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