The wolf would like a word

On padded feet of deathly stillness she stalks, only ebon claws faintly click on tiled floors, betray.  Great gray green eyes that show a range of depth no animal could ever obtain cast a rage filled gaze forth.

So much anger. So much hurt.

We are conglomerate of loosely fitted pieces, so jagged they often cut one another.  This is not alien to you, not after all this time. Yet how easy a semblance of stability is to take for granted.  How easy it is to forget a certain level of fragility.

The wolf judges you with her stare, a condemnation that passes through every one of her ink black hairs. She shimmers with it. You know how hard it is for us, yet, you don’t, not really.


You forgot us.  We make no demands.  Only ask, this one little thing…to not to be forgotten.

The wolf bristles in response to our pain. She is a fury that under your wordless decree we are not allowed to express.

We must accept that we may be forgotten. Overlooked. An afterthought.  But the wolf doesn’t forget.

(*It can be so very hard to be one’s own safety net.  All things to ones self.  My net has a me sized hole in it today.  So mend and hope it holds next time.)


It’s always been there

I just can’t always tell.

There is a hole inside me, a screaming abyss, where the winds shriek like banshees mourning.

A good friend of mine, well my best friend actually truth be told, says there isn’t a hole. But it is the most accurate way for me to describe the crying ‘absence’ of center;  the missing core of self that I don’t usually pay any attention to. Or dare I say ‘we’ don’t usually pay any attention to. All are we, we are all and they are me. Whoever is ‘at the wheel’ at the time, it’s all me, just not cohesively.

I realize now what it is, the representation of my ambiguous identity.  The fact that I am not ‘whole’ in the sense of tied together by a focal Identity. I am many and in times of higher than usual stress I am keenly aware of it.  As I am of the emptiness that can’t be filled. It is the worst kind of torture to know there is nothing that can be done, but wait. It hurts so much and I really don’t think it’s going to go away any time soon.

I can’t come apart.  I won’t come apart.  But the suffering is so much bullshit.

Small confession time, and I’m sure this won’t surprise any one who may read this.  I want to disassociate, but there is no honor in leaving the weak ones to suffer alone.  So tooth and nail, I hold it together.


and I am grateful for the stubbornness that helps me do it.  Because honey, it’s not strength.

Nightmares, so many nightmares

And in my sleep….He was so indifferent to my fears, treating me as though they did not matter.  As though I did not matter.  They came wave upon wave of them; chasing, reaching for me with their infected hands.  The one person I could trust, I could no longer trust. So I ran, alone and terrified.

Just the kind of nightmares that play into my already suffocating paranoia.  Thanks Brain, just what I fucking needed.  Plus the lack of rest is definitely not helpful in combination with this nasty cough.


Fuck you Paranoia, Fuck you

Last few days has been filled with an over the top ridicules amount of paranoia mixed with a heady dose of abandonment fears.  It is so god damned frustrating, I want to talk it out, to lay it to rest.

BUT I don’t want to agitate, irritate or stir up any bullshit up through the act of addressing it.  Because even though I know its irrational, that does nothing to take the teeth out of it.

Nor does it reduce the reaction of others when I try to talk to them about it.  It starts with all this self hate boiling up inside. Thoughts that whisper like a roar; ” Of course they only invite me along because they think you won’t come without me.  They don’t actually want me here. They don’t like me. You will leave me behind because I will grow too tiresome for you to put up with…” It goes on, again,again,again.  Over and over.

F:”What makes you think that?”  (and I think I hear anger there in that voice as the question hits me) Me: “Twisted perceptions of tone, circumstances and behavior or others. Yet it’s so real, I swear, I can barely tell when I’m imaging it.”

Like walking a bloody mind field over something I have no control over and that is making me utterly miserable.


I try and swallow it, bury it, stuff it down. Unfortunately it is having none of it and attempting to ignore it is only increasing it’s potency and the level of anxiety I am experiencing because of it. There is just no fucking way to win with this.


and The electric chair was invented by a dentist. which has nothing to do with anything, but maybe it will end this on an odd note.


So I completely suck at grief (lots of swearing, not sorry)

First let me just say, it doesn’t matter how true or accurate, fuck the 5 or 7 or however fucking many “stages” of grief there are.  As if such a messy emotion could be boiled down into parts.  Fuck that. (but hey if the stages thing works for you in a useful wholesome way, then please stop reading here)

It isn’t stages, or phases, or any of that shit.  It simply is and I’ve been using this quote a lot lately (fucking Robert Frost) “The best way out is always through”.  Society strives so hard to make everything into convenient packages, numbered lists, etc. The idea that grief is supposed to look a certain way, well that is bullshit.

So if there was any wonder as to how I’m doing, well I’m doing.  Past couple weeks have been tear-less surreal for the most part.  Then last night, it just seems like everyone is talking about Dads, Death and combinations of both lately.  I can’t help the tears, and the buzzing of loss in my head.

I know it’s one of those fucked up things where it probably isn’t happening as often as I think, its just I’m so painfully aware.  I am so envious of everyone who can still talk to their Dad get to hear him answer.  I mean I’m still talking my Pop but his voice is gone with the rest of him. Along with his laughter, that was contagious, my Dad’s laugh.

Anyway, I live a life full of emotional turmoil, but most of it is not based in anything ‘real’. That is to say my brain is a shit and likes to kick up all the sad making, anger making and generally shitty feeling making chemicals on a pretty regular basis.  Just because it feels like it (fuck you brain)

But this, grief, well it’s not like that.  It doesn’t feel anything like the usual “my brain is an asshole bio chem dump”.  It is far and away so much worse, infinitely more painful. Which in turn kind of makes me mad.  I guess that is simply how it works, for me.

That’s the thing all those people touting the stages of grief seem incapable or unwilling to allow and that is that EVERYONE grieves differently.  Also they may not grieve the same for every person they lose.  Each situation is unique, and it’s own special kind of hell (or challenge, or trial). One step forward, two steps back.

So today I will cry again, and do my best to be present as much as I can, but damn it hurts.

I love you Dad, I hope you know just how much.  and fuck

I miss you.


Sometimes its like the hole just gets deeper

And there is no way out.

I lost my Dad.  He was taken out of my life by some negligent fuck.  Who I also feel sorry for; because if that guy has any soul at all he is going to suffer with the knowledge that he killed someone. 

So depression. Pain. Guilt. Remorse. Grief.

And now
My Mom’s brother,  my uncle is in the hospital with organ failure and sepsis.  He wont last much longer.

I can’t even…

Fuck this.

But my Uncle he’s been bucking for death ever since his wife died a couple years ago. Just why the fuck now

Haven’t we lost enough this season.  Hasn’t there been enough reaping this harvest.