Dancing in White Noise

Scattered pieces of thought litter the darkened earth, tinted a deep red as the blood clings to naked flesh, living crimson gone cold under a moonlit sky. A sharp breath, cool air coursing through weary lungs as the body fights to remain standing. So much weight bearing down, cutting lines of stress into pale shoulders, angry red lines trailing down the skin... A reminder of what's to come. Of things undone, broken promises and bloodied dreams. The sounds of the soul, the dying thing screaming out for redemption. Cradle this piece of flesh and find the spark that's slowly fading, leaking away it's hope for a better day. Breathe warmth back into this frostbitten hunk of muscle. Let this not be the last... 

Winged things, ravenous beings, circle over head. Biding their time as they scrutinize with hollowed eyes, any moment of weakness... 'Lose your footing,' their silence whispers in the consuming darkness. They trail the red footprints, the scent of weakness weaving into the air like a seductive symphony. They itch for just a taste of that broken innocence before the spirit dies and they're left to pick at its empty shell like gulls scavenging the remains of oysters on a rocky beach.

These words pour from shaking fingertips, the mind twisted in strange poetic musings as the body fights the last invisible tendrils of sleep that continue to trickle gently at the back of the neck. Beckoning, so sweetly, to go back to the safety of dreams. Yet I refrain, needing a moment to collect the misplaced parts of me and try to make sense of this senseless chaos running wildly behind my tired eyes.

A slow movement, taking in a quiet breath and releasing it soundlessly between chapped lips as a delicate hand reaches out and brings the rim of a black Nightmare Before Christmas Thermos into view to take a drink. Heat swirls around the tongue only to trail a line of warmth down the throat as that rich, strong coffee pools sweetly in the stomach. It's little things such as a hot cup of coffee in the morning, that helps ease some of the pressure from my clouded mind. Such a simple thing...giving so much comfort. That's all that matters. A little bit of comfort when the world feels as though its released the hounds after a broken spirit that has no where left to run.

The images of strange places and familiar faces dance behind my eyes as I try to make sense of my dreams. They were strangely pleasant at one point... A beautiful soul made an appearance and it was different from the last time he made an appearance. He was more protective, more attentive... As if he knew of the unspoken breaking of my heart as the loneliness of my situation continues to cut into me. Words I dare not speak, the wounds festering and unable to heal due to the relentless madness slicing into my every waking moment.

But he was with me, that radiant smile reaching those soulful brown eyes. We were surrounded by unknown faces that were extras playing the roles of our friends. The theme was obviously family, because he merely spent time with me, his presence reassuring me that my silent suffering, no matter how much I've tried to hide it, has not gone unnoticed. That though I try to hide myself away, my energy reaches out to everyone around me...and those sensitive to it, feel it calling out for help within the quiet.

It was strange to know he had made an appearance to make sure I knew I wasn't alone. That even though it was a dream and not the harsh reality I was accustomed to, an escape for the soul as the body rests... I was aware of that fact. I Knew I was dreaming...and so did he. It was strange, but comforting...especially due to the fact that he appeared at the end of the first half of my sleep and remained through the rest. Even as the backgrounds changed and shifted, he stayed exactly as he was. Which again, is an odd thing...for those of you vivid dreamers reading this, you'll understand what I mean.

But all of that was harshly ripped away by a distant voice calling my name in anger. I stumbled from my bed, sheets tangled around my legs as though begging me to stay... I got up, exited my bedroom and found out why my Father had abruptly awoken me two hours before I'd planned to get up. Painful story short, I was nothing more than a verbal punching bag for his frustration. He was angry about not finding something in the kitchen, and though the whole ordeal had long since passed, he got me up so he could chew me out for it. Just like he used to when he was angry and had one too many beers...

And no long after this wonderful awakening, he went right back to 'telling me' not asking me, to do things for him. Why? Because I was up.

-takes a quiet breath and lets it out slowly-

I'm so worn out from the constant negativity, the emotional battering every day, the non-stop demands and endless discussions I'm forced into because he wants to talk about benign topics because I'm the only one here. I've grown so callous to all of this... For you see, this isn't a new thing. It's slightly different due to his sickness, but this kind of badgering has been going on for YEARS. The only times I truly enjoyed being around my Father was in the mornings...before he drank. When he was still my Dad. Not the monster dwelling inside those aluminum cans.

Now that monster lives somewhere inside of him, bursting out in spurts when he has a panic attack and for those few moments, releases its venom at me. I know he can't help it, most of the time... But there are moments when he just gets mean...and destroys me...only to switch a few minutes later by asking me do something for him, as if nothing happened. It's like a form of twisted dementia... And I'm left feeling so shattered.

I know there's another reason for his anger coming to the surface. Sadly I'm the only one around he lashes out at... 

I've gotta get him to the VA's ER tonight, no matter what and the only one who can help me is Marco. He's a very strong guy, but even he can't just carry Dad down the stairs. He's just going to help me make sure Dad gets down the three flights as carefully as possible and then keep him steady as we walk to the car. I understand it's last second, but if Dad doesn't go... He can drown in his sleep. The fluid levels in his body are too high, and I'm tired of him fighting me about it. I just need to get him there tonight...and find out how many days they may keep him. Probably no more than two. I'll have to arrange it so they make sure to bring him home and help get him back upstairs.

It's honestly a simple thing that he's made into a big production by bringing up all the things that can go wrong. I'm tired of hearing it and he's not getting out of it.

He's also more on edge than normal because my big Brother got the okay about the first house he checked out for all of us to move into. A two story with 6 bedrooms and 3 bathrooms. He's hoping to have everyone moved in by December 17th. I'm stoked. Part of me is a little sad because we'll lose our childhood home, (Dad's lived here since 1968) but it's a good thing. Sure, it's going to be in Beaumont, which is nowhere next to my ocean, but that's okay. Lady Pacific isn't going anywhere, and I can still visit.

We're all doing this for Dad and in those moments when he freaks out and barks at me that I'm Telling Him What To Do and No One Asked Him, it's hard for me to restrain my anger. I've gotten good at just taking it because you cannot reason with someone who's brain isn't functioning like a normal, lucid person. And he blows up like this over literally nothing. It's especially hurtful when it's a pleasant topic and I'm only mentioning something that has nothing to do with me telling him what to do. It's as though he regresses and throws a fit.

It's hard to deal with, but it is what it is. I don't get that upset about it anymore. Why should I? It's almost normal now and I've finally adapted to it. Sure I'm worn out on several different levels but that's the situation and crying over it and feeling sorry for myself won't change anything. Just wasting precious energy I need to reserve so I can function. Yes, it still burns me I'm unable to help him on my own (never did much enjoy the concept of feeling helpless) and it only drives me to be stronger, in every way. Seriously, I can't stand the whole, 'Damsel In Distress' notion. Sure I'm distressed, but if some knight tried to whisk me away from my tower, thinking me meak and helpless... I'd give one helluva verbal lashing once we're on safe ground for assuming said notion, because at the exact moment he showed up, I had just perfected my plan to pull a Shawshank and out this bitch.

-laughs at the image-

I'd probably continue the lecture by going off about sexism and gender stereotypes in fairytales... It'd be pretty damned entertaining.

-chuckles and shakes her head-

Alright my lovelies, it's time that I make myself another cup of coffee and continue to get my bearings back. Damn...I wrote quite a bit this morning, huh? 

-smirks- Guess when you gotta write, you write.

On that note, I shall take my leave.

-Adieu