Navigating Solutions and Darkness

“But sometimes a hypocrite is nothing more than a person who is in the process of changing.” -           Dalinar Kholin, Oathbringer (Stormlight Archive #3) by Brandon Sanderson Imagine if you will, the scene of the Robert Frost poem The Road Not Taken. Two roads, diverging in a yellow wood. Now imagine a signpost pointing towards the road less travelled, saying “Take this road, ya morons.” And imagine that the other road is well paved and lined with lush grass, wish shops and stops and the promise of beautiful sights along the way. And the person that just finished putting up the sign picks up his toolkit and walks away – along the road more travelled. What do you do, as a young seventeen or eighteen year old, unexposed to the world, shoulders heavy with the weight of your own insecurities? This was how it felt, to be a student in my former university. Now, I am a literal person. If a signboard tells me to go one way, I go t...

"Hey, gorgeous girl," he texts in reply to my "Hi." It's never just a "Hey," never just "Sup?", it's always an embellished, over the top message that seems to bathe me in glorious comfort... for about half a second. And it's not that he's a bad person. Everything about him - the way he speaks to me, the way he acts around me - it's all overly lavish, like he's found someone special, and needs to be sure to tell them so. But I've gotten very  good at reading people over the years, or so it seems. At least when I'm not willfully blinding myself to somebody's faults and assuring myself that they would never   do that -- (happened once,  folks, it won't happen again.) So I asked myself what made me uncomfortable about being showered in praise about my looks and the way I made someone feel. Ultimately, it wasn't that much of a puzzler. If you were to ask him who I am, he'd be able to tell you tha...

Talking about an underage girl who kept having sex-chats with strangers on the internet, and coming to the conclusion that what she was basically looking for was validation - a context that immediately placed her actions in a far more understandable light. Ahh, validation, the very bane of my existence. Saw a tweet today that said that the best thing you could do to help someone with borderline personality disorder is to give them validation, and yeah, I relate to that hard. To me, it feels like a thing that costs nothing to give out, but which seems to be withheld anyway. And then, when it's withheld, I read that action as being spiteful - because what does it cost someone to just say that, yes, my feelings are valid, my reading of the situation is valid. But, hey, everybody has their own reasons, and most people probably feel as trapped by their emotional makeup as I do by mine, so the healthiest thing to do is cut losses. If only cutting losses were so simple. When you...

I wrote this to submit to a Pain Poetry contest but I didn't end up doing that because why do things that intimidate you when you can just indulge in maladaptive daydreaming, right?

So I'm sitting here with Blogger open, eyeing the stats on the last post and thinking about writing something, while also watching Set It Up on Netflix (thank you, limited attention span...) And I suddenly think about work and notice the time and there it goes again - that jolt in my stomach. After a panic attack that lasted a full day, there was bound to be a little left over, right? And I couldn't help it - I threw my head back  and yelped. Nothing scary, but I guess it sounded enough like a cat's growl of frustration. Because the next thing I know, Ventus is jumping from the dresser to my bed. I picked him up like he's a big, furry baby (which he is - my big furry baby), and I looked into his big yellow eyes, and just... The way he looks at me, there's nothing like it in the whole wide world. The way he's only too happy to snuggle into my hugs, the way he licks my face, the way he blinks... There can never be too many kisses if they are for mommy. The k...

I remember... I remember the sun smiling down on the bends in the road, and the rain tickling our faces. We drove on towards a sweet uncertainty, knowing only that this has been the best afternoon, the best afternoon.  It started when I made a call. I fixed my teeth and fixed my hair. And somewhere behind the fatigue in my eyes danced a little girl, her irrepressible joy marking what would be the best afternoon, the best afternoon. The food hung heavy on my tongue, and rested gently in my belly. Our chatter spoke of people and places long lost to me. Of pain from far away, and above all, of home, of home.  Pride and joy took turns to exult. My skin no longer burned in the fires of consciousness. It was enough that I was enough and far more, more than enough. For on that day, I was the best afternoon, the best afternoon. We laughed and spoke of stranger things. I forgot how the city was afire around me. The flames spiked with the spitefulness of memory still reached...

What words a-wasted lie  As I fight for breath and sleep  What silence chokes the air  As a war is fought/ Twixt  Bad choices/ No win in sight  Branded either way  No patience lies  And fear is in the air  Exhaustion/ Short drop Sudden stop/ End of line  Temptation curves/ The edge  Of my vision blurring  Easy enough/ To lay back, let It pass/ But be! Good citizen Good employee/ Even though  Your contributions go Up in smoke/ Now be! The right thing, the right thing Be! Derided though you tried As melody rolls through  I feel knots relaxing/ Eyes  Closing/ Sympathy and love  Flowing by/ And I with it  Yet here/ Dark seeds  Of guilt flowering/ Taking root  Growing tall/ Enough to rip  Through my brain/ Turn  Eyes jellylike/ I pray  That pain does recede/ Pray That certainty does return