June 24, 2013

I often sit and just think. Think about whatever comes to mind; the state of the world, if there is an afterlife, what I am going to eat for dinner later. I could do this for hours, but as other responsibilities demand my attention, I usually only do it for very brief periods. I remembered the other day how my father could do this. Just sit in his recliner, tilted back, eyes drifting upward toward something only he could see in his mind's eye. I wonder now if he thought about the things that I think about. Maybe he did. And maybe, we are more connected than I ever thought possible. I wish I could ask him what he thought about, in those long hours sitting in his chair...

Would we really tell each other, honestly, what we thought about if asked? After all, the confines of our mind is the only real private place we have left, if you think about it. In this vast, technological age, a private thought or memory, even a controversial opinion, locked inside our mind is the only real safe place. Someday, we may even lose that luxury, though for now at least, I think we're safe.

The TarMan Cometh

Well, it's my favorite time of year once again. Then again, if you knew me then you'd know that every day is Halloween here. I just have an excuse to get creepier every October and blame it on the holiday. See what I did there? Works for me.

Anyway, I apologize if it always seems like I post about addiction, but well, it's my blog and I will if I want to. But, I have some plans coming up for the month, so this will be the last one for a while about my adventures in SmackLand. But I was thinking last night, after having a conversation with someone on Facebook about what opiate withdrawal is like and the best way to explain it to the lay person who's never laid track marks down that road.

I am a huge horror fan, most know this about me, but if you didn't, you know now. Especially vampires and zombies, who are, in effect, addicts themselves. The only diff is they like blood and brains, and we like the China White. Either way, we will suck the life out of ourselves, you, and everyone within in biting distance. But what I really got to thinking about was the movie, one of my all time favorites, "Return of the Living Dead". If you have never seen it, let me set it up for you in a real quick-like way: Two dimwits working at a medical supply company let their curiousity get the better of them, and go check out an Army tank in the basement that's stuffed with a rather nasty looking corpse, aptly named, TarMan (you will see the video soon to get the full on effect. Patience grasshoppers.) Well Moron #1 hits the side of the tank, this obnoxious gas comes blowing out into their faces, into the ventilation system, and out into Dimwit City. Oh, and of course, there is an appropriately placed cemetery across the street with a bunch of assholes partying in it (Incidentally, I was one of said assholes back in the day. I was always in a cemetery. Yes I'm morbid like that. I know). General mayhem ensues, raising the dead, and a whole lot of brain-chomping going on. In the meantime, Moron #1 and #2, though alive, are effected by said obnoxious gas and are effectively turned into one of the living dead, while still alive...are you following me here, or are you lost yet? Anyhoo, bottom line, they suffer through the stages of rigor mortis. It's a long and grueling process and in the end, the only thing that makes that pain go POOF is brrrrrrains.

Phew. Well, that's EXACTLY what opiate withdrawals feel like. I would imagine anyway. I've died, but never went through rigor mortis, but I can say I think I went through a form of it. A living hell. Many times (this dumbass didn't learn the first few several-teen times...sigh). You get all hot, then cold, your limbs get stiff and dizzy and all you can think of is either sawing your limbs off at the joint, or ending that pain with just a little prick of a needle. It really cannot be explained unless you've been through it. Most heroin addicts will tell you it's the worst.flu.ever. Yeah, a flu where you're 100% positive you are going to die (and pray and beg for it too).

These are the TRUE horrors of life, my friends. One of them anyway. It's not fantasy horror, or zombies shuffling outside your door, or vampires coming to call while you sleep. It's real life. It's scarier than the shit you see in movies. The monster you see is the one staring back at you from the mirror. People need to know this stuff. Kids need to know this stuff. Maybe, just maybe, if they knew the real deal, they wouldn't go all Curious George and get into some serious shit they may not make it out of. You don't have to get all graphic the way I did here, but you cannot, I repeat CANNOT, sugarcoat this stuff. It's life or death and it IS very real. And if you die, you will NOT be coming back as a cool-looking zombie to have Daryl Dixon pop a crossbow in your azz. Just.Not.Happening. Be well, my friends, be safe this Halloween season, and be responsible. More Halloweenie shit to come....

Enjoy this Return of the Living Dead music video. I still love this song....

June 21, 2012 (I couldn't think of anything catchier.)

Hello there. I'd have written sooner, but was focused on my other love, art. Anyhooo, just seconds before I began typing, I realized the topic I was going to discuss has been discussed by me before in a previous post. My memory frustrates me so; I can understand aging having an effect on it, but the other part is my own fault. (As always, Just Say No, kids.) But I don't dwell on it because what's done is done. I'm alive and I can continue being a pain in the ass to everyone around me.

So now I really don't have a topic, so I'll just let flow what comes to mind [insert your sarcastic joke here]. I sometimes get asked how I can be so positive all the time. It's as simple as this and doesn't take a whole blog to talk about but I'll try: You cannot possibly have died, in a physical and/or emotional sense, and come back being as miserable as you were prior to that event. Incidentally, I've done both. But that's not the point. The point is, once you realize that there is normally no going back from that, from death of the body or death of the spirit, and you look down at yourself and realize you made it, somehow, back to the living, that all the trivial things and bullshit just don't matter anymore. What matters is living, and doing so with gratitude and an open heart. I don't look for answers, I let them come to me. I don't waste my time wondering what if, I just LIVE. The gift of life is life itself. (Don't quote me on that last sentence, I think I ripped that off from something else I read. Again, memory....)

As I told someone in a private conversation this morning, I'm certainly not perfect; I have my days where murder seems like a better option. I still have trouble with...other people. But this is also why my circle is small, and close-knit. Because if I'm irritated by you then I just can't handle you and I choose not to. And the people I choose to surround myself with are also similarly positive people. And as someone close to me once told me long ago, you can't hang around with dogs and expect not to get fleas. Touche. And it's the absolute truth. There is peace in true happiness, you just have to be willing to work for it. It's not easy letting go of certain people, or things, but it is absolutely essential if all they can manage to do is rain on your parade. My life is all about me, and I'm certainly not going to let anyone, or anything, take what I deserve away from me.

As the mighty Metallica sang in their song, Escape, "Life's for my own to live my own way." Mmm hmm.

Now to practice my urban slang...Peace out. Until next time. Enjoy this little ditty while you're at it.

Happy Healthy Human

Well hello there. Yes, it's been a minute or two since I last blogged, but I've been busy. Happy to say that my life is pretty full today, with positive things. I don't think this post will be about one topic in particular today; I think I'm just going to pour my thoughts out for this one, more like a journal entry. So, let's get started.....

A lot has passed since I was here last - my one year clean and sober anniversary passed on February 18, my Mom finished her chemotherapy and radiation treatments, and I still have, and love, my job. There's so much positivity in my life today, and I like to keep it that way. Even if something bad happens, I try to see the good that can come out of it. In doing so, it keeps my mind and my spirit in balance.

I used to think that people who were happy all the time were sickening. Funny how my outlook has changed. I realize now that my mind at that time was in a not-so-good place, and what really bothered me about happy people was the very fact that they were happy. I think I was jealous of that on some level and wanted so desperately to be like them. Suffice to say, that I've finally reached that level, through hard work and a total overhaul in my thought process. Really, I always have been a happy-go-lucky kind of girl, but the difference between then and now is that I'm not hiding behind any masks. Not so long ago, I put on a "happy face" just to hide the darkness inside so no one would see that I was really suffering. Today, I truly am comfortable and content with who I am and the place that I'm in. No more masks; just being me, whether I'm in a good mood or a bad mood. I'm not as afraid to let my emotions show for the world to see. After all, even the sadness is part of who I am, and there's no reason in the world that I should hide it from anyone. None that I can see anyway.

I used to think a lot of things actually, but my perspective has changed so much in the last year or so, that I would need to write a few posts to discuss them all. So I will save those topics for another time. The bottom line is that my goal in life today is to not only be happy, but to make my world and our world a better place, or at least try my damnedest to make it that way. So far, so good on making myself happy. Unfortunately, I think the rest of the world is going to take a little more work.

I am by no means claiming to be perfect. I still cuss like a sailor, I can still be opinionated and judgemental at times, and I still over-obsess on a lot of different things, which is usually activities that stimulate my "gotta have it now" nature. Not drugs or drink, obviously, but things like my various hobbies. Because when I over-obsess, nothing else gets done, like housework. But I try to be self-aware of those things, especially the opinionated and judgemental part of my life. I can honestly say that if and when I do that now, it is unconsciously done, or at least at that moment, but hopefully, I will catch myself later so that I can correct it in the future. Because I know from personal experience, and I know everyone can relate to this, that I've been judged and it doesn't feel very nice. In fact, it feels very icky. I try to live with the attitude that everyone has a story. If I do not know that story and have not walked in that person's shoes, then who am I to judge them? It's a simple concept really and I wish that I'd have practiced that my entire life. But, better late than never. As with anything else, I can only move forward.

Well, I know this was kind of short, but I at least wanted to say, "Hey, I'm still alive over here!" and let those of you who do read my blog know that I am most definitely doing well, and trying to live my life in happier and healthier ways than in the not so far off past. I owe it to myself, and to my loved ones around me, to be the best person that I can be and never look back. I strive every day to reach my fullest potential as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and human being.

File Cabinets and Poetry In Motion

Recently, my 11 year old son explained to me how he remembers things: he keeps "file cabinets" in his head, labeled under various events or things, and visits those file cabinets whenever he needs to. Besides constantly amazing me, he had a point. Our memories, special events, education, life events and whatever else is important is neatly filed away in the file cabinets of our complicated brains to reference anytime we need to. Some of us forget where we kept shit and it takes years to find it, but it never goes away, it's always there. Waiting.

I am repetitive by nature, and much to my dismay and others around me, my memory has only gotten worse over the years, mostly due to chemical influence. So if I ever tell you a story for the billionth time, please have patience. I promise you'll still love me. Maybe. But the whole file cabinet theory reminded me of the years I suppressed my genetically-given "gifts" (my Mom would probably say God-given, and that's cool, but I prefer to think of it as the trickle-down DNA, talent-by-injection method) and had to dig pretty deep to find out what they were and rediscover the true me. Though my self-consciousness does not usually allow me to say "gifts" or "talents"; deeply woven negativity can take a lifetime to break. I prefer to see them as my unique way of expressing the goop that takes up my big brain. Big brain as in All The Crap Up There, not big brain as in highly intelligent. I'm not a dumbass, but I'm no genius either. I just need outlets to manage the goop, that's all.

So, I've probably said this before, but creative inspiration for me usually happens when I'm about to go to sleep. It's annoying as hell but I figure it's payback for suppressing it chemically for so long. Karma is a bitch my friends, and the cosmic irony is just too hilarious to stay annoyed. At least I get the inspiration; if not, I wouldn't be sitting here or doing everything else that I do as an "artist". Anyhoo, this brings me to my next sub-topic, poetry. Most who know me have heard me say, probably a dozen or more times (repetitive, remember?), how I pretty much loathe poetry. Save for the poetry of songs and Edgar Allan Poe (duh, of course), it just isn't my cup of tea. However, about 2 years ago, I starting getting what I call creative "flashes" of poetry in my mind that just ate at me until I have to get it down on paper, or here, as it may be. Why? I have no clue. But when something picks at my brain and I can't sleep, I have to release it, whether it's poetry, just a regular blog, or my art. I don't know if it's good, or even somewhat decent, I just get it out. The chips just fall where they may. I release it to the world, and then you can be the judge. But more importantly, I release it from one of my dusty file cabinets, usually labeled either "suffering" or "randomness". So without further ado, here is the latest goop that oozed from my brain last night at midnight. It is untitled. Enjoy...or not.

A river of pain runs through these holes
In my heart and my soul -
Running crimson down blackened stones,
Staining trails of tortured time; a well-worn path
To the prison in my mind.

I am only a number here;
Scarlet-lettered skin scorched by peers.
The ashes of my dreams scattered -
Smeared as if they didn't matter.

What they didn't ask or want to know
Is my beauty as a whole.
But a blind eye will crucify;
Left alone in Hell to remain
Until all my redemption drains
Through these holes of pain.

AJW 11/6/11

Until You've Walked A Mile

Under a bridge huddled close
Ice cold from fingers to toes
Watching strangers pass him by
Fighting off the urge to cry.

She sits on the bus next to you
Wondering if that some day soon
She'll have the strength to make a stand
Against her boyfriend's brutal hand.

The child who sits all alone
Left to play on his own
All he wants is just one friend
And all the constant bullying to end.

The old woman with her silent stare
Time and wisdom streaked through her hair
Her children who long ago forgot their mother
She's too old and frail, why even bother?

Every day there are souls who suffer
A friend, a stranger, a sister, a brother
They hide behind a well-worn mask
Perhaps not knowing whose help to ask.

A kind word, a helping hand
Goes a long way in the end
If we all looked for a moment at each other
We see our blood is all the same color.

Do not look on the actions of others
Judging books by their covers
You'd want others to do the same
Even when you hide your pain.

Would it hurt for once to say
To a stranger, "Have a good day"?
A nod, a hug, a smile
Judge not, until you've walked a mile.

Sister

With half my life now over
The second half lay ahead
The time is now to open my heart
And confess those things unsaid.

The one that I resented
Whose words I wouldn't hear
Taught me the most important lesson:
Honesty is not something you fear.

When someone truly cares
They'll tell you the truth, indeed
Not glossed over or sugar-coated
It's not what you want; it's what you need.

For years I did not understand
The thought behind the words
So anger bred resentment
And the darkness within emerged.

Either time stands still or flies on by
And the warmest heart turns black
You blind yourself to reality
Never realizing there's no turning back.

Then one day you do discover
Your life's been standing still
And in that moment of crystal clarity
It's a humble, yet bitter pill.

Hard I fought against you
I thought the truth was lies
But in the end I saw myself reflected
Back at me from your eyes.

For every one finger I pointed
And passed the blame to thee
There were three more fingers in that fist
Pointing directly back at me.

The truth may hurt so deeply
The scars may mark your soul
But the tricky part is learning
When to let them go.

So now I look back in life
And know that it was you
That tried to show me all the while
To thine own self be true.

My sister is a soul mate
Not just family but a friend
Who will even save you from yourself
From now until time ends.