Pillar Talk

There is no better place to test one’s coping toolkit than in a crisis. Conveniently, I happen to be in one of the familial variety, which as indicated by previous posts, is an ongoing, developing and mutating issue. I’m near to this unfurling destructive situation, with no hope of achieving the proximity of safety due to the bonds of conscience. The variables causing the conflict are also unstoppable in their perspective; aligning them to a path that only leads to a continuation of trauma while the gap between the energies seems destined for concussive retaliation.

I’ve been surviving in this environment by figuring out what expectations I need to have rather than wish I had, and living wisely within my means. I know I’m only going to be able to relate to them on a limited set of issues, and the window they see me through is made smaller by my accommodation rather than personal obstinance. I’ve learned where I need to have my own strength, because depending on an external source is much less stable. My parents don’t know any other way: mom can’t be strong on her own as she’s dependent on him for her consistency, stability, assurance of survival… she has no mutual or self-imposed logic, discipline or interest in a healthy conversation aimed at a resolution.

It’s sad to have to “defend” oneself against loved ones, but I have a history of instigating and now enduring situations of high emotional volatility. I have a talent for knowing when I am in a sound moral position (promoting radiant strength) having not been so on many regrettable occasions. It is sad to see the deterioration of more than just their physical selves; the very fabric of what used to make them strong has been torn and continues to unravel as they insist on stretching without strengthening it. The result is that I end up being alone and introspective for my own benefit, knowing the details of my process might as well be Japanese to them.

Acceptance of things that will not change has been hugely instrumental in helping me focus my energy on things that I can have some sway over. My priorities are healthier, my expectations (if any) are realistic and I am keenly aware of my own interpersonal mechanics as I improve in handling stress and conflict within myself.

I still see myself, as a 15 – 17 year old man, effusing, erupting, devastating my environment with my uncontrolled emotional irregularities. I used to get so full of rage, and I would cast it out to everyone in my proximity, unfiltered, unregulated, uncontrolled. The long-term repercussions of that become clear, along with the burden of inflicted catastrophe on the clean white sheet of morality. I got tired of that way, the turmoil, the imbalance.

The reach of my gravity is minuscule in this place, like Io at aphelion, hoping it’s going to move Jupiter closer to it with a good yank. However, it’s always just going to be a tiny little blip in the orbit of something much too large to be influenced. Sometimes, it’s best to just let gravity take you around and worry about having a clear path to do so.

I don’t have the best coping tools either, mind you. I’m drinking a little more, smoking a little more, just slightly disconnecting myself from this place. It’s agony when the air is full of hate like this, and I’m trapped in here most of the time, too fearful of the environment to be free. It’s not the healthiest way, I know. I’m not perfect by any means, but I am going to survive.

25th

Arbitrary as it may be, today is a period of celebration for many. I spent mine with family, sharing in the festivities prescribed. Though, the paradigm shows its flaws at regular intervals, the 25th being no exception.

There are plenty of things to be frustrated by just floating around out there in and around our lives. I’ve tried to focus my frustrations on things I design to change rather than be needlessly stressed trying to address things I can’t. Still though, I find time to pound my skull against the concrete despite all my good intent. Reality is undeniable if viewed honestly.

All the good from today was a frothy mug. I feel all full of bubbles and food, which, now that I write it, doesn’t seem like a wonderful thing even though it is.

One thought keeps passing through me: how to cap this fountain of emotion surging from underneath? Can I ever just eradicate her from my concerns? Is there a file I can delete and cripple the program from running? Stupid sounding thoughts are conceived in a turbulent environment, and give away their absurdity when scrutinized.

No answers. No more new words or peace. No absolution, only the shattered mirror of imperfect memory. I haven’t turned my sadness into hate, because I know there is no satisfaction there… only a burning within that consumes all that stoked it to frenzy and carried it forward.

Just like a phoenix, there can still be rebirth even after the fire has burned through seemingly everything. I believe in that fully, even though I did not experience that situation personally. I have that shard of glowing hope inside where I see her wings burst forth from the soot of her spent rage. Life finds a way to be lived despite our best intentions sometimes.

As the new year approaches, I am now wondering how I will rise out of my own metaphorical sludge to a more liberated and compassionately introspective state. There is no end to the future possible advancements in self care, as far as I can see.

Merry Christmas to you all.

Eve

Despite all my subsurface emotional turbulence illustrated in recent posts, I’m doing quite well mentally this Christmas Eve night. Family, love, smiles and laughter all through the dinner hour. Food, football and memories formed as a result.

I look back in my thoughts, but have eyes for the future. There is more brightness in the upcoming horizon than there ever will be looking back for candle light in the darkness. It’s not the stylish version of emotional distress as illustrated in pop culture, but it is true nonetheless.

My life isn’t full of drama; I know very well where I am going. It’s not up for debate really, but it is a discussion worth having anyway. Expression is coping, and doing honor to those feelings that are strong enough to be present. As improbable as it may sound, this balanced dichotomy IS me rather than is rending me asunder.

I am proud, and reflective as well. This is what being complex and human is all about, I imply through demonstration. Learning, growing, changing. I don’t dwell in the sadness, I embrace it and move forward. No upwelling emotion goes unacknowledged; no memory avoids the light of revelation. I miss her, and I’m also fine without her.

I know, I’m bipolar and yet you don’t see me retreating to one end of the spectrum in indignation or denial. I just think I’ve found a better way.

On this night, I remember, and then, I go to sleep. Goodnight to whispers, memories and promises.

6 Years

How much time is quantifiably “enough?” How long SHOULD things take… or how long do we want them to last? Time is happening, but, I find, individual perceptions of it vary greatly. Including my own, within my own life.

I found something on the internet while clinging desperately hope and scouring for words and images of my past. I found some text and read it, from 6 years ago on Christmas… It was the spark of something powerful, frozen in time). A check-in from a previously unremembered interval that seems now more like decades ago. My chronologic sense of this period, not the same as memory, is vastly different from the actual measured steps of days recorded. Things were accelerating towards a peak in these words, glowing and radiant. I feel far removed from parallels or similarity now, but the hurt of it is still near…

What I think my askew sense of time shows is that it doesn’t take long for our lives to change. In the years since that note, I’ve fundamentally reprioritized, changed professions, passions, goals, and embraced a new reality that works for equilibrium in my present environment. I look back and both sigh with awe, and swallow hard knowing what dark days lie ahead. When I reflected, I thought about how many things I had yet to learn, and how fundamental a reboot I would receive in the years to come.

During the decay after that peak, things seemed agonizingly drawn-out, but smeared and indiscernible, like grease on drywall. Such distant turbulence is hard to accurately document with memory, but little glimmers like this one remind me that, regardless of outcome, it started the right way. I had forgotten, but the origin was well intended, innocent, pure, impulsive and magnetic. It was like a dream, but I didn’t work nearly enough to make sure it stayed beautiful, and we fell into decay.

A gift from the past, but one that carries the weight and responsibility of reality. I am a creepy stalker asshole whatever to go sniffing around… but my heart is broken and I don’t have enough ways of coping that channel my emotions productively, apparently. I look for her words somewhere out there, with an ill-fated desire seeking an alternative reality that doesn’t exist. I know it isn’t hiding on some website, waiting to be found, which rends me even more. There is no end, only an ongoing state of realized, unrequited incompleteness… and our remembered laughter echoes down the long hallway of time, reaching my ears as little more than screams.

I must resolve of my own accord, and in a time that suits me best.

Reconcile

A great deal of pain comes from this place of knowing there is no way to heal the gaping wound wrought by past trauma. No matter how badly I desire the bridge of communication to be passible, it isn’t. No dawn in the future, only a lingering dusk just after light has been sniffed out.

Once a thing is broken, the only choice has been to destroy it completely. Once a stain appears, the whole is forfeit. This absolutism deprives one of the responsibility of repair, or repurposed use. I scrap only what is irreparable, and despite the portents of death, there are still some damaged, tattered things I believe in.

Figuring out what to do with this has been a struggle for me. I am powerless, in the dark and unable to find a safe way out. The constant reminder of my previously earned solitude hangs on me like a bundle of meaning over my shoulder. I long so desperately, yet don’t exude and effuse in my daily life. This torment stays almost entirely within, in a place it can be kept away from contaminating the rest.

I’m pretty sure this is indefinitely ongoing. My future filled with the anger of years carried on across the plain like a ceaseless thunderstorm. All the while the wind and rain, I keep hoping.

J Sequence

Her face was here again. This time, her cuteness expressed in toy-batting playful behavior and boisterousness. I remember most keenly that she was with some friends of mine she never knew, captured in home video handheld camera nostalgia. In a booth at the restaurant, they gathered for a lunch that had and will not ever take place.

Earlier, I was delivering a sermon, saying “hosannah in the highest” and “praise be to God” before a massive crowd of soldiers with spears and axes. They waived their weapons of war and cheered in their clanking armor.

Some of my friends were doing a stage play before the sermon, which pleased the soldiers greatly. My friends were dressed is little old men in white robes and had little candle holders in their hands. They all three scooted out into the stage barefoot while a man in a gold cape tried to reach out and grab them from the wings while I held on to his flappy and tattered cape.

J looked beautiful. Her hair was kinda poofy, like she had styled it. She was on video playing with a keychain toy the dentist gave her in his office, then eating food at a restaurant with my old friends, mentioned earlier. She was eating a plantain it looked like, and the food she was attempting to conquer was too big to fit in her mouth. She laughed at the situation in that joyous way she does.

There was fire burning the land earlier, before J was anywhere. My old home had been reduced to ash as I saw from above. The fire was still burning over a few ridges. Smoke billowing up into the blue sky.

It wasn’t just me watching J, my whole family was there gathered around the TV of my childhood home. We were commenting on how cute she was and that she didn’t know she was on camera. My mom laughed while J spun the little keychain around on her finger as her eyes chased the toy, spinning around in the air.

At that moment, even though a screen and distance divided us from each other, I knew she was still a fit in this family, and a part of us somehow.

Waking up alone and too early, I wonder quietly if she is out there somewhere thriving, living a new life that is entirely her own. Once she flew away, I could not see. I do not know, or truly want to know, because there is no reality comparable to the one I’m in when I sleep.

Solstice

The days are growing again, slowly, coming to bear full as we travel around and around that big yellow thingie. We have been pointed at darkness for long enough, I say.

I’m hoping not to dream anymore. Rips are forming in my canvas, and the formerly delightful introspective brush set seems to paint only in black. It is this dark hour, when cuddling up by a warm seem the most honest if truths, that I mourn. I yearn, pointlessly.

The sun is coming. From out the shadows, it is blooming, growing. Radiating. I wish for that return to the hissing summer ghosts on the dry wind. The far away pollen smells of distant places, deep wet mountains and trees gulping in and breathing out.

Maybe this is it. Maybe not. It’s better to be prepared to deal with a difficult outcome than to be surprised by it. I can be surprised by all sorts of other things, but not calamity.

Down to the last few days before Christmas. Family, friends, fire… and freaking huge buds. Beer, bread and BADDA BOOM! We do know how to have a good time.

I do t think anyone is getting in the circle now. Not anyone new. It’s just too late.