Patience

I keep trying to write here but recently I have been struggling to write at all.
I’ve had to start some medication that leaves me in a fog, dazed and stupid. I can’t focus on much of anything for more than five minutes and my inspiration has dried up.

I keep hoping I will push through it and get back to a place where I read and write regularly. But so far I haven’t managed to make it there.

So I’m writing this more or less just to write something. Anything. Just trying to shake the creative juices loose or get something moving again. With any luck at all I will start to see some positive effect from my medication and get back to where I am writing more. That is the ultimate goal in all of this. Improve the situation. Move my life forward again.

In the mean time, I have no idea what to say. I have a million fractured thoughts that would make brilliant starts to stories, poems or songs. But I can’t follow any of them. I chase these pieces like wisps of smoke. I can see them, I’m almost certain I should be able to reach them. But they slide through my fingers tips, insubstantial.

It’s a frustrating feeling, seeing so much potential that I just can’t make real. Fighting for a hold on something that use to be more readily present to me. But here I sit, ready to punch my monitor in frustration as I fumble words I’ve always managed so easily. I reread words I’ve written and hate them, seeing constant misspellings and errors in grammar or words missing entirely.

But still I try. I won’t let circumstance take my writing from me. And sooner or later, whether through adaptation or sheer force of will, I will see myself writing again. The process is just time.

Patience. Patience in all things. You can’t rush life, so to I must not rush health. Til then, I hope for the patience from others that I have failed to have with myself.

In the Absence of Silence

Can I speak about the absence of silence
How the emptiness just seems so loud
When there’s no one around
And it’s just me I’ve found
That the screams and the laughs are profound

Can I tell you about what I’m hearing
What the faces without souls have said
When they tear through my head
All my thoughts held by thread
Believe me, you’d be better off dead

They joke and they mock and they shame them
The people we all know tell lies
Now the green eyes are leering
And her face is still screaming
And nothing is left to surprise

How strange, how strange
How the silence can go on for days
And the green eyes keep laughing
As their faces pass by me
And nothing is ever the same

They stare and they hover around me
And question everything you say
Don’t doubt I believe you
But the voices they see you
In new and impossible ways

And they come to me in all of my dreams
They rattle and prattle and shake
All I don’t know
They make sure to show
Me every last little mistake

How strange, how strange
The monsters seem so uncaged
But the green eyes keep laughing
And she just looks past me
And nothing can ever change

And they speak in perfect inflection
I hear every word that they say
They say “Always remember
They aren’t worth the fear
And you can only trust us anyways”

“Are we really so different
Deep down you don’t really think so
You’re here forever
Just like me you never
Get to be your own soul”

“And tell me you don’t see the truth here
It’s not like we’re so amiss
You think like I think
All the terrible dark things
You are why I can exist”

How strange, how strange
How the devil is so engaged
Perhaps you are just the
buried subconscious
of a mind that’s not gone where it needs

We do our best to ignore them
Despite their constant jeers
But we just can’t quite shake them
In the silence they’ve taken
They very best of all our years

Until there’s nothing left here

Until we aren’t worth all the tears

Personal Truth is Hell

I’ve started this post more times that I can count over the course of more than 24 hours and I’m still not sure I have the right things to say what all is going through my head.

For very many years I have worked so hard to dedicate myself to the notion of truth. Not just facts, but truth. It’s hard for people to understand the difference sometimes, but fact is what simply is. It can be proven by numerous independent groups. Truth can be relative. Personal.
And I have fought to be able to see the fact, but also recognize personal truth in my interactions. You can’t maintain personal or social relationships without acknowledging personal truth.

And that can be hard. Because personal reality doesn’t have to line up with factual reality. And sometimes deciding which is more important can be hard. The capacity to face dozens or hundreds of separate realities and keep them all in the right place and order is insane. But I try.

I don’t always find the right balance. I tend to err on the side of pointing out fact and statistical probability. And this can be harsh and cold. Part of the reason is that I can’t understand how other people feel. I can guess and I can adjust based on who I see them being. And I like to think I’m good at that. But I can’t always cater well to personal truth. Despite my determination to always recognize and support truth.

In the last eight months I have had to question my personal reality more than a few times. I’ve realized that despite my determination to never lie to myself or accept a cover story to make tragedy easier, that I have actively ignored fact to accept what I wanted. And I was wrong.

I convinced myself that something that wasn’t true or factual was in fact real. I broke one of my cardinal rules. Don’t believe it’s true. Consider everything.

I want so badly to believe that I can find a relationship of any kind where I can just accept what I hear as truth and reality. Not just carefully constructed words to create a situation favorable to the person speaking them regardless of the other people around them. I want to believe that mind games don’t have to be a part of every interaction. But every time I find myself trusting someone I also find myself cheated or tricked.

It’s natural to subconsciously alter our behavior to create a favorable outcome. Everyone wants to be on the winning side. I pursue that sometimes at the expense of the people I care about. Because a core part of who I am is based around my ability to be the smarter and more capable person.

Physically I am broken. I am crippled and suffer from chronic fatigue and pain. I have fought off two decades of illness that no doctor will help me with. And so I have relied on my mind to stand out, to be successful.

A couple of years ago I began exhibiting sever mental illnesses. This has terrified me because I feel like I am only as good as my mind. And mental illness takes that way from me. If I lose that then I am worthless. Just another broken, crazy, useless man who will never be more than a medicated, slowly dying ass.

I’ve always been good at telling people how things will work out. I’ve studied and enjoyed behavioral psychology so I am good at reading what people do and why. In the last eight months I have been gloriously, massively wrong in my own life. Repeatedly.

I’ve trusted people who played me. Even people I was told constantly not to trust. I’ve been wrong. And if I can’t see what’s in front of me how can I be useful to anyone else?
I understand logically that I can’t be blamed for missing things. Everyone wants to believe that are worth being loved and important to other people. But I can’t shake the personal truth that I am better than that. I lied to myself, actively ignored factual reality to give myself something I wanted. And in the end I got burnt for it.

Factual reality is a cold, lonely place. Personal reality is so fluid and not close to fact. I just can’t find that balance.

And the harder I try to pursue the factual reality the fewer people I have around me. I can’t connect with people well because of that. But I can’t accept personal reality over fact.

If I stop counting the facts I just become the joker and no matter how hard I try Ill only be played by harley. I’ll just be an idiot. I won’t be the¬†wizard. I’ll just be the asshole.

No matter how many blue lights I hear I can’t ignore the demons. The lights only seem to lie.

So I am a broken, dark asshole. But Im not accepting the lie just to make myself feel better. I may lose more people over it, but I can’t live the lie forever.
No matter what happens I will always get the factual truth. I can’t avoid it no matter how much more appealing the lie is.

Everything says “He died doing the right thing”. That’s not true. The fate is more like “He died ignoring the lie”. Cause someone will kill me for pointing out facts. Sarcastically cause I’m a dick.

I’ll stop here before I say something else I’m sure will be too much later.

**Please ignore what I am just going to assume are the many spelling and grammatical errors here. I have had a few to many drinks. Sorry to a certain mermaid, there is nothing left to smash but an empty bottle. I’ll make it up by making more empty bottles to smash. Cheers**

Beloved Pieces (Fictional Rambling)

This isn’t what I expected.

I figured that a real mental break would be accompanied by fear and pain and hysteria. That’s how it always looks in the movies, right? People pushed to the very limits of their ability to endure stress or pain and then a SNAP and they go psycho.

And don’t get me wrong, I have had my fair share of stress and pain. And some of it took me to the edge of what I had endured before. But the result here was rather anti-climatic so far.

Let me back up a bit so you understand. I hear things. Things that aren’t there. Voices in my head that don’t belong to anything but the fears and unresolved trauma that is me. I also hear the spirits of magic. The distinction is a fun one to make most days. But I think I have done a decent job before today.

Oh but today…today was not a good day. It’s not like anything went wrong really. Compared to recent days, this was bliss. My whole life didn’t fall apart around me, no one tried to kill me, I didn’t watch the people I love die or walk away. It was just a day. But damn if it wasn’t a bad one.

The noise in my head was worse than normal. But even that wasn’t as bad as I had been seeing. A little music, a little booze. It was fine.

Then…this.

I always dreamed about being something great. Most people do. But it’s always been central to who I am. A requirement for a life well lived. The voices set that back. I mean, who is going to believe, less look up to, a schizophrenic. But I had it under wraps and I thought I could control them.¬†Guess not.

Then a few words of what should have been good news. A couple of things I already knew resurfacing. One minute of splitting pain….then nothing.

I sit here trying to analyze nothing. It’s not boredom or vacancy. It isn’t apathy. It’s more like transcendence.

I’ve always been a bit conceited. Like, nearly a sociopath. For those of you who don’t live like that, it’s kind of like sitting on a self-established pedestal and looking down at children. You know you are better but you don’t point it out lest the children maul you to death to prove you wrong.

Ok, so maybe my vision of children is a bit skewed, but they do that. Swear to god.

That feeling of superiority is always there, even when I am horribly depressed (which apparently is weird for borderline sociopaths). But this new feeling goes beyond that. I still felt above the trivialities of other people’s problems. But it’s like I didn’t have to be connected to my own either. Like everything was just a puzzle or board game and I could control the pieces.

Somewhere in the back of my mind that seemed to be a bad sign for my mental health, but the part of my mind that had spent two and a half decades watching for ways to fix everything was overwhelmingly happy at getting to rest for a minute so I really didn’t care.

And as I looked down at the various parts of my life I had let fall apart or stagnate, I realized how foolish I had been. All these people who I protected when they didn’t deserve it. All the time I wasted on friends and family and social standing. I could have earned respect by being better. But I had tried to be their equal.

How dare I, a practical god, demean myself to that level. They didn’t deserve my attempts to raise them up. They were beneath me. They were less.

Suddenly I was laughing maniacally in my living room again, the weight of the world settling back into the grooves it has left on my shoulders.

What was that? Was it heaven or hell. While I was there it was bliss. Perfection and the ultimate high. But being back, it had to have been hell. Right?

Perspective is a funny thing. I’m sitting here arguing with my-selves over whether I want to go to hell again or not. One more thing to analyze in my constant battle to stay self aware.

But it can wait. The voices scream as the magic calls. I have beloved chess pieces to save and polish. One more move in one more game. I sure hope I won that move.