EXORCISING MONSTERS

One poem led to the next today. You can see it in the last 3 especially. Which is unusual – even for a Weirdo like me.


EXORCISING MONSTERS

Efforts spent on Effervescence
Returning Yields much High Investment.
Once Erased or Out of focus,
Under-beds, when Freed of Monsters
Thoughts Untangled freely Wander
Aimlessly amble;
Freely Wonder
Far away from the Black Hole
Of “Terribilities” up below.
When thick enough to face your fears
And See What Lies Beneath Your Tears,
You’ll soon Crush with ALL YOUR Strength,
Pull the Stops and Go the Lengths,
Fearless Fears You’ll Push Against,
Escaping; Nothing Terrifies!
So Whole is Your Piece of Mind.

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

Karaoke and Other Coping Cliches

Be careful who you dismiss as “shallow” or “not serious enough.”

Some people have been so subtracted from, they’re not just empty, they’re minus.

Fleeting happiness is welcomed as a distraction, but the change in direction can cause emotional whiplash; a disorder known for releasing peals of startled laughter, often transforming the source of the laughter into an obsession. Or an addiction.

These people are so acclimated to chronic anguish, they’re easily amused.

My point? Simply to “not judge a book by its cover.” Or even better: “Don’t dismiss someone as a ‘novella’ until you’ve read her unabridged story.”

SO DIRTY

The way I look at it, Life double-fucked me.

It first fucked me in Childhood by preventing me from developing healthy coping skills (parents didn’t fret over their kids’ feelings too much back then).

I was DOUBLE-fucked because I needed those coping skills to weather the unspeakable horrors and tragedies Adulthood had in store for me.

Some time after aged 30, during 15 years of 15 major surgeries and Plenty Of Other Crap, I began coping the only way that worked for me: chemically.

I found I needed pain and anxiety medication to get through the day. Both ANY DAY and EVERY DAY.

Truth.

This always serves as the Official Reason People Who Gave Up On Me give for Giving Up On Me. I honestly don’t think I was that bad, but I wasn’t around for most of it. I was too numb.

Yet, with no Outer Pressure and DESPITE having minimal coping skills and a practically-nonexistent support system, I threw a giant cosmic wrench at myself. For no reason whatsoever, I chose to resort to my Chemical Coping Skills ONLY when they were desperately needed. Which is practically never, much to my own shock!

This choice has delivered me to Emergency Rooms on numerous occasions, certain I was in the middle of a stroke or heart attack, so great is my pain, anxiety, and nausea from both.

Remarkably almost-sober (don’t take my cannabis away from me; it helps with the nausea!), my thoughts often scare the ever-living shit out of me.

I personally find this ridiculous journey upon which I have embarked an extremely courageous one all the same.

I now Actively Disappoint rather than just Passively. Maybe you have to have been on a Similar Journey to understand what this means, but I think it means “I’m proud of myself❣️”

So Folks Who Want To Vilify Me: Stand in Line.

The person suspiciously ABSENT from that line will be ME.

If You’re an Ocean

If You’re an Ocean

If you’re an Ocean contemplating WHATEVER with WHOMEVER, but he’s a Lagoon: DON’T DO IT!! Even if you have Nobody Else!

Time spent Alone, as an Ocean, means less time masquerading as a Lagoon.

Imagine the Thunderous Wildness of The Ocean contained within a lagoon?

It’s Utterly Inconceivable.

The Inner Implosiveness of it would be catastrophic to the likes of which… Just Entropy Magnitude. Black Hole.. Victim Mentality. Terrible Tragedy. To the degree of: Exponential, stratospheric, perpendicular, geographic, unidimensional, one-sided, stereotypical, unilateral, fore-thinking, foreshadowing,neverbefore-seen, unintentionally-intended, once-in-a-lifetime, overly dramatic, HORMONALLY OUTRAGED levels!!

There is Virtue in Suffering

There is Virtue in Suffering

Pain Resides in Us and we can’t escape ourselves despite our noble and ignoble institutions, substances, activities, behaviors, distractions, and sundry other coping behaviors to help us do so.

All immersion in suffering-displacing techniques TEMPORARILY displaces Pain, but by displacing Pain, we’re also displacing Self-Acceptance, which I believe is the seed which grows into the Giant Redwood of Joyful Wholeness. I’m not OFFICIALLY sure because I’m not there yet!

I do want to clarify: when I talk about Pain I’m talking about Feeling Pain vs. Painful Events Occurring in a person’s life. If we survive both of them, we come out Overcomers or Victims, respectively.

I think I decided to allow Pain to have its way with me when I got sick and tired of being victimized by what felt like was Everybody, Everyone, and Everything. I was living my entire life in the Adult Biped Version or the Human Fetal Position. I don’t know that I’m NOT now.

But at least I KNOW IT, HAVE PROCESSED IT, AM WORKING ON IT, AM WRITING ABOUT IT, and AM SHARING IT.

By doing all of these things, I am bursting my bubbles, dashing my hopes, tarnishing my image, shattering my ego, losing my dreams, disappointing others instead of myself, burning my bridges, clearing my slates, starting at zero (zero is delicious), beginning again, growing into, becoming, expanding my options, opening doors, breaking ceilings, running deep, running low, running high, running new, and STARTING OVER.

At MY age!! And with all of my wretched disgusting awful brokenness, I STILL can’t believe how wonderful the person I’m turning into is becoming! I know it sounds corny, but when you’re not running away from yourself, you realize you’re not so bad. Maybe you’re even pretty amazing.

Thanks to Everyone [SO much] for going on this journey with me❣️ I honestly think it’s very brave of you.

Though Grace 🌞 has always been here, and she’s still alive to tell about it!! ♥️

ALSO: I know I’ve mentioned it before, BUT IN CASE ANYBODY MISSED IT, Everyone DOES realize I’ve written the ENTIRETY of this blog with my Right Thumb on the WordPress App on my IPhone 12 Mini, Right? I’m blind, dead, and dumb because of it [yes, I said “desd”], so hopefully you’ll excuse any typos.

PLUMB YOUR DEPTHS

When I plumb depths, they terrify.
I’ve glimpsed into the Hells I Hide.
Secrets lurk so Dark Inside,
Monsters, Pain, and Anguish, too;
The Empty Void Awaiting You

Won’t be avoided; Screams,
“Reflection!”,
Can’t escape a Soul’s Infection
Eating from Your Sharpest Place.
This Yawing, Grasping, Clutching Space
Demands Bestowal with a Name.
You call it “Evil”; That’s in Vain

Because you’re not that Bad!
Mistakes Aplenty Lives should have;
They reinforce a Search Within,
A Search, well-sought, yields Many Gifts.

Confrontation is the only Glue,
Beams the Shine and Lights the View
And makes the Search less scary, too.

(Thanks to DDP for the photo)

GASP OF AIR

Death claims all the Victory
In this life given to me.
It owns the very parts of Me
Which mingled with One’s chemistry
To build a brand new entity,
Just to have him ripped from me.

Who was the enemy?
My own womb, specifically
Betrayed us all, ejecting
This tiny piece of Humanity.
Scrap to you? Not to me.

I still ache longingly
To nurse and cradle this piece to me.
Twenty years and constant suffering,
More Death than Life if you ask me
Since his and fellow siblings’ lives
Were deemed by Someone “Not to Be.”
And Mother never made of me.

What rules for such a Tragedy?
No One knew, apparently.
All Baby Bumps avoided me,
As if my full-term “inability To carry”
An unspeakable disease
Which could be passed contagiously.

Alone, I bear their Memories;
Always My Responsibility.
Now I’ve become too fatigued
To honor them effectively;
They only Live in Memory.

I’m not too proud to beg your sympathy.
I’ll even make this plea upon my knees:
Would you be willing, Momentarily,
To hold my children in YOUR hearts
So I can breathe?

Clear as Mud


You Claim you’re not the one to Blame;
I don’t Hear a word you Say.
Your Lies I’ve tracked all through the Mud,
Bound them to my back and such,
Then set about to blaze a path,
Search you out and hunt you down.
What lengths I’ll go to stretch the Truth,
And unconceal Answers from You.

(Thanks for the photo, @shrimp144 ).

WHAT?

What are you gonna DO to me that hasn’t already been DONE to me?

What are you gonna take AWAY from me that hasn’t already been taken away from me?

Don’t ever underestimate people with nothing left to lose.

They’ve been known to surprise on the Final Act.

Which we can change to “The Last Half” if it sounds too ominous the other way.

I wasn’t aiming for dark overtones – I was thinking more “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.”

It says a lot about my mental exhaustion at the moment that I’d rather explain this than just clarify my writing,

I’m So Proud of You

I’m so proud of you, Grown-Up Little Girl!

You keep tearing on yourself, but can I tell you You’ve surpassed my expectations for Us?

The way you keep on staying brave and open, well frankly, I’m astounded.

I never knew you’d be such a LOVER and a FIGHTER❣️

LOVE LETTER TO MY ONLINE FRIENDS


I don’t often find myself contemplating the virtues of Cyberspace, but today I’d like to extoll one of its underreported virtues: LOVE.

Yes, Love. There IS Love to be found here❣️

Yesterday, all day, I felt emotionally fragile. I’ve learned, since beginning this blog last September, that the Internet can grant succor and relief through the Catharsis of “Writing-For-Sharing.”

Sometimes the public attention makes me crafty and prancy with my words, even making up new ones like “prancy.” Other times, I feel like I’m vomiting poison. Or losing what’s left of my beauty.

There are Certain Memories I hold close and parting is such sweet sorrow! But I believe Vulnerability is the Magic Ingredient for Good Writing of Any Kind [sorry much caps, all needed].

Last night I sobbed for hours while writing about my non-baby-but-still-child, Ethan (one of 3 unborn siblings, but the only one officially named).

I’m still crying.

The public-ness and Exposure feel threatening, and I can’t withstand threat right now.

What I need to feel – and needed to feel – is Love. And I did. When I saw this morning that four of my most Devoted Devoteds and Favorite Favorites had read and “liked” my Memorial to Ethan, I felt a rush of love.

Why? The Likes meant these people endured the discomfort and read all the way down to the Like button. And by Liking, they agreed to my request to hold Ethan’s memory for a moment, so I could regain my breath.

Breath is life, friends. As the unwounded soldier helps the wounded, so your kindly presence returned air to my lungs.

By letting me SPREAD MY PAIN, you saved me. You earned the 💜, and I’ll be the one pinning it on you at the ceremony.

Grace, Bogdan, DirtySciFiBuddhah, and Andrea:

Thank you. You’re Everything.

The Lies Are True!!

Let me be the FIRST to admit:

It is indeed the case

And known to be apparent

AS WELL AS self-evident

That:

All of the

horrible-awful-wretched-disgusting

Things

YOU heard

about ME

are indeed

In fact

100% true.

AND

100% false.

At a bare minimum!

And we couldn’t agree more!!

That I’m both fully guilty.

And wholly innocent.

As charged

On all counts!!

Your Honor.

But you see:

I’m what’s called a “work in progress,”

Which is a fancy way of saying “human.”

So we’re gonna keep on keeping on

horrible-awful-wretched-disgusting

Till the day is LONG

Over here on Patch Jennifer

Today.

Okay?

Is it Greener?

There was a green hydrant named Fred
Who found Himself lost in his bed.
He searched and he sought,
Reasons were bought,
But a thought always stuck in his head:
“If THIS is my life, I choose death.”

‘Twer me, I’d choose Fried Love instead.
Because…
Their grass isn’t greener;
Their houses aren’t cleaner.
What’s green is the Envy
Converting your Longing to Dread.

So stop feeling sorry,
Eject all this worry.
Freedom’s sole home is your Head.

(Thanks @lakegrass for the use of your photo)

Bullies & Heroes

The Intimidated Intimidate.
The Tormented Torment.
The Bullied Bully.
The Beaten Beat.
The Hurting Hurt.

The Constantly Criticized Criticize.

And though this isn’t popular: those who abuse have usually been abused.

Garbage In, Garbage Out, FIFO, LIFO, and the Pythagorean Theorem.

It’s called Learned Behavior.

Yet everyone knows a dog who’s been hideously hurt by human hands and chosen (somehow?) to trust again.

If these courageous canines can overcome our hate when their survival depends on it, surely we can treat each other (and them) a little better?

Why?

Why is that when I feel joyous,

I’m always reminded of how fleeting it is,

BUT

When I feel sadness,

I’m never reminded of how fleeting it is?

The Freedom of Divorce

My burning “like” [it was never love] for you has frozen over; misery my only companion in the awfulness that Life by Your Side has become.

How and why did we make this colossal mistake?
I don’t think I’ll ever know, and I’m not sure that I want to.

I ONLY know I’m ready to trade:
Your “love” and “partnership” for aloneness.
Certainty for uncertainty.
Shouting for silence.
Constant conflict for calm.
Walking on eggshells for mental relaxation.
Being a disappointment for being enough.
The prison this marriage has always been for the freedom a divorce might provide.

Yes, I will fail after you.
After “us.”
I will fall and fail until I die.

But…
Should I be blessed to have another 20 years,
I won’t be wasting them on you.

I Was Wrong (Once)!

I need to apologize to my father because I thought there were no photos of just the two of us. There are many, but my ex-husband had them for the last 13 years.

It turns out he has had, in his possession, the only set of our wedding photos (that I paid for at the time!) for the last 13 years.

Why didn’t I badger him about them? I was just trying to get by, brothers and sisters. Those were “one foot in front of the other” days. Surely you’ve experienced those?

Also, to be fair, I somehow forgot about them. Forgot about the complete and utter existence of these photos. Or possibly even thought I had forgotten them. It happens. A 9-year-marriage full of heartache followed by a 250-mile move, 13 years of silence between us, and a bunch of new heartache will leave gaps in a person’s memory (thank goodness).

Anyway, said ex-husband was decent enough to scan and copy a set of the photos for me. I could make lots of snarky little comments here, but honestly, I’m so grateful for the photos, my “higher self” is taking over.

It makes me tear up a little to see the images of my father and me, smiling and happy that day. They actually make me miss him and the way he almost used to be.

You can’t deny he was handsome. I can’t say “he was so nice,” “he loved me so much,” or “we shared such great times.” But I can definitively say “he was a nice-looking man!”

So, maybe that’s where I got it? Only partially, if I’m honest. The photos of my Mom prove it was definitely a team effort.

I think these images also demonstrate what a “normal”, outwardly-together, seemingly-privileged person I used to be.

I don’t know whether to celebrate or not, but those days have definitely passed.

My Dad & Me
DNA all over my face
My mother and father
Bride and siblings, stepmother
The bride and her Grandaddy

Actually, I’m thankful. Now is better than Then, even though it doesn’t always feel like it. Now has to be better than Then, or else how would we keep going?