Category Archives: feelings

Pain; It’s Personal

I know the experts say to make each post about your readers.  They say not to get personal.

But here’s the rub.  Mental illness is personal.  To me.  To you.  To all who suffer with it in all its delightful forms.  To all who love or live with someone with it.

Today is personal.  I suffered.  Did you?  Maybe my personals today will resonate with someone.  You are not alone.

Times are tough for me.  Stress is high.  The people I live with don’t get it.  To them, I’m just being lazy and irresponsible.

My kin doesn’t get it.  I was irresponsible 15 years ago, and didn’t pay back what I had used.

She’s right.  I was irresponsible.  My behavior, then as now, was not socially or financially acceptable.  But when cancer hurts and there’s no painkiller, you scream and write a lot and spend what you have on release, not duty.  You get desperate.  You don’t connect now with later.  ‘Wait’ is not a space of time; it’s just a ‘weight’ on the soul.

I don’t think she gets her own child either.  Genetics played a nasty joke on her progeny.

Now I need a job.  I look some, but focus is almost impossible and distractions abound.  The emotions partly born of insecurity, fear, worry, and loneliness wring out the last dregs from my cup of possibilities.  The first dregs got drained by my own duplicitous brain.

I pour forth detailed plans in monster waves.  They crash and foam and never reach shore.  I can’t carry them out.  Dust bunnies get in my way.  Dishes and grass clippings and expectations attack. Desire is legion, but priority is AWOL. I’m trapped; no car, no way to run, so few tools to help.

Insurance was nice.  The county sucks.  It’s not their fault.  There’s just too many of us.  Why?  What did people used to do back when?

Today’s last straw was just a pin-sized twig, but it broke this ass’s back.  It’s always that way.  Little stuff is seen through a magnifying glass every time.

I truly didn’t want to live.  I planned on it to help get me through, but it refused and now I’m limited to the struggle.  I need another shot of safety; just for a week.  I can’t stand the limits!  Not again!

I scream, I cry, I question and storm and beg for release.  I hate this pain that drills deep. I can’t filter out the pain of the past or the pain of the future or the pain of entwined others either.  It won’t let me go.  It’s always peaking around corners and saying ‘boo’ just when I’ve turned the corner.  I’m always ready now to jump.

Oh if I could snuggle!  Arms with skin on help so much if they are gentle.  The arms of faith have disappeared today.  I’m so guilty because I’ve seen them so big before.

So where is the glass half-full?  I dropped it and it broke, long ago.  The shards got stuck in my foot.  The liquid evaporated.  I should try I guess to levitate with my mental magic prowess the cup there in the cupboard over to the faucet pouring with water.  But today, magic doesn’t exist.  Does it ever?

There’s one boon today.  Satan was winning.  He loves to tell me that God won’t provide like He said.  After all, look at the widows in India.  They beg for their food.  Their husbands have died and their sons disown them.  Some starve and their bodies are thrown in the river.  Why not them, God?  Paul went hungry, cold, and naked.  Why him?  He was yours!

Maybe me.  But God said.  If the walls fall inward, thunder rolls, the mountains move into the sea, and fire rains down, God still said.  I don’t want to live this.  But God said.  I don’t know how.  But God said.  I don’t feel able, but God said.  I don’t get it, but God said.  I’m blind and deaf and dumb and burning, but God said.  So somewhere so deep even I can’t know it, I believe.

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The Beast in My Mind’s Eye

I was trying this morning to unravel a jumble of electrical cords in my garage.  They were both bright orange and hopelessly tangled.  I needed one to plug-in the tire blow-up thingy (be amazed, men and mechanically inclined women, that I know automotive terminology) because someone was coming over to see the old car we’re trying to sell.  I only wanted one of them!  I finally found an end, plugged in what I hoped was the beginning, and turned on the ‘thingy’.  It worked.  Pure dumb luck.

I’m going to try to describe a jumble of feelings.  They are so intertwined that I can’t find the real root or the end.  And I don’t know if it’s the ADHD, the Bipolar, the anxiety, or all three combined, that made me feel so desperate to run away, hide, and throw things.  I suppose it could just be life as it was not meant to be.  Whatever.

The feelings weren’t from the incident with the electrical cords.  But it felt like the same jumble.  They happened in the early evening as the sun was setting.  I was talking to someone close to me, and the beast of circumstance, jealousy, loneliness, and mistrust rose from his stinking grave to grab my heart.

Once when I was working full-time years ago, I wrote a very short story.  I was on the job one day in the afternoon.  I had to get up from my desk and leave in a hurry.   I was in the middle of an anger episode.  Extreme anger!  Total frustration.  Desperation.  Sadness.  Restlessness.  At life, at circumstances, at God, at myself.  It was petulant, childish, and so unstoppable.  So me.  So consuming.

I sat in my car in the parking lot and wrote for maybe 10 minutes. When I got through imagining the path and actions of my story’s ‘hero’, I felt so much calmer.  His actions were my actions.  His blind fury was my fury.  His total lonely destruction was my soul.  And for a while, it helped. Here’s the story.

In My Mind’s Eye

I’m that huge green man-beast, and I’m so full of anger, so overwhelmed by raging frustration that I lunge at anything in my path and smash it, tear it, rip it into a thousand pieces.  I stand for a millisecond and scream my rage at the thing I don’t understand.

I’m running through an empty department store at night, tearing clothes off the rack, smashing dishes, wiping everything off the display case.  Then I pick up the whole case and throw it across the isles into shelves full of crystal goblets and vases.

This rampage goes on and on with blazing intensity until finally, my breathing labored, sweat dripping down my back like rain, I begin to calm.  The sounds of destruction and the frenzied movement begin to satiate the beast inside.  The running turns to a jog, the jog to a walk, and I head off into the night to my secret bed.  I fall there, exhausted, into a dreamless sleep.

They will never know it’s me because when I awake in the morning, I look and act regular again; too mild to ever have felt that bloody, raw tearing in my soul.  But he’s there.  And when the pressure begins to build and the wolves can’t be kept away by simply closing the door, he bursts out with eyes blazing, looking for a thousand sacrifices that will cause the demon god to sleep again, restlessly.  For a while.