would start to burn off with the marine layer, the chill of the ocean on a playful breeze as green parrots chattered in lively groups like a bunch of unchaperoned flying toddlers in the nearby trees outside our windows.

The peace it would bring me was like no other, until I found myself here in this fairytale-like home, tucked away on a small hill, surrounded by a temperate rainforest, teaming with life.

Clear skies are a rare occurrence here, as we're usually graced with constant rain, a much welcomed change from the long hot days of sunny southern California.

A soft murmuring meow sounds to my left, my orange feline Son Jonesy, (who will be turning 7 years old this coming June) asking politely for my attention as I sit here, typing my thoughts down into my smart phone.

Maleficent, aka 'Mal' (she'll be turning 4 years old this November) comes sauntering over, her lithe black form gently rubbing against the legs of my chair, the long silky fur of her tail tickling my thigh as Jonesy, who's easily twice her size, hisses in annoyance at her nonchalant presence. That's siblings for you.

My other daughter, Regina aka Reggie, is lounging somewhere in the living room, she's also rather large for a female cat (she'll also be turning 4 years old this September) her Bombay black coat spotty along her round form due to ripping her fur out after losing GIR (who had turned 18 last Dec 31st) on January 23rd. Even her short stubby tail has patches missing due to her grief.

Yes, they Are my children despite being tiny house panthers. Since I'm half wild myself, I don't see much of a difference. Kids are kids.

-chuckles and takes a drink of her coffee-

You know, I find it rather odd that we had fog this morning (fog here on the old hill isn't all that common). It never quite reaches our house but it surrounds the property...as if pushed back by an invisible barrier by the forest itself.

There is something magical about the area I currently call my home. The trees here are ancient and the land itself carries an energy of unseen things that are very much aware of us.

I've always been sensitive to the world beyond our human sight since I was 6 months old, in diapers and could barely walk, let alone speak. I remember very distinctly that I couldn't remember faces but I remember people's Scent and their Voice. I had no idea until many years later, that it's normal for munchkins at 6 months old to not recall their parent's faces.

Weird, huh?

Anyhoozle, back to the spoopy mystical crap.

I've been to many places where the echo of the past lingers in the ground, the surrounding area. I could feel the weight of the emotions, the scars of painful yesterdays. The residual human imprint left behind. It's normal for me.

However, once I came here to this small town in Washington State, I was met with an entirely different energy. Instead of feeling the heavy stain of people (that somewhat hostile, unwanted 'colonizer' energy), I was welcomed by nature itself and something far older that seemed curious.

For the first time in my short existence I genuinely felt safe. Welcome.

I wish I could properly convey how healing it's been to live here where there are things existing just outside this house that are as old as the land itself and not once, have I felt threatened. Sure, it was mildly unnerving the first year living here as I became accustomed to the strange things that go bump in the night.

But overall, it was the best decision moving up here nearly 7 years ago this coming June.

One of my favorite things here is that we actually have seasons and I get to experience the shift in nature as it happens. Back in Southern California, living near the ocean or my time living in the arid desert near Palm Springs, we had three modes; hot, dry and wet. I honestly don't know how I survived for so long, considering my body is actually built for colder temperatures. Anything above 68°F becomes too warm. 70°F is pushing it...oh, that's because the humidity here is 90%.

-grows a small smile and shakes her head, coffee nearly gone-

Gotta love half-asleep ramblings of a barely caffeinated moon brain. 

-/-

It's now 6:28pm and I'm workin' on my...fourth cup of coffee. I know, it's a problem. A delicious problem. -grins and lets out a laugh at herself-

I dunno why I say the things that I do, it's been a life-long issue I still have yet to resolve. The whole, 'I Open My Mouth and Words Fall Out.' I swear I need that as a warning label on my person whenever I leave the house.

-scoffs softly and shakes her head as David Bowie's 'As The World Falls Down' spills through her gaming headset-

So what's next for today? Honestly, no clue. Try to power through the agony surging through my spine as best as possible. Some days are easier than others, it just depends on my nerves and if the feel like being absolute asshats, as they often tend to be.

Anyhoozle, I also took a picture today...well, a few but only liked two of them. I'll share one here that I haven't shared anywhere else. Not the biggest fan of how round my face looks, but I thought it came out kinda...I dunno, nifty?

On that note my luvlies, I'm gunna jet.

-Adieu

Something To Talk About...

A dull ache trickles along damaged nerve endings as a crisp breeze whispers passed, fans whirring quietly in the background as they pull fresh spring air from the open window, the surrounding forest watches like ancient sentinels, sunlight muted behind a layer of clouds, promising rain.

Small fingers move as the mind struggles to remember the strange dreams that echo behind tired eyes, sleep still clinging to sore muscles as a fresh cup of hot coffee sits nearby, ready to be consumed as tiny whisps of steam curl above the Nightmare Before Xmas mug.

A small smile curves full lips as music swells within the gaming headset placed over sensitive  ears. Another random playlist, music consisting of classic rock a set of brothers who drove a '67 Chevy Impala would be seen listening to as they drove lone two-lane highways towards another hunt.

-takes a sip of her coffee as Bob Seger's 'Night Moves' finishes and Bad Company's 'Feel Like Makin' Love' begins playing, she glances over the rim of her mug at the list, chuckling softly as Kansas' 'Carry On Wayward Son' is set to play next-

The smile remains on her tired face at the oddness of it, realizing with her high arched brow knitting together curiously that her dreams had also been themed after her favorite show 'Supernatural'. That before she woke up, she remembered receiving a facetime call on her smartphone of non other then the old beloved hunter himself, Bobby Singer. He was reaching out to her on behalf of the Winchesters on a case they were workin' on.

She hasn't dreamt of them in some time. Hell, she hasn't even watched the show in quite awhile for that matter since it switched from Netflix over to Peacock's streaming service. Not that she'd need to, having seen the entire 15 season series Several times up until this point.

She immediately stops as 'Carry On Wayward Son' starts playing, finding herself singing along, a wave of warm nostalgia swimming down her frazzled spine.

But the happy feelings are fleeting as a stab echoes in her lower back where her spine sinks into her pelvis. A soft growl slithers past clenched teeth, annoyed that even in a simple moment where she's not even moving, her body reminds her of just how broken she really is.

A quiet sigh of defeat leaves her as she shakes her head, focusing instead on getting her thoughts to fill the screen before her, actively trying to do what she used to in the past and write as soon as she could once she woke up.

-she reaches over, taking another hefty drink of her coffee, enjoying the way the heat slides down her throat as Bad Company's 'Shooting Star' begins playing and she finds herself swaying despite the pain she's in-

I'm diggin' the theme for today. Like I poetically mentioned earlier, I did dream of Bobby himself, his gruff face peering back at me through the screen of my phone as he adjusted his ballcap. He was annoyed at the boys being reckless and had reached out to me about a case they were about to fumble, knowing I actually listened to the old hunter and had a better grasp on the particular monster Sam and Dean were about to face. He wanted me to head over to them and meet up at the motel they were staying out while too far away from the bunker. I agreed with a laugh, seeing how frustrated the old hunter was.

I honestly miss dreams like that. Where my brain places me in the actual world of the movie or tv show universe I love as an active participant. It's a really nice escape from the hellscape I have to wake up to everyday.

And no, I don't mean life. I mean the broken meatsuit I happen to be occupying currently that doctors are stumped on how to treat. The damaged nerves along my spine is irreversible; they can't do anything about it. Somethin' about an aftereffect of living in survival mode from the age of 6 and on. Living with severe Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD) has its unwanted perks.

Don't be like me kids. -she smirks and takes another drink of her coffee when she quirks an arched brow as David Bowie's 'As The World Falls Down' spills through her headphones, looks over and notices Aerosmith's 'Angel' is next-

Weird song choice, but okay.

You know, it's nice to just let myself type away again. My brain is calm enough right now from the eventual white noise that will fill it once I'm more awake to be able to sit down and just...let myself ramble on. Not that I really expect anyone to be paying attention to my tiny blip on the interwebs.

That's once of the reasons I started this blog so many years ago. It wasn't to gain attention, it was just so I had my own little outlet that I could share if anyone was curious enough to take a glance at. Sometimes it's nice to read someone else's thoughts/feelings/etc. Like a mini escape from your own chaos, given a small glimpse into how someone's mind works. Since mine is a perpetual hamster wheel forever spinning at high speeds while teetering dangerously sideways, I know someone will be entertained.

It also allows me a look back at how I was feeling that day, what I was going through at the time of sitting down and allowing myself to type away.

-lets out a hearty laugh when Guns N' Roses, 'Paradise City' begins thundering through her ears-

Yeah, definitely love the songs the universe is sendin' my way. They're all on random too. This particular playlist is a bit of an oddball because the songs I was listening to yesterday were none of these, especially before I finally crashed for a few hours.

From previous entries you'll know I've struggled with sleep for years, especially when Dad got sick and he had me up every few hours to every thirty minutes. There were long stretches of time that I was literally surviving on maybe 8 to 6 hours of a sleep in a Week. Yeah, I don't know how the hell I got through that...considering that went on for Months.

-shrugs and takes another drink of from her Nightmare Before Xmas mug, body slowly swaying to the song she loves belting out when no one can hear her-

Another perk of living in a cute fairytale like two-story house surrounded in thick temperate rainforest is that when I do decide to cut loose and really sing, I know the neighbors (which there aren't too many and the ones we do have, are lovely humans) don't mind, or think we're blasting music upstairs where I'm currently hiding. The only ones that actively care, are the local Murder of Crows that swing by, checking in on me through the windows while perched in the nearby branches of ancient trees. It's nice.

-stops mid type when AC/DC's 'Back In Black' starts playing and grows a ridiculously bright smile-

This is fuckin' awesome -chuckles softly and shakes her head- I really needed this today.

-pauses to take a look at how much she's actually written- Wow, I've really just let myself ramble away, haven't I? Heh...guess I missed this.

Well my luvlies, I think this is where I'm gunna call for today. My coffee is almost gone and there's more downstairs in the stainless steel 8 cup camping percolator (cowboy coffee is the BEST coffee honestly) waiting for me on the stove that needs my attention.

Thanks for hangin' out with me :) -pauses one last time as Bonnie Raitt's 'Something To Talk About' starts playing through her gaming headset-

On that note, anon.

-Adieu

Been a minute, hasn't it?

Warm sunlight pours through high treetops, a living forest seeming to exhale and sway as a cool breeze whispers past. Cherry blossoms emerge in clusters, their soft fragrance brought in through the open window, dancing along my acute senses. The scent is calming as the energy around me remains calm, peaceful almost as I sit before a wide monitor, watching as white text fills a dark space. Small fingers dancing with an expert grace along black keys, a soft red glow illuminating the dark keyboard.

A haunting beat pours into my ears through a set of gaming headphones, sending tingles down my aching spine as 'Mercy' by Hurts plays on repeat finding solace in my quiet contemplation hidden away from the world.

Many years have trickled by since the last time I willingly shared my poetic-prose with the world. Nearly seven years to be exact. Why I haven't...I'm honestly not all that sure myself. A lot has happened, a lot has changed and I'm just not the person I once was. In fact, she doesn't look back at me anymore whenever I see my reflection in the mirror.

-she pauses to take a hefty drink of fresh coffee from her Nightmare Before Xmas mug and smirks-

I've been wanting to write something, to share. I did struggle for a long while as to why I'd even want to in the first place. That age old, "what's the fucking point?" Yeah, I went through a heavy patch where I just didn't see the point to any of my old creative outlets.

I realize now with a quiet sadness, that when I go back and read through old posts, I'm painfully aware of the struggle I was going through. Where I was trying desperately to hold to myself, to stay intact when I was literally coming a part at the seams.

The levee finally broke. Everything I thought I was, what made me who I am...shattered.

This is what's left.

I'm still me, just different. Quieter. Less likely to speak up, to share. Definitely became more reserved even if I miss sharing my life. It could just be another rough patch, trying to navigate how to be open again while still remaining private. It's possible, I have done it before. Guess I just need to be a little cryptic until I can find my footing again.

I suppose I needed time to figure myself out, what was actually happening behind my eyes instead of just pushing forward without stopping. Living in survival mode for so many years wasn't intentional and it did finally catch up with me. Like a brick to the face.

There were things about myself I needed to face head on, painful truths about negative energies I kept allowing into my life. I recognized very specific patterns and actively worked on them. In doing so, I had to take a step back.

Not gunna lie, it fuckin' sucked. Realizing that there were...toxic types I kept allowing close to me due to being raised around that as a child and my nervous system thought it was normal, that it was safe because it's all I knew. Once I really looked at it and myself, I made the appropriate changes to finally get myself on the right path again, even if it was painful at first.

No one likes admitting they were wrong. No one likes to admit that they were responsible for the negative people they kept allowing to get close to them because it was all they knew. Negative attachments. One-sided friendships that were never really a friend in the first place. I just couldn't see it.

That's where the healing comes in. When you do the hard shit first and feel like an open wound trying to clean up the mess you've made. It's not pretty and it really does hurt like hell.

I am better now, well...for the most part.

I took a step back from everyone because I knew I had to face myself. I had to have a long hard look at why this shit kept happening and knew it was solely based on my own decisions. I had no one to blame but myself. So I did the work, quietly.

I think I'm finally at a point where I'm healed enough to step forward again and stop hiding myself. I really did miss sharing little tidbits of my life. Missed social interaction. Probably why I'm pushing myself to sit here and type this out.

We all go through ups and downs, tis the nature of life and all its lovely complexities.

You know what I really miss? Going to Renn faire. My Faire Family. So fucking much that I feel my chest ache. I hope this faire season brings a lot of joy to those who are able to go. Know that I'm thinkin' about you and miss you all terribly. I also miss that side of myself...she's been buried for a long time now.

Anyhoozle, I think that's where I'm gunna leave it for now. Is it the best update after seven years? Probably not, but hey...at least it's sumthin', you know?

-gives a small smile-

On that note, I shall bid thee anon.

-Adieu

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