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 13-14th 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 3rd 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 14th.
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 9th 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 11th 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 19th. 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 14th, 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 13th 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
