I

I am in pain. Things were going so well and then the dreams started again. Shredded. Torn. Burned. Bleeding. Screaming. Smells. Sound. The ever present flashing red lights.

I am not thinking clearly either. I forget from one day to the next. I cannot assert my thoughts clearly to others. I think in movie lines. I cry several times a day.

I am sad at my situation. I try to alleviate pressure from here and there. I get poor responses from those who are supposed to be helpful. I don't get calls I want. I get calls I don't want.

I try to breathe. I try to be present and appreciate the air, the sounds, the warmth around me. Then the thinking gets confused and like searching on the internet for a term paper on the statistical probabilities of next years income formula and finding myself in ancient Egypt discovering Ahkenaten was the first recorded person to worship a single god. Fuzzy logic in my brain. Useless things that still remain. Years of asking "Why?", then ascertain.

I am weary. Of hearing "No" or nothing. I am weary of my lack of assets. I am weary of my prospects. I am weary of my fears.

I listen to pop music. I listen to blue grass. I listen to "oldies" rock tunes I grew up with. I listen loud and long. I sing my pain. I sing loud and long.

I sit quiet. I listen to my heart beat. I listen to my breath. My mind wanders and the sound of my internal riot picks up. I slow the noise, I turn it down. I listen to my breath.

This is tiresome. This is weary. This is me, wallowing.

I love my best friend. I love my children. I love my parents. I love my grandbabies. I do love the concept of conquering this shit, crushing it beneath my toe. Making this time in my life a healing. Accepting the feelings I have. Feeling it. Knowing intimately. Learning the texture of it. Letting the weariness pass away. I look forward to the refreshing feeling of what strength this will leave me with, like a steamy hot shower after completing a filthy job. Being clean of these times. Letting this negative black tar drain away.

I have, like most people, considered suicide, once in my life, long ago. The reasons are not important. I got to the edge then, and found that I am too damn curious. Most of you that know me have experienced this curiosity in me.

I am too damn curious to see what comes next.

Yelling

Do not yell at me any longer. I do not fear your wrath anymore, not like I did when I was little. And I never respected you for being angry with me. I am a grown woman who has fought you my whole life, in my head, in my heart and in making others 'be' you and then hating them instead. My hate runs deep, my heart is as cruel as yours. I would love them and cherish them and run them through with a blade of ice.

Hating you was never an option. Your lap was the safest place in the world. Your arms around me, smelling like Blistex and Old Spice, it was Heaven. It was perfect. It was Home to a vagabond girl that knew of boxes and moving and change, all too well.

Do not yell at me when you cannot see my eyes, so much like yours. You would learn fear, as I did when my eyes could see no higher than your elbow. Looking into your own eyes would paint a strip of fear in your heart as wide as the one you painted in me.

I love you and I respect you, but no more yelling. None. I am no more yours to yell at, than you are mine to abuse. Try learning to respect me, as a woman. Might heal us both.

Right now, all I feel is hurt, and the weary fear of my own creation. Right now, all I want to smell is Old Spice and Blistex, to feel safe.

Still I open my heart to you. I let you run me through, again, with your blade of ice. I try to remember. I try NOT to continue your Legacy.

I love you.