I’m very, so very hungry…can you feed me? Pretty please?

Think back to all the plates of spaghetti you’ve eaten in your life. Remember the ones that were really filling and then the plates that were just ho-hum. Sex is just like eating spaghetti. It’s filling and tastes delicious and you want more of it.

Some chefs can only dish out the same for every person. Endless rounds of just pasta and sauce and leave you craving garlic and meatballs. Some chefs get fancy and sprinkle on the parmesan cheese and give a side of garlic bread. A few chefs will ask you how you like your spaghetti and sever up exactly what you asked for. And fewer still, will ask you to take a chance as they blindfold your eyes and feed you.

So, how do you like your spaghetti?

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Love builds you up?

And then there are moments where the terror is close to overwhelming. I was hurting bad and posted a poem about being unable to cry and later on, he posted new pictures of himself. On the surface, it sounds unrelated but I see tendrils of connection. Never mind the fact this man, Dreamwalker I called Master, and one who told me to get away from him. Never mind the fact that I see at times, not every time, not every poem of his is a direct connection. Some are direct swipes and others are musings on things I’ve written about. Sometimes there has even been an offering from a different perspective. Sometimes I can tell he’s talking about his others and whatever issues they are going through. Some are more about musings of what’s happened in his day and mind.

But today, I needed to cry and even though I’ve blocked him he hit that button. I think it was on purpose. This is out of his normal. He posts new pictures late December – early January. With everything going on in his life this year it was missed.

But in the back of my mind, there is a terror that I’ve done a good man a very serious wrong. That is pretty much what he accuses me of. But it’s on days like this, I’m digging my nails into the ground just to keep still. There is a part of me that wants to run away screaming and the other part wants to kneel and beg like hell for forgiveness again.

I know it’s just about control. About him being able to yank on my chain. I know he checks up on me every couple of days. Sometimes it goes for a few weeks. I know it drives his other girl nuts. I know we are both watching each other. I know the chance is high that some of what I feel may be indeed trauma bonding. It’s the doubt I have that keeps me in this loop. I am aware that it is triangulation.

That and OCD. Mid-month in a rare moment of clarity it occurred to me that my OCD was back in full force. Ritualized behaviour designed to reduce anxiety and the failure to perform ramped up the stress to intolerable levels. Now that I know and recognize this, I can work once again to set in place limits and a reduction of stress. It may not be OCD to whatever book is in charge but it is at the level where it is disruptive in my life. I don’t want to do a half hour charting to show just how often I do these little rituals, behaviours, repetitive actions. I know it’s a problem and that’s enough for me to get my ass working on it.

Either I’m one weird kitty, okay I know I am but even with all the pain Dreamwalker’s put me through or at least been the catalyst too, I’ve grown as a person, in a good way. I’ve worked very hard to learn and grow and walk with my head held high. So, is it me or is his doing?

I know there are some major things, problems, that never got solved. Like I suspect I tangled hard with a narc but maybe I did that on purpose? There is a part of me that says, yes one eye was open. I feel like I’ve walked away stronger than I was. I still cracked my head in the process but to be honest, that was already on the slow roll to happening because I’d made too strong of an attachment to Damiel. It was an unhealthy attachment for me. He did nothing wrong and I know it was on me. But I had to be weaned and that wasn’t going well at all. The only way to be weaned was a bootcamp of learning how to maintain healthy boundaries. I took a shortcut. And may have gotten it wrong all along.

So, love builds you up? Dreamwalker showed me who I was inside and I fell in love with myself. But I saw beyond the reflection of myself to see him. At least I believe I was able to penetrate his mask to see who he really is. I see flaw after flaw and the struggle he’s gone through. Yes, there is a part of me that wants to reach out and fix it all but these are things not for me but for him. I see a lot of myself in him. I wanted to ask who’s love built me up but I know the answer to that. It was mine. I just don’t know if it was love for love’s sake or love of power that induced Dreamwalker to push a button on me he knows he still has control of.

I took my best guess that our combined issues make for a most volatile relationship and best for both that we part, even if I’m the deeply troubled one having the hardest fucking time of letting go. It’s still a confusing mess. Or am I just delusional? Or was I right all along?

Either way, I made a choice and I have to deal with those consequences, whatever they may be.

Posted in Life

What do we do when we fall?

This drives me nuts. The constant losing time and goals, drive and motivation. I don’t even know where the time went. I have a vague sense of what happened but mostly not. This month, my birthday also combines the most traumatic events in my life as well as the happiest. I keep trying to counterbalance it but I keep failing.

This month, way-way back in the past my mother went into the hospital and my father took the opportunity to do what no father should ever do to his daughter. Well, he wasn’t hiding it anymore and least of all he was hiding it from me. He’s been dead two years now. This year I’ve had nightmares all over again. I do remember that much. Hell, for six months after he died, I had nightmares and then it stopped.

I’ve lost a month. I still feel extremely fuzzy. It’s a struggle to think and it’s dis-hearting to put back all the pieces. I’ve slipped. There is evidence I was slipping three months ago and was barely hanging on. I don’t know if I’m the only one who notices or not. No one really confronts me on this. But then, I’ve spent a lifetime hiding and keeping the mask of ‘normal’ on tight.

Apparently, I hit my limit on what I am capable of doing. Damn it, why can’t I be superwoman? To me, it all looks like a little pile of little things. Be a good wife and mother, run the budget, make sure bills get paid, keep the house clean, feed and kids and keep them entertained, feed everyone an ever-rotating and minimally repeating home-cooked dinner, take the kids to karate, spend five hours pulling out my hair doing the writing assignments which are far harder than they should be for me, make sure I take care of myself, work on and cope with dissociating throughout the day without upsetting anyone, work on my anxiety, identified new OCD issues cropping back up, blocked Dreamwalker for the umpteenth time, take my meds-goddess help me when I forget, still stressing out over talking to Damial-I’m scared and I’m avoiding it, dealing with what feels like the complete wash out of my creativity, working on developing a Minecraft mod pack, learning how to code so I can do the mod pack, the books I’m reading, shit. And trying not to do any of this half-assed. Like I said, it’s a small list and it feels like nothing at all get accomplished.

I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. I just have this, here in cyberspace. I haven’t kept long-term friends beyond my couple but they want more from me than I can give at the moment. I don’t have Damial or Dreamwalker. I don’t burden my husband with this. He has his own concerns to shoulder. I have so much on my shoulders and I know I’m capable of handling it. I know I can! Until it all comes falling down around my ears again.

I was never normal and a normal life I wouldn’t recognize. I have issues and I deal with them the best I can. I get back up when I fall down. I will always get back up, every time I fall. I will pull myself back up and stand tall again. Each time, I do my best. I am working on this. I will keep at it.

I lost a month this time. More than a month really, not even sure when was my last day out. The worst is over? I sure hope so. I need to cry ugly like I’ve never cried in a long time. I feel it. I need catharsis and I don’t see any way of that happening. I’m not out of the woods yet. Between July 11th and August 9th, I have to do the utmost best in self-care.

If I fall, I stand back up. If I must crawl, I crawl. If I must walk, I walk. Whatever I do, I do my best even when my best isn’t good enough. Just have to keep standing back up. I rise. Again and again.

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Why Should I Trust You?

Its been almost eleven months of patience. After I moved out here I became aware of the stray and feral cats that roam the neighbourhoods. My home became prime ground to hunt for many reasons. I didn’t bring any pets to disrupt their coming and goings. And I have a distaste for cutting the grass in the back preferring to let it go wild for the birds and other creatures.

There wasn’t much grass to start with in any case. It’s just a mishmash of whatever grows wild in the yards of the desert. So prized my yard became it was fought over and won. Now a white cat proudly stalks my yard at night when I watch the stars.

All the cats acknowledge me when they come and go. My husband tells me of cats looking around for me, dismissing him as if he’s some sort of rock. It’s funny to me. I’ve sat for hours watching them stalk. I greet them with my meows which are momma calls of a kitten. Just a few so they know my voice. They are so intelligent.

This white cat was the most skittish of the bunch. Very flightly, very much a hunter. The other night I watched as it stalked something. That was a privilege. And I think I surprised him when I disappeared just like he does to me.

But tonight he ran across the yard, just a meter away from where I was sitting. I meowed once, a kitten call of greeting. He turned to look back at me and meowed back, just once. And I nodded. We both disappeared when we looked away. But tears form in my eyes.

It’s taken eleven months to build trust and connection.

Posted in Life

The Book

We restarted the writing course this month, going back to the beginning because, well, we got lost again. Tough subjects to deal with and didn’t handle it well at all.  Getting better at dealing with emotional pain, so counting that as a plus. The goal to this course is to write a manuscript by the end of it. I don’t have a story yet to write. I suspect it’s just a matter of picking something and sticking to it.

I’d like to share with you a snippet of the progress I’m making. Lessons are 500 word short stories at a time, often focusing on a segment of grammar. The shortness of the short story is causing me some frustration but I’m managing to write something. Enjoy.

The Book

“Run!” Mavern pushing hard to reach the tunnel’s mouth, wedges himself against the stone door slowing its roll into position. “Come On, hurry up! His voice cracks watching as Gus and Willian rush the doorway as it slams shut. Panting hard Gus bends over heaving as he holds his knees. He didn’t look too good, his face turning pale. Willian wheezing, struggling for breath lays on the ground. Gym class never prepared them to run for their lives or climb up stone walls or battle giant beetles with their bare hands.

‘Where’s Minck?”
Gus looks around and shakes his head.”Last I saw of him was..”
“It’s his damn fault!” Will turns, punching the stone door. Howling, holding his fist close to his chest, Will stomps the ground hissing through his teeth.
“Shit, Will. Why’d you do that?” Taking Will’s hand, Mavern looks over the bruising knuckles and flexes Will’s fingers. “Stop being a baby. It’s just bruised you, big idiot. We’ve got bigger problems.”
They look at each other before dropping their heads to their chins as their shoulders slump.
“Minck was behind the DM screen before the flashing light.” Gus scratched his head. “Before..” He nodded his head behind him. “Before, back there.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right. I’m hungry.” Gus flushes as his stomach growls.
Shaking his head, Mavern turns looking over the countryside. Down the valley, past the fields, a road leads to a cluster of buildings. Looking behind him, a mountain; a billy goat would find a challenge to climb, stood. Trudging forward, Mavern makes his way down the slope, Gus and Will following.
“Where are you going?”
Turning to his friends Mavern shrugs. “Look, I don’t know how we got here but we can’t stay back there. We need help or food. Mostly food. So. Are you coming or what?”

The aroma of roast meat entices them forward. Lifting his hand to the door, Mavern pushes it open and steps inside.
“Hey, this looks like the tavern in chapter two” Will elbows Mavern. “Do you think..”
“Shh. Be quiet. Let me do the talking” Mavern winks as he walks towards the man wiping down the counter. Three meals and somewhere to sleep, easy? Maybe. Making a prayer to the universe that they speak the same language, Mavern offers his hand out to the man.
“My friends and I would like to work for our meals and a place to stay for the night.”
Glaring at the boys, the barkeep leans forward, his grin showing off rotten teeth, slamming his fist into the counter. “I have no use for worthless boys!” Cackling, the barkeep waves them closer “Work now. Eat later. Come on.” Leading them past the counter to the back of the building, he points to the stalls. “Muck them out.”
Gus punches Mavern in the shoulder as he shrugs, finding shovels for each of them.
“You have a better idea?”
“No.”
Hours later Mavern, rolls to his side in the fresh hay with a belly full of hot soup, his friends snoring beside him. The stars peak between the roof slats of the stable. “I miss working at McDonald’s.”

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What is hope?

As I laid down to sleep a snippet of a thought drifted in. Hope was a flower. And then I fell into dreams. I named a flower hope and watched it bloom and then wilt before my eyes. It brought forth no seeds and thus died. How could this be hope if hope can die?

As I watched the wilted flower, it was turned into the earth to become the rot that nourished a different flower. This one bloomed even bigger and brighter. I saw that there were other flowers around that wilted and died. But this one bloomed and seeded the ground.

In dying it became like the rot before it, nourishment for the next generation of flowers awaiting their chance to bloom and hopefully seed. From its seeds, stronger flowers grew and bloomed. Some seeded and others did not. All in their time became the rot that nourished the roots of the next generation.

This is hope. It lies not in the flower nor in the seed. It lies not in the rot or the ground. It lays in the cycle of life continuing on.

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A story of bricks.

I woke up from a dream about bricks. I feel like I’m a well that someone suddenly with fury tossed in a ton of bricks. I dreamed of him again. This time, he drew a line in the sand between us. I stood confused looking at this line. He placed down a single brick on top of that line and looked at me. He spoke words I dare not repeat.

For a time, I stared at the brick, willing it to move off the line. It did not. Then I heard his voice calling over that brick and I looked up. He was on the other side beaconing me to come close and so I did. For a while, it was as if that line and brick were not even there. But when I leaned over, I’d stub and hurt myself on it. I’d see it lying there between us.

Then he layed the second brick beside the first. Once again said words I dare not repeat. This kept repeating, brick by brick. Now I sit beside a wall of bricks knowing it’s too high to lean over, too tall to climb over. I even have the feeling that if asked, he’d say those were bricks I placed myself. If that was the case, then why when I take my hands to remove them, they stay in place?

All I know is that I hear him calling from over the wall. Every time before when I crossed the wall, those bricks would wound me. How long am I supposed to sit and watch the wall rise higher every day? How am I to sit and hear him call out to me from beyond the wall?

I got smart once. Thought a ladder would do the trick. Layed it on the wall and climbed up to the top and called back. The power of his shout shoved the ladder back. I landed in the sand on my rump. I don’t understand. Why call out to me from beyond the wall when you don’t want me to cross it?

Thus I learned to respect the wall no matter the call for me. I’ll plant a hedgerow of roses along the wall and carry on. I don’t understand and I guess it’s unnecessary to respect the wall. My tears have watered the roses well and their blooms will be bright and light. One day if I should chance to look back, I’ll see nothing but roses blooming in the sun.

 

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