Tag: internal struggles

Inner demons and the war within

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

As many of you know, I just took a vacation. The vacation was fun…and it was miserable. I will explain. My daughter and I went to visit my mom. We enjoyed the visit…but there were snide little digs that my mom made that we did not enjoy. I don’t plan on going into details. When we got back we were both upset and trying to get back to the happiness that was home. Then today we were talking about it.

“It wasn’t that bad” “I just exaggerated it” “I am just ungrateful.” “I blew it out of proportion.” “She probably didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” “I was just looking for reasons to hate the trip.”

This often happens to me when I deal with my mom. I end up feeling guilty because I take what she says the wrong way. I told my therapist about a thing that my mom had said that had my daughter upset. I told her that I had told my girl “My mother loves me, but I don’t think she likes me very much. The difference Is I love you and I like you just how you are. I would not change anything about you.” My therapist asked me a question that has been bouncing around my head ever since. “Are you sure that your mom loves you?”

The question becomes how are we sure if anyone loves us? When my parents got divorced, my mom told me something that stuck in my brain. She said that Daddy loved her, but not in the way she needed. Perhaps the demons eating at my brain are doing so, not because I am unloved or unwanted, but instead because I need more than those who have loved me were capable of giving. So my internal war today is the question – Am I too needy? Is everything I do stemming from the desire to be loved more than anyone is possibly capable of? And is my inner voice just looking for an excuse to be miserable?

I am at war with myself, and to be frank, I doubt that I am going to win.
I am fighting the demons within, and it looks like I am losing again.
The words that whisper in my brain are getting real loud within.
Teaching me that I am failing seems to be the goal,
Leaving me there to somehow the answers know.

Yeah, I guess I am going slightly mad,
For I find myself doubting even the truth I had.
Instead of knowing that I am whole and hale,
I find doubt behind every thought, everywhere.

I don’t know if I will get every day this week posted. I am not able to get the week scheduled today. I am busy fighting that war inside me.

The Holidays are in, and it has kicked me in the butt

So I haven’t been around. Not surprised if you noticed. There has been a lot of activity in my life. Changes that have caught me by the throat. I don’t plan on bleeding those changes all over my blog, it would just open wounds that are starting to close. However, I am going to still be on hiatus a short while longer. It started with a nasty bout of bronchitis and then some nasty emotional baggage. I am slowly unpacking the baggage and starting to put things away. I think I will give myself grace through the month of December and start 2022 fresh. I need this time to deal with the mess that I got myself into. This time of year often ends me up with an emotional downside that I have been at a loss to prevent.

For me that means I will continue to work on myself and the issues that have arisen in my life. For you it merely means I am asking for patience. January will see more poetry, art, and discussion of the foibles of life that my blog has come to present on a regular basis. I thank you for the patience and I wish you all the best of holidays.

Changes ahead

The last two years have been so busy. And I am finding it hard to keep up. When I started with Coffee house writer’s I was easily able to keep up with the schedule I was on. But I have since started doing more here and with Fae Corps. We are doing more in Fae Corps. I am floundering under the weight of the responsibility… So I have made a decision. I am leaving Chw for now. I have already told my wonderful editor. There will be one more post next Monday. Then… I think that I will try to post here more. I am hoping that releasing one responsibility will ease the burden of the rest.

Tuesday Tunes

A day for me to discuss music

Meredith Brooks – Bitch

Lyrics – [Verse 1]
I hate the world today
You’re so good to me, I know, but I can’t change
Tried to tell you but you look at me like maybe
I’m an angel underneath
Innocent and sweet

Yesterday I cried
You must have been relieved to see the softer side
I can understand how you’d be so confused
I don’t envy you
I’m a little bit of everything all rolled into one

[Chorus]
I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I’m your Hell, I’m your dream
I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way

[Verse 2]
So take me as I am
This may mean you’ll have to be a stronger man
Rest assured that when I start to make you nervous
And I’m going to extremes
Tomorrow I will change and today won’t mean a thing

[Chorus]
I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I’m your Hell, I’m your dream
I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way

[Bridge]
Just when you think you got me figured out
The season’s already changing
I think it’s cool, you do what you do
And don’t try to save me

[Chorus]
I’m a bitch, I’m a lover
I’m a child, I’m a mother
I’m a sinner, I’m a saint
I do not feel ashamed
I’m your Hell, I’m your dream
I’m nothing in between
You know you wouldn’t want it any other way

[Chorus 2]
I’m a bitch, I’m a tease
I’m a goddess on my knees
When you hurt, when you suffer
I’m your angel undercover
I’ve been numb, I’m revived
Can’t say I’m not alive
You know I wouldn’t want it any other way

My 2 cents – OK, some days I feel the power of self confidence. I know that I am unique and my power is in my creativity… But those are the rare days. I have struggled with public opinion and self esteem my whole life. Today I see my flaws and I embrace the idea that they are part of my uniqueness. Tomorrow the weight of them may be too much. This song speaks to that. Nobody is perfect, that struggle is in every single soul. The need to be both saint and sinner exists in each of us. So, if you are not sure of someone’s situation… Be kind. Lest you send them into a personal hell.

Echoes Into the Void

So I was having an email conversation with a friend about social media. He was pointing out the algorithm that sucks the orginality out of social media in general. While I agree with him and sometimes I think that I would be happier without the view of humanity that I recieve from reading the interwebs, I would miss the delight of seeing the creativity in the human soul.

The conversation ended with the idea that we both often feel unseen. It is not, I am sure, a novel feeling. To feel like instead of being actually heard… You are merely sending echoes into the void.

So I think that I want to hear the echoes…tell me something that you feel like isn’t being heard. One thing that you want to say. I will listen. And then go through the comments and hear others. Or pass the post on to others. Let’s get it to where no one feels like that echo.

Thursday Straight Talk (a day early)

Tw: mention of abuse, suicide, and rape.

I have ptsd. This is not something that I tend to talk about often because it has a stigma attached. I get claustrophobic. I hyperventilate. I dissociate. I struggle with the urge to hide. I am an insomniac. I am a survivor. None of the things I have listed make me a bad person. Most are the result of trauma and of keeping myself so hypervigilant for so long. I see a doctor. I take meds. Some days are better than others. I have learned coping methods. I have learned to be aware of my triggers. No I am not a snowflake. No I don’t have to have a safe place. I don’t even know what a safe place is. I take life one day at a time. I have panic moments as so many people do. They are from knowing that real monsters exist in this world. Monsters that hide in human skin. I am not suicidal. I really don’t want to die. However on my bad days I find that I wish I had never been born. I struggle with telling my story. I spoke my truth. I was called a liar. I came forward with one piece… And was not believed. I only told one person, because I was a child. If a child tells you their pain… Believe them. For you may be the only one they tell. My journey has been long. I was so fractured that I had at one point nearly 13 separate “alters” I am down to two. I used to have nightmares nightly. I am down to on average twice a month. Struggling with this does not make me less. I have come an amazingly long way… From losing months of time to now I lose an hour rarely. I am healing.

This is not something that I expected to post, if I am honest. I am careful about letting this all be “known” because I have others in my life that I know are embarrassed when the topic comes up. I have no reason for embarrassment. I am not ashamed of who I am. But, I love them. So I hold my tongue sometimes. However, I have been thinking about it. Perhaps it is not the right thing to do. I think that perhaps sharing the struggle might be more helpful for others who are struggling. I don’t know if I will share the details, yet.

I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. The man who did it abused others. He served time for one, and only one, of his victims. He has never been to court for what he did to me.

I survived a gang rape. And I survived another rape.

I survived domestic violence, by more than one of my relationships. My current love is the first time I have not been physically abused by the man in my life.

I have been homeless. I have been without food. I learned how to survive in each of these cases.

I have done things that I was not proud of. Hasn’t everyone? So, if I have a bad day… I might post some depression memes on social media. My poetry may get a bit darker. My art angrier.

Still. I survive. I am always here ready to listen. I understand what survival costs. Some days are better than others. Today I did not sleep. My mind would not quiet. Today my mind was attacking me with my faults in litany. Tomorrow may be better.

I know that this is published on Wednesday. I will post the art for Wednesday a day late because I think that this is important.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or text “HOME” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.

If you or a loved one is affected by sexual abuse or assault and need help, call the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline at 1-800-656-4673 to be connected with a trained staff member from a sexual assault service provider in your area.

Writing Friday

Writing. Crap. What do I say? Do I sit here and try to explain that, at least for me, writing is something akin to breathing? That there’s never been a time when I didn’t need to put words together? And then I would have to tell you just how it feels to read what I wrote and think that I am not cut out for this. How many people who I know personally who are brilliant at this whole writing gig. Still… I would have to mention that the idea of stopping is actually painful. It has been how I was able to see the answers to life, since before I ever realized that there was a question.

Usually, I try to use the Friday post to give tips, and help with the whole writing and publishing thing. And I think that is great to keep the blog going… But today I was thinking about the reason why I write. Yeah… I could probably claim that I was trying to add beauty. But I don’t generally lie. My art is more how I do beauty. Abstract and pencil drawings to encourage happiness in the eye of the beholder. My children’s books are a way of connecting with my daughter, as they have thus far been stories I told her, or wrote for her. Serena’s stuff is stories that I want to read. But if I am honest with myself… My main writing is my poetry.

My poetry will never be hallmark stuff. My poetry is raw emotion and survival. I have lived a survivors life. My poetry is how I have been able to express myself even when my voice was stolen. I could write my story… Even though I was being told I lied. I could write it and it was accepted because it was poetry. It was written in a way that meant I was non-threatening to those who were part of hurting me. And it was written off as just an angsty teen writing depressing poetry… For don’t we all have that stage?

After I was free, and I was no longer needing verse to speak my truth, well it was still the easiest way to speak my pain. To spread my views. It was habit. I may never be able to sit along with the likes of Poe or Dickenson… But my words will remain. I will be there when another lost soul seeks to know that they are not alone.