Exsanguination

Is what loss upon loss upon loss does to the human mind, body, and soul.

There are so many grieving people out there who need love or, at a minimum, a kind word.

Be nice to someone today.

MAGNUM OPUS: The Last Five

Melting Shame

MAGNUM OPUS:
The Downward Spiral of The Last Five Ends in Joy


When I get out of balance (physical pain + emotional blows with no relief),
I start getting scared.
My perspective gets distorted by my own pain,
And I can’t tell my friends from my enemies.
The problem is, 99% of the time,
I am my Worst Enemy.
So in addition to being in “pain all over,”
My thoughts have no place to land.
This creates a toxic imbalance in my body, resulting in
Me in an Extended Version of the Emotional and Physical Fetal Position,
As if warding off cosmic blows.
It’s not the LEAST BIT comforting, though.

I don’t even know how long these periods last some times.
It finally erupts into a Dark Place,
Both emotionally and physically.
I’ve never written about this before, but I have been diagnosed with a Neurovascular Disorder called Erythromelalgia.
It’s sometimes called “Man on Fire Disease” or “The Suicide Disease.”
And it’s earned its Title!
Sadly, it’s so exceptionally rare, you can’t find a neurologist whose even heard of it,
So there’s very little information out there. Which compounds my anxiety.
That’s the sad case with rare diseases.
With no Big Pharma backing, research dollars can’t be found.
It’s a disorder of the autonomous nervous system.
I “lost” the ability to release heat from my system about 5 years ago.
So, if I combine ambient heat with exertion (it’s extremely hot where I live),
I get heat stroke without realizing it.
Until I’ve got heat stroke.
Which keeps me indoors,
Avoiding life because of my fear of getting violently ill
Should I carry in too-many too-heavy bags of groceries from my car to my apartment.
It’s cooler in there, but it can be dark in there, and alone and scary in there.
Alone to feel shame at not being live like a “normal person,”
And not being able to regulate heat, can’t vent the shame
Without the shame surfacing as blushing fire through the skin
On too many parts of my body.
It’s very humiliating for me to write about,
But since there’s no cure or, in my case, effective treatment for Erythromelalgia,
And because I got off all anti-depressants, and pain meds and anti-anxiety only in emergency
And not for emotional coping,
You can see how my Poems and this blog have been my constant companions over the last year.
This was my last secret to write about,
Because it’s One Thing which has bested me
And nearly ruined me.
What with the limitations it imposes, I felt it made me “unworthy as a companion.”
So that took away my hopes for the happiness I hoped to one day find in the company of a partner.
Which used the be the “safe place where my thoughts would land” as a coping mechanism.
They have no idea how or why I acquired it (again, no research),
So they default to the overdose of highly neurotoxic chemo I had when I was 39 years old,
Fighting breast cancer.
But since I was given no “Why,”
I first switched to “Why Not” in an effort to “embrace the pain.”
That might work for some of you Mental Athletes, but this girl already HAD a frail state to begin!
Like: I was mentally and emotionally fried and too-feeling at the same time to handle “thought mastery!”
So, I decided to “burn the shame out of me,”
So I could at least feel safe inside my head.
I had to find a harbor for my mind or I would give up.
The only way I’ve been able to do this is through writing,
So I mean it when I say this blog has saved me life.
And I have discovered my own voice in the process!
It has been a 3000% net joyful experience for me,
Even if a painful and tearful one.
I’m re-writing a story without a pre-determined ending (see my poem, A Foregone Conclusion – or something like that! It was birthed in MUCHAS LAGRIMAS! Many tears!).
I actually believe in Miracles again.
I had totally forgotten about Miracles, having no recent or long term memory of them.
So anyway, final shame vented,
But I don’t care how anybody prices me!
My price is DOWN TO ME, and I DECIDED I’m PRICELESS.
That’s good enough for me!
So thank you, dear friends, for helping me discover my voice, discover my worth, and to re-grow my jaded belief in Miracles❣️

LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED


LIFE SUMMARY: ABRIDGED

At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”

The Bitterness of Burned

The bitterness of post-burnt
Feels a lot like toast spurned
After an eternity of tears spilled
Crying out in thirst,
Never being quenched
Parches until too pinched
Beyond all recognition,
Dried and too hurt.

PERFECT CARRIAGE

PERFECT CARRIAGE: MINE

A child who succumbs to miscarriage
May only exist in his host’s Imagination,
But he freely thrives in every tense:
Imagined Past,
Imagined Present,
Imagined Future, and
Imagined Perfect.

Maybe this sheds some sense
On why I’m so grateful to Tense?


GHOST STORIES


When I’m feeling emotionally fragile, I have to stay away from ghost stories.

All of my ghosts are officially and literally dead (not to be crude, but literally IS overused these days).

My ghosts either died from the same disease which did NOT kill me (on two separate long, protracted, physically and emotionally excruciating occasions) or they never emerged from my Hostile Womb to live in the first place.

As far as ghosts go, I’d describe MY ghosts in the Letter R:
Ruthless, Relentless, and “Regular as Right-from-left Remembering.”

If not for their innocence, they would ALL be considered throughly villainous.

INSPIRATION: Lite & Airy

Inspiration: LITE & AIRY

Sometimes I feel like I’m taking dictation.
Sometimes I have to labor intensively.
Often, I start with a simple line which unfolds as I progress.
Other times the message is much deeper than I originally intended and occurs to me after the fact.
I guess writing is just like talking, only with considerably more Effort, Toil, Obsession, Deliberation, and
Ultimately, Liberation.
After paying a huge Tear Debt, it’s Joy Time!

Let’s “Celebrate Good Times” NOW!!

How Much is Too Much?


What sucks about being empathetic is you get jerked in a million different directions, depending on who’s doing the Yanking at the time. This even includes Yankers and Toyers like movies and books. The effect is particularly pronounced when I’m in midst of or on the tail-end of one of my “Protracted Painic Attacks.”

A PPA Cycle requires a Massive Confluence of Multiple Maddening Encounters With People whose opinions aren’t worth caring about, Pain, and a Profound Awareness that nobody hears me or gives half a shit: basically a Cluster of Fuckups and Fuckovers in a relatively short time.

This is a Disastrous Combination for me in the absence of a support system, except for my Mom, but she only visits to bring me junk mail, empty my trash (full of the junk mail she just brought me) and tell me which of her Church Ladies are praying for me. Please forgive me that The Only Person Who Still Loves Me’s most well-intended comfort doesn’t clot when I’m exsanguinating.

To Survive, I’ve evolved into a paranoid and overly-defensive person (at least during these times). If I didn’t, people would, have, and constantly attempt to take advantage of my Easily-Approachable, Easily-Appealable, Easily-Appeasable, Usually-Unsqueaky Nature.

So while I feel like my body is literally wasting from lack of External Comfort, I can’t find anyone I trust with the Job. When that happens, my next course of action is Isolation, which only serves to waste and starve me more.

I think certain parts of me never learned to fish. Maybe THAT’S why I have No Appetite? Maybe a psychologist would know? My Psychiatrist doesn’t know my name, and he doesn’t like it when I ask annoying, superfluous questions.

What does a hungry, bleeding, cyclically-self-agoraphobic do to keep safe in Cyclonic, Typhonic, Emotionally Cataclysmic Clusters of Ominous Weather and Even More Ominous People, waiting to feast on what’s left of her leathery, petrified sinew?

Honestly, I think 3 Chicago-style hotdogs and a giant milkshake, literally and literally, would do the trick. Too bad I’m begging for fuel but can’t stomach the liverworst vending machine sandwiches from the neighborhood gas station.

The Salt From Tears

THE SALT IN TEARS

Tears are important, too.

When I travel down a deep dark tunnel into a fathomless black hole of despair, I rely on my tears to remind me
I’m still a soul,
sitting in a body,
feeling sad right now.

Tears anchor and tether me; both are equally salvationary.

Death Row

DEATH ROW

Joy’s the Sole Pursuit around, and
The only place where Joy is found
Is within one’s Own Surrounds;
That’s where Joy is stored and found,
So hold it tight and Don’t let go!
Inner Joy is All You Own, and
The only peace you’ll ever know,
When condemned to Life Alone
Solitary-Closeted on Awaiting Row.

“FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF”

“FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF”

Chances are, Most People who feel sorry for Themselves aren’t doing so out of pathological Self-absorption.

Rather, most are probably doing it because Nobody felt sorry for Them when They needed Someone to.

And/Or They didn’t extend the appropriate sorrow to Themselves when They needed Someone to.

HAVE A GIANT PITY PARTY if that’s what you Need to do.

Somebody probably needs to cry for a very reasonable, Age-Appropriate Reason.

CRY, BABY

CRY, BABY

Anyone who says
“You shouldn’t Cry for Yourself”
Is a big fat liar.

You should cry for all ages of Yourself if you need to.
I know it sounds hokey, but it’s actually very freeing once you get past the embarrassment of it.

The thing is: there’s nothing to be embarrassed about!

Welled-but-unshed tears are painful energy with no place to go.

If you don’t allow your body it’s natural response,

Your Body will cry for YOU!
Your soul will weep for you,
People will gnash their teeth at you,
And ultimately,
Your heart won’t beat for you.

I should know;
First-hand experience,
Multiple times,
All counts.

HER CONSUMING MISTAKE

My Softer Side has been spent,
Ejected and Torn from me;
Completely rent,
Ripped, empty, hollow, gone.

Once gladly I gushed on and on
And on and on.
Are my bursts and fits and starts
Of Joy missed by Some or Anyone?

Or am I The One who got it wrong
For far too Short
And Way too long?
The one who Sang the same old songs
Hesitantly; her voice not strong?

Once Bright against Life’s Monochrome,
Now concealed, she Fades to Gray
And Color is the Distant World
Whose distance is so very long;

Far Enough to make its
Occasional Occupations
Available To Girls
On Lists
Pared to be spare,
Sparse, and dense,
Condensed, Abridged;
Basically “not long”.

First of all:
This is Wrong.
Secondly:
Who belongs
In Homes which house a Girl
Dropped by All and
On her Own?

Lastly, did she deserve her Drowning?
Her Public Downing?
Into Gutters, where
Parts of What She Used To Be
Cough and Sputter;
The Only Bursts of Life Her corpse,
Which rots itself of Flesh and Bone
To sound the News;
The Final Rattle Shaken
And Death the Victor in this Battle?

Her Precious Essence was Stolen, Taken
Forcefully, leaving Her Remains Undiscovered;
Essentially forsaken,
Left to Catch the Tears Alone
That signaled she was breaking.

No Saviors Saved,
All certain she was faking.
Her Flaws like fleas, All could see
Hopping, Jumping, Raking,
Dragging her against hot coals
For reasons of mistaking
SELF-Concern for Her-Concern:

THIS Mistake,
In the End,
Consumed HER for ITs making.

NONE TO SPARE

NONE TO SPARE

I apologize; I’m sorry, too,
Sorry that “Yes, It’s true:
Can’t spend My Empathy on you.”
Regretfully won’t follow through,
Can’t part with what I do not do.
Stores dried up from long disuse
Are Emptied, and there’s None to Use.

________________________________
(Photo by @ryanzkwok)

CUT OUT FOR SCHOOL

NOT CUT OUT TO SCHOOL?

Mother’s Day is always hard for me, as are most holidays. Especially since the Joy of these occasions is multiplied by Loved Ones, and I have so Few left to Love.

Mother’s Day is a Double-Whammy because, even though we’ve all HAD Mothers, we’ve not all BEEN Mothers. And folks tend to forget that on Mother’s Day. Or at least they did when I went to church every Sunday. All those red roses handed out to Mothers? After YET another failed IVF or miscarriage? I recall Sundays as a Funhouse Mirror, distorting and exaggerating all I didn’t have.

Even Fathers Day is Still Bad, what with the ABUNDANCE of Horizontal and Vertical departures – at least on THIS runway. Yet somehow I’m always Left holding the bags.

I’m not saying “Bah Humbug” to Mother’s Day and ALL Holidays FOREVER. I suppose. What I am saying is that Holidays are just Regular Days now, remarkable only by the EXTRA Heaping of Grief they serve up.

Too frequently, I feel like I’m stuck on an underwater tree limb, the Rest of Humanity and Vitality having swum past Me DECADES ago. And taking no discernible note of my Dilemma.

Yet I persist in floundering my way into circles around that damned tree branch, idiotically thinking I can catch up.

I guess I wasn’t cut out To School.

_________________________________

(Photo by @chn.photography)

BALD, BARE, & BROKEN

2006

BALD, BARE, & BROKEN

For years I spoke about my breasts,
Such Talk I now hold close to chest.
I wrote for the whole WORLD to see
Of How They Served to Ruin Me;
Their invites to The Dark Disease
Opened all doors permanently
For Death to come and gloat at me.
I keep Such Talk more private now,
Perhaps it helps me Cope somehow?

RACING THOUGHTS & New Disclaimers ♨️

I’ve just lived a Month of Hell I don’t understand and for the first time recently, haven’t had the words to describe. But I want to try.

The last 3-6 weeks (I can’t remember) have been a Giant, Extended, Protracted Clusterfuck of Epic Proportions. On a Daily Basic. Comprised of the following Ingredients:

1. The Daily Trifecta of Physical Mental, and Emotional Anguish.
2. That Damn Oral Surgery: the additional pain, the inconvenience, the EXPENSE, CVS and other Mosquitoes, the recovery period, the healing period, the waiting for the next phase, the fact there IS a Next Phase,
3. Going from February to July, at least where I live, brought my favorite Wardrobe Season, Mild Winter, to a screeching halt with As-Yet-Unworn-But-Recently-Purchased clothing Making Eyes from my closet; who knows if they’ll Wink at me next year? Also, the abrupt and drastic change in temperature has been hell on ONE of my pains: an exceptionally rare and therefore un-researched disorder, Erythromelalgia, or “Man-on-Fire Disease.” Let’s leave it that for now; I don’t want to burn you.
4. THE COMPANY: Profound Loneliness, Static Aloneness, A Despairing Sense of Pointlessness, Pissed-Off Self Loathing, Absence of Invitations, Unwillingness to Extend Invitations, Inability to Accept or Extend Invitations, Unfounded but CONVINCED Ugliness, Too Much Time But Nothing To Do, Wouldn’t Do It Anyway, Profound Sorrow, Regret!, Ghosts from the Past, Abject Misery, Fear of My Future, Inability to Cope with the Present, Paralysis,, Growing Emptiness, Social Anxiety, Agoraphobia (home both caste and prison of my own making), and therefore:

ZERO KARAOKE.

I NEED a weekly fix of Karaoke to handle the Slings and Arrows of my Outraged Fortune.

The good news is I FINALLY sought self-care by Undergoing Transformation of both Upper AND Lower Nails on Wednesday. All 20 are now Bulleted and Shellacked in Deluxe, Upgraded Red Glitter and Reflecting in Top Coat. How’s THAT for “Spring Color?“

I’m still not feeling great. But at least the Racing Thoughts in My Head are
Lovingly Whispering:

Karaoke Tonight?

(Gracias for the photo, @thenixcreative)

♨️ Is My New Disclaimer for Very Foul Language and/or Sexually Explicit Talk

BILE RISING

Thoughts of Sweetness make me feel Sick to My Stomach, Pained in My Heart, and Intolerably Dark today.

This combination is only Enhanced by the flood of Bile and Hatred currently Rising,

Resulting in these pesky digestion sounds I hear.

Though of course I haven’t eaten all day! I’m always forgetting to eat. My Empty Stomach makes it even Sicker.

Thank Goodness!

Rest Assured: I won’t be Happy until You’re Half as Miserable as I Am.

————————————————

Welcome to My Head once I perfected a “Thought-Stopping” Exercise I learned last year. I finally realized how/why I got Cancer twice by aged 45. And perhaps all that pain medicine was numbing more than physical pain?