Tag: pain

Exhausted Soul

A free-writing exercise to clear my head. I guess it made a kind of poemish thing. 

So tired,
my soul aches for rest, release,
A moment’s reprieve
From a lifetime of scars
And seeping, never-healing wounds.

So helpless,
Circumstance and chance
And decades of bad choices
All leading to a pit
The edge of which is lost from sight

So lost,
Which way is up?
I may never know for sure
I’ve lost my way so thoroughly
And this life comes with no map

So scared,
Afraid that I may never find
A way to set right this grand mess
Or make the “better life” I seek
Where I feel safe and free and firm

So tired,
of the voice inside my head
It tells me I am worthless
A failed experiment at life
I want to tune it out forever, but it’s so loud

So loved,
Thank the goddess for
The ones who see my broken form
And love me despite all my faults
They are my hope in hopeless times

So desired,
She comes to me
She holds me in the night
She brings me comfort in her arms
Her eyes tell me all I really need to know

So grateful,
Though I hurt and fear
Though tears may stain my pillow
I am grateful for the good I have
Love, hope, & safety even when I’m blind

So hopeful,
Even though I feel so helpless
There has to be a way to overcome
If only ’cause she says so, I must believe
There has to be an end to all the hurt

And yet… So tired.


No Regrets

Every story has a three things: a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Some would say that every person has a story.

I like to think that every person is more like a really long series that doesn’t end until the author dies, and maybe, in some ways, even continues after that.

You see, in a series, there are many stories. Each one has it’s own beginning, middle, and end. Each has its conflicts and its resolutions; its love and its loss. In each of those stories, we learn a little more about the main character, and at the same time, the main character learns a little more about themselves. The trick is, we might not like some of the books in the series as much as others. As both the author and the main character, we sometimes feel like we wish we’d never written that story or that we had written it differently… But what if Harry Potter had the option to rewrite his own story? Would he have kept all the parts about Dobby before he knew the whole story? Or would he have written the house elf out after Dobby dropped the cake on Uncle Vernon’s company, so that he never met the little guy and never went on to their later adventures?

I’ve kept about a hundred different journals over the years. I am a ripper. I used to think that by removing the pages from the last chapter of my story, I would help myself move into the next, symbolically. Effectively, I would throw out book two in order to focus on book three, without ever looking back at all the awesome stuff I wrote in book two. I’ve lobotomized my story by ripping out the pages so many times that I probably contributed to the death of at least one small forest and probably several Gigs of blog data. Then one day, it clicked.

Every story teaches us what we need to know to understand the next.

Mind blowing, right?

No? Not really? Okay, fine. Sure, it sounds like common sense, but why do so many of us forget it all the time? We tell each other to ‘never look back’ and ‘just keep swimming’ and ‘keep looking ahead’. We encourage people to forget the past and focus on the future. All too often, these are the words we hear when the painful times fall on us. When the hard battles have been fought and we find ourselves lying in the wreckage of loss, maybe even defeat, wondering what comes next and often feeling like there is no hope for a future at all, that is when we get told to focus forward. So many people are just like I was and they try to cut away the past and ‘just move on’ and purge their life of reminders of the painful thing entirely. In its own way, that’s okay. It’s the forgetting that’s not. The regret can be crippling.

The thing is, all stories have endings. Some stories are longer than others. Some take longer to write. Some start slowly and end in a flash. Others start out like a whirlwind and then go on indefinitely. Many stories can be written in tandem, and each is special, and unique, however big or small. Some may be little more than expanded universe material, but others will take their place in the greater series that is The Tale of You.

I won’t lobotomize my story anymore. Things are changing for me, right now. One story is ending and others are just beginning. Endings hurt. They hurt like hell and they’re never easy. Sometimes the ending rips your heart apart and leaves you feeling truly defeated and hopeless. The beginnings, though… There’s always a sense of energy at a beginning. Sometimes it’s negative because the path is unknown or scary, and sometimes it’s positive, because the path ahead is bright and welcoming. Sometimes, it’s bittersweet, with a mixture of light and shadow that makes you curious and a little nervous all at once.

The point is, things end, but every ending means you’re just that much closer to the next great beginning. Without the knowledge from the last chapter, we wouldn’t be ready to face the next chapter. So many times when people meet new people who somehow change their lives, I hear the phrase “where were you X years ago?” The truth is, you wouldn’t have been ready for them X years ago. That goes for every question like this. “Why didn’t I do this before?” “Where was this when I was younger?” “Why didn’t I know better?” The answer is always the same: You simply weren’t ready. You hadn’t learned the lessons you needed or discovered the parts of you that needed to come out or made peace with the parts of you that couldn’t be accepted by others until you accepted them in yourself.

So yes, things end… and that just means you’re ready for the next great adventure, wiser and better prepared than ever before.

Hang on tight. This series is a long way from over, folks.



In the case of Maddie v. Brain…

My brain is working against me, tonight. Everything is wrong… well, not everything. Mostly just me. Everything about me. Alongside this delectable main course of self-loathing is a hearty helping of depression. We can look forward to an overwhelmingly rich dessert of anxiety once the apathy passes and I realize I’ve actually written and posted this…. whatever it becomes.

Bear in mind, if you bother to read this, that I am well aware that everything I see and feel right now is being viewed through the dark and flawed tinted lenses of depression. That doesn’t make me feel it less. In fact, it makes me feel even more like the world’s most malodorous and slimy turd, because I know my own brain is full of shit and yet it still drags me down and makes me insufferable.

That said, I offer my sincerest apologies to my dear sister for the amount of whining, bitching, moaning, and exhausting emotional bullshit I spew at you when I am like this. Instead, I shall turn to this blog, at your ever wise suggestion, and spew my late night loathsomeness here at risk of completely alienating my 2 other remaining readers at last.

It all started as a fairly mild but still creeping sadness toward the end of my shift, tonight. Well, technically, last night. That’s always a warning sign, but there’s not much to be done to halt it. The sadness comes whether I want it to or not. The best I can hope for is to direct my thoughts to something that doesn’t trigger more sadness. I focused on work and the comical book I was listening to. It got pretty serious toward the end, but overall, still dotted with tension breaking comedy.

On that note, I strongly recommend “You’re Never Weird On The Internet (Almost)” to any and all fans of Felicia Day, and people who just need a reminder that anything is at least worth trying if your heart is in it, and that depression and anxiety can be overcome. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me that I slipped into the early stages of a depressive spiral while listening to my dream girl telling me how she overcame depression and anxiety to achieve her greatness… Thanks, Brain! Love you too! *mutters* Asshole…

Then came the familiar feeling of not belonging. The inner monologue went something like this:

Brain: “What are we doing here?”

Me: “Working.”

Brain: “You know what I mean.”

Me: “I don’t care. Working now. Ignoring your hateful voice.”

Brain: “You can’t ignore me. I’m your brain, dumbass.”

Me: “Watch me.”

Brain: “You know that no one actually wants you around, right?”

Me: “That’s not true… my sister loves me. My husband loves me. Hell, even my in-laws seem to like me for some reason.”

Brain: “They’re all just being nice to spare your feelings, because they’re not total tools.”

Me: “Congratulations. You can alliterate.”

Brain: “Fuck you, too. Look, I’m just saying, what’s the point of all this? No one wants to play games with you because either you suck at them or you can hardly pay attention to begin with. No one wants to talk to you except that crazy mexican chicadee”

Me: “Watch it! THAT’S MY SISTER! And chicadee is mine. It’s a happy word. I use it on people I like. When I’m happy. You? You are not being happy today. You’re being an ass.”

Brain: “Dude. I’m your fucking brain. If I’m an ass, you’re an ass. No wonder no one likes you. “

Me: “That…. that’s not….” *resolve wavering* “That still doesn’t give you a right to talk about my sister that way.”

Brain: “You’re deflecting. I’m right and you know it. No one wants you around, really. Even your sister would be better off without you. Kaz wouldn’t turn her out on her own, she’d be safe. No one would miss you for long.”

Me: “I see where you’re going with this and you can just stop right there. Even if I wanted to check out, I’m too chicken.”

Anyway…. It just got darker from there. Once the feeling of not-belonging was well established, my brain was able to move on to its favorite recitations of why I am undeserving of the oxygen I breathe. Oh how I loathe me, let me count the ways.

  1. I’ve never achieved anything of significance in my life. Top Performing for a single month in a tiny call center counts for jack and shit pretty much anywhere. 
  2. I have no follow through. 
  3. I screw up just about everything I touch. Just look at my $30, 000 of school debt and conspicuous lack of any kind of degree to show for it, and yet I’m still pouring money into this futile endeavor…
  4. I can’t seem to allow myself to be happy for any more than a few weeks at a time before having some sort of soul-crushing emotional crisis. 
  5. I’m damn good at my job, but it’s only a matter of time before I fall into old habits and become unreliable or get too sick to work or screw it all up in some new and exciting way I’ve not discovered yet. 
  6. I’m a shitty pet parent. My boy is fat and struggles to move around while my girl doesn’t get even a tenth of the exercise she needs because I’m a lazy shit that whines about my aching back instead of getting off my flat fat ass and taking her for walks…. or even throwing the ball for her in the living room for an hour. I can’t even train the boy to stay off the table and the girl to lay down on command without throwing herself on her back. 
  7. I’m lazy as liquid shit. 
  8. I have the vocabulary of a somewhat slow, drunken sailor with head trauma.
  9. I have the intellect of one, too…
  10. I used to be smart, but these days? Not so much. 
  11. Did I mention I have zero follow through? What happened to that book I was going to write? Or that mission to master knitting? Or learning to play the guitar? Or re-learning to play the violin? Or any of those tabletop RPGs I try to run and peter out after a session or two? Or my breadmaking hobby that pretty much died out in the night with a faint squeaking ‘what a world, what a world’? Or…. the list goes on. 
  12. I never appreciated my Mom until the end, and was so eager to run away with Kaz that I wasn’t even there to help her when she got sick and, ultimately, died. 
  13. I have a tendency to alienate people I want to be close to with my mood swings and other crazy shit. 
  14. I have run more good people out of my life than I can count because I’m a gullible and suspicious imbecile. 
  15. I’m so fucking confused, I can’t even pick a gender and stick with it. I’m an amorphous blob that can’t make up its mind what it wants to be when it evolves. 

Yeah…. the recitation goes on for hours in that way. Every. Single. Time. Occasionally, my brain even throws in jabs about my spirituality. I may be a proud pagan now, but I was raised a southern baptist. Sometimes my brain likes to tell me I’m going to hell. See, Mom? I don’t need any heavily accented, bible-thumping, hellfire and damnation pastors in big white revival tents to tell me that. I got it handled all on my own, in my handy dandy swiss army brain. All the tools I need for a truly unhealthy self-assessment.

Put all of that together and you get a great big heap of soul-crushing despair and a distinct urge to crawl in a hole and die.

Here’s the thing… I’m not dead yet!

Sister of mine, my dear one… You were right. Blogging was a great idea. The hateful things my brain says to me are already starting to look pretty ridiculous as I read over this post again… You know… Someday, I’ll learn to listen to you the first time you give me a piece of advice.

Screw you, Brain. Consider yourself ignored. /ignore Brain

Good night, folks. It’ll be better in the morning.

Just for you, Sis.


New Artwork!

So, Zeliv aka Zoe Mondoux had a Halloween sale that I took full advantage of. I’m thrilled with how they turned out overall. Maddie’s trademark bent right ear isn’t on the chibi, but that’s okay. She’s still flippin’ adorable and I might die of cuteness overload. Anyway, enough of my telling you about it. On to the art!


Artwork by Zoe Mondoux @ http://www.furaffinity.net/user/zeliv | Character © Maddie of Madcap Revolution


Artwork by Zoe Mondoux @ http://www.furaffinity.net/user/zeliv | Character © Maddie of Madcap Revolution

Aren’t they just adorable?

For the concerned, a mood update:

I’m still feeling very down. I didn’t feel like eating all day today. I’m past the sad or angry waves of depression and into the blank, numb feelings. I know there’s no logic to my feelings (or lack thereof, today). I had a few bright moments, today, which is nice. Kaz made me smile a couple times and I got something resembling mild excitement when I saw my artwork was done. I’m not functionally suicidal or actively self-harming, so please, don’t worry about that. I’m not going anywhere and I’m not damaging myself, despite the occasional urges my brain pushes through. I’m still in control so far. Having people who care helps with that a lot. I know I wouldn’t just be hurting myself if I started cutting again, or worse, tried to leave this plane of existence. I’m a nurturer at heart… It works in my favor in this. Thank you, Khas and Torchic for your encouraging words. I will be seeing a new therapist in just under two weeks. Hopefully they can help.



She walks in the door and is greeted by two bright, furry faces. A handsome man stands over a freshly cleaned counter preparing the most delightful smelling dinner anyone could have hoped for. He hasn’t been home for long, she knows, but he’s already gone to the trouble of tidying the living room and cleaning up the kitchen, both of which had still been in a state of chaos echoing the excitement of the party a couple of days prior, when she’d left for work. He always picks up her slack… She is grateful that some of the work is done and she can relax a little bit, but still she has to dig deep for the smile she puts on to greet the eager family welcoming her home. Behind her eyes, the pressure releases just enough that she can pretend, for a moment, that she doesn’t need to cry so bad it hurts.

Small talk. She cringes inwardly, but responds kindly and with all the interest she can muster. He tries so hard. She knows he means well. Part of her truly believes he loves her. What she isn’t so sure of is why. He asks how her day was. She says it was fine. It really was… nothing went wrong and her bosses still like her. They share dinner. She’s pretty sure she didn’t let on.

Days pass like this. Pretending. Holding back the tears. Hiding in the bathroom until her breathing steadies again.

The tears start to push through. Everything makes her cry. Everything hurts, inside and out. The pain evolves from psychological and emotional into physical aches and pains. Moving hurts. Getting out of bed takes the effort of titans just to move.

Is it worth it? Why does she even try? Perhaps she just needs an outlet.

She wanders into her craft room and looks at all the goodies there to behold. For a moment, creativity consoles her. She’ll come back here tomorrow. It seemed to help.

Tomorrow comes and she leans in the dark doorway of the craft room. Not tonight… What’s the point?

She makes her way to her computer. She loves her games… An hour later, she’s still scrolling through her Facebook feed. Awww, another friend’s baby making new noises and faces. How sweet. She’ll never have that… she knows it in her gut. They’ve been off birth control for only two months, but her heart is just sure she’ll never be a mother, however badly she wants it.

That’s okay, though… she has her dogs. Of course, she’s not a very good dog parent either. She can’t get them trained properly and she doesn’t feed them right. She never walks them. They’ve got a huge yard to run, but still… she should walk them more.

It’s too late to walk them now, anyway. She gives up on the games for tonight. What’s the point?

She’ll watch some TV. Stupid TV like Family Guy or American Dad. That can’t possibly hurt her mood. Oh shit… they killed Brian? She cracks. She misses her Mom. Death sucks. It hurts so hard and the hurting just never seems to stop. If she’d still been at home, she could have prevented her mother’s death…

That’s why she could never just take her own life… even though it all hurts so bad. She couldn’t cause that kind of pain to the people that say they love her. Then again… wouldn’t they be better off without her dragging them down? Wouldn’t they be happier, once the crying stopped, to not have to worry about her messed up health? Her unpredictable moods? Her bad habits?

She supposes she could sleep… perhaps she’d feel better in the morning. The nightmares, though. Sleep is hardly restful when the worst things she can imagine come out to play in her head all night.

Perhaps she should meditate… Clear her head? Sure, because that’s so easy.

Eventually, sleep comes. The sun rises. The handsome man leaves her bed and goes to work, but not without stopping to kiss her goodbye and tell her how much he loves her, even though she’s still half-asleep for another hour after he’s gone. She misses him. When he’s close, it’s a little easier to not feel completely alone.

It’s time to go to work. Here we go again. One more day. Are we happy today? Can we please be happy today?

The depressed brain doesn’t care if you have the perfect husband, the perfect dogs, the perfect house, the perfect car, the perfect family, or the perfect life. Depression doesn’t make sense. The bipolar brain can change its mind without warning you. This is just a few days in my head. Tomorrow, I might wake up and feel like everything is sunshine and roses and I’m the richest and most capable woman on earth. That might sound like hugs and puppies to you, but try telling the manic brain that it can’t really afford an extra hundred bucks in craft supplies sometime. It’s not going to work. I’ll be able to do everything and ignore any pain, physical or otherwise for a while, when I finally go manic, but how much damage will I do while I’m there. Hell… how much damage do I do when I’m depressed? This is my struggle. Today, and for the past several days, I don’t feel like I deserve to exist. I have no idea how I’ll feel tomorrow. Every morning I have to ask myself ‘how do I feel today?’ just so I can try to prepare myself for damage control on my own moods. There’s no ‘reason’ for me to be so sad. So why am I crying my eyes out for no reason, even as he tells me he loves me and it’s all going to be okay?