The More than a blurt thread, prose, poetry and manic tirades

"
. . .
Their grace, soft words
and beautiful eloquence.
Gentle are their ways,

As they quietly embrace
their loved ones with
the power of lovely
patience and tolerance.

. . . "

My Ex would definitely give the lie to those words.
Soft words? She could rival a rusty saw at (all-too-oft) times
And at high volume!

But the Rose was beautiful . . .
 
warm are their words
tied to the genesis of reality,
nurturers kissed with a healing
touch, light, loving, potent:heart:

"
. . .
Their grace, soft words
and beautiful eloquence.
Gentle are their ways,

As they quietly embrace
their loved ones with
the power of lovely
patience and tolerance.

. . . "

My Ex would definitely give the lie to those words.
Soft words? She could rival a rusty saw at (all-too-oft) times
And at high volume!

But the Rose was beautiful . . .
 
this was a place of many friends at one time, now I fell lonely, particularly tonight, feeling useless, helpless and lonely. It is long since I was delicately touched and held. I have much wisdom but my emotional state freezes it making it inaccessible. Recently I have become a cutter, the pain shocks me out of ultimate despair and thoughts of suicide which have become more and more prevalent. I have been in therapy for years, I know all the techniques but how does one overcome an unconscious switch that throws me into the darkest of despair. No hope lives there, only the wish for ultimate peace. And so I bring myself to the position of preparing myself for the end, I will not have my family going through my things. Most of my writings will go into the shredder, my photos will be deleted. I know it is selfish, but I hurt so bad and it does not stop.
 
this was a place of many friends at one time, now I fell lonely, particularly tonight, feeling useless, helpless and lonely. It is long since I was delicately touched and held. I have much wisdom but my emotional state freezes it making it inaccessible. Recently I have become a cutter, the pain shocks me out of ultimate despair and thoughts of suicide which have become more and more prevalent. I have been in therapy for years, I know all the techniques but how does one overcome an unconscious switch that throws me into the darkest of despair. No hope lives there, only the wish for ultimate peace. And so I bring myself to the position of preparing myself for the end, I will not have my family going through my things. Most of my writings will go into the shredder, my photos will be deleted. I know it is selfish, but I hurt so bad and it does not stop.

sympathetic hug :rose:
 
heart bound in isolation
love alone is not love
Prose and poetry stained
with my night, dark thoughts
shall I cut? shall I not?
my emotional hunger is ravenous
a sacrifice for pain
 
heart bound in isolation
love alone is not love
Prose and poetry stained
with my night, dark thoughts
shall I cut? shall I not?
my emotional hunger is ravenous
a sacrifice for pain

No sacrifice is worth the pain of dark thoughts.
:rose:
 
The older I get the more I see how crazy the world is not only that but that I am crazy myself. Crazy? You bet! Think about it, meds managed poorly, attention deficit, and because my estrogen levels are all over the place, well, we really do not have to show the results of that, but if you are mean to me I will cry, my switch is like a feather buffeted by the winds of emotional storms. Storms you say? Taking care of my mother is difficult, I am neglecting myself and my boy now. Crying too much. Shower? on the list of things to do you lucky people. It was my mother not getting her way that set it off, I pissed her off by saying no to something she wanted to do badly.
Her cold hatred comes out, I am an small child again, trying to bring her attention to molestation and torture in the family. That is a threat to her happiness, her mythical family where everything is alright and beautiful. I became a "bad person" and she would threaten to have a tantrum unless I back away from "my reality of abandonment" Confused, you bet because if you followed the rules she was the sweetest woman in the world and would spoil you with kindness. When I grew older I learned how to play the game to get what I wanted. I do not see myself as a manipulator and in a sense I was. When I was younger I did, not much. Later not manipulating became a strong sense of who I am, I see it as morally wrong when you have clarity. You become an animal at that point feeding off of the people around you. You lie to yourself and to them. It is why spiritual growth is so important when you see that they and you are the same. It makes it easier to give instead of take. For you see that no matter what, you try to do the right thing.

Back to clarity, look back at what I have written. It is born of harsh introspection. Who the hell would do that to themselves? Forgiveness. Seeing the frailty of the human spirit. I see my mother as someone grasping for something that does not exist. Why should I, despite past rancor, hang onto that long ago hurt and judgement? Forgiveness is paramount to personal growth for if we cannot leave the hurt and hate behind we cannot love.

Sidebar: improperly medicated when I started writing I was gathering together my meds to take care of myself, attention deficit at work. *grin* Estrogen first. Oh and my gawd coffee! A visceral part of my meanderings.

Where was I?

Clarity, it is the tool with which we examine ourselves. It is not a comfortable thing, for with honest self examination we see our inner self harshly, here, at this point is the critical point for if we do not forgive ourselves, we tear ourselves down. Layer of denial by layer we strip away. Until nothing stands but your naked pain. Then you ask Why? It is in the past, the wound has to heal, when the wound heals there is nothing left of its pain. Lol you find yourself with no reason to be bound by hurt. For as I have been writing this piece I have been transcending an emotional storm. I am in the calm, the lush green of potential lures me from my subconscious triggers. The feather is still.
 
For so many long lovely years, I looked at the aged in a peculiar way, as if, somehow, such decrepitude could never be my fate. Yet. . . even now, even though I am he, that pot-bellied old guy with the big Lincoln I still curse eveyr time one of the slow old fucks holds me up with his inept driving. Oops, was that the curb? Are you sure there's no driveway there?

I go home and look in the mirror. Who I see, looking back at me, is that handsome 35 year-old in the prime of his life. That guy you see. I do not know him. He is a stranger in my body, wheezing his way to. . .dust. He is afraid.
 
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