Restored.

Regrettably, today was the first time I delved into the world of Phoebe Chi (PuppyDoc). Words have a certain sensation bordering on synesthesia when their magic is unlocked. This is just a sampling from a remarkably prolific and talented writer that I sincerely hope you will enjoy as much as I am beginning to.

Musings of PuppyDoc

Immortalized
within counterfeit fibers
of a petrified forest
are your sorrows
weighed with silt,
swallowed by shadows
of its own valley,
silenced beneath
the porcelain surface
of a visage pristine.

Banish them.
Let your tears cathartic
burn
these cheeks of mine.
Scour them with scars
of an ancient past
of an ache relived.
Let me bear the dusk
until from the womb,
emerged pure as
the morning dew,
is our love renewed.

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The Stages of Borderline (BPD) – Day 1, Love

Each stage of a relationship with someone who has borderline personality disorder is intense. Love is where it starts.
There’s something special about you,
That smile crashed the walls of casual interest,
A charged promise that THIS TIME the puzzle pieces would fit.
I see you glowing surrounded by a halo of perfection.
You’re a cascade of hot, passionate, intensity,
But even a drop of you soothes until its painfully peaceful.
I need you.
You ignite everything that is Me,
And you tend the flames while I’m purified in the ecstasy of You.
I want you.
In every conceivable way,
Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically.
The universe melts away and when you shudder in the moment,
I’m going to give myself to you so we can bathe in dreams from the inside out,
Kiss you softly on your eyelids and hold you as close as I can.
Can you feel it baby?
Love
Allpoetry.com – Original Post

Elegantly Disturbed Haikus #2

Spartan winks tell all, Shirking duty when eyes meet, Spellbound in such deep heat. Tentacles probing, Suction pads across sore lips, Beaks of hardened stone. Crystallize my veins, Wanton hate turn…

Source: Elegantly Disturbed Haikus #2

Addiction Recovery & Borderline Personality Disorder (from PsychCentral)

This is a fascinating and detailed read highlighting some of the specific challenges facing addicts seeking to recovery and dealing simultaneously with a diagnosis of borderline personality disorder (BPD). Great material for anyone interested in the overlapping issues and frustrations in treatment for these two damaging illnesses.

hand-on-glass-for-addiction-and-borderline

PsychCentral Article

Ink Leaks

Spilling ink from your soul.

Loosening around the edges,

With screws tweaked hard until they’re embedded deep.

Frothy blackened ink flows with silkiness,

Out across the indents to smear your tools.

Graceful and petulant the grime shines,

A mirrored tone that shakes each reflection.

Fingers slide off in an impatient rush,

Avoiding the wandering glaze seeping out with each torque.

Whetstone polish to sharpen the blade,

That soldiering behemoth of broken muse will never do as bade.

ink-covered-face

Craterellus cornicopioides

From pseudonymous themselves

Because, are you kidding me. Verbal brain sex without a condom. Thank you pseudonymous #wordplay #poetry #crazy

I had a vision while everyone was sleeping that I would find you where the redwoods met the madrones I was to go there alone six years ago with my perforated medicine water bottle backpack two pape…

Source: Craterellus cornicopioides

NONFICTION — A Day in the Life

Thanks Twisted Sister {Ed. Note — the following is from the writer’s own site, a truly amazing high-speed journey through life.} Throughout the course of my life I’ve experienced the true extremes of the spe…

Source: NONFICTION — A Day in the Life

The Update of Hope – 1/12/13

My apologies for not getting on earlier. Everyone following and others have been so incredibly supportive of this site and my work that I feel guilty over a prolonged absence.

However, for the first time in many moons that absence is not related to horrifying events, rather the beginning of a renewed vigor for life and the culmination of some challenging work.

I am being tested at a new position in the hopes it will be come something long term – I’ve thrown myself into it beyond 100% in the attempt to do so. Happily, and with great satisfaction.

I’m finally paying child support, not as much as I would like to be giving to my kids, but everything that I can afford. Consistently and with the intention of finally becoming a consistent presence.

I talk to my children once a week, reliably, and without fail. I have 5 different alarms that go off and warm me so that if I collapse in exhaustion either the alarms, or calls from multiple people warning me, will get my ass up to be there to speak with my remarkable son and daughter. While the animosity is thick between my ex-wife and I, somewhere I’m finding the appreciation and respect for her that I should have. She’s been raising my children while I was unable to. It is my responsibility to earn my way back into the family I destroyed, not expect it handed back with a smile. I don’t think that way all the time, but as I build a better existence and confidence I find that it takes away the undercurrents that I let drag me farther from them.

I’m living in a stable location….more than 40 moves in 2-years….STABILITY would be a blessing in so many ways. It took me almost 3-weeks just to put my suitcase away because I was certain that something would go wrong…now I’m considering bringing more clothes that have somehow survived all the travel.

My squishy and delicious Mimi without who the world would have stopped so long ago. Forever and always will I be hers, and she mine.

Happiness.

I think I’m getting closer to happiness.

God damn if it didn’t take one hell of a journey to get here, and he (or she) shows that I gave up time and time again. They also know I’m terrified that the other shoe will drop at any second – usually I’m the one wearing it when it does.

I’m optimistically terrified of arriving at a new future, a start to something better, and becoming what I was intended to be.

My love to everyone who continues to support the blog. I will be trying to get more consistent again as everything balances out.

Happy 2017, merry-post “holiday insert” – and my wishes for kindness, satisfaction, joy, and contentment in the coming year.

Tonight the world is peaceful.

peaceful-night-2

-S

 

 

 

 

A Day in the Life

drug-addict

This is my life. There is no rationality, no planning, scant expectation of success. An ego the size of this planet argues with a weakly protesting child, and the outcome is so basic that it bears minimal mention. Joy in one, anger and loathing in the other.

Note: written in 2014 following essentially a normal day with a relapse before my marriage collapsed. Not surprising I suppose considering the state that I was in.

You can be aware of it with a sense of resignation knowing that the inevitable outcome will be yet another failure of your will and the joy of just another day wiled away in discontent. There is an internal battle, naturally – who really wants to fight themselves mentally trying to prove that it’s wrong to do the thing the other part of you demands, regardless of the consequences. 1:30pm is about when it kicked in, and the fight was short, I had already been snorting buproprion despite all the fears brought on from yesterday’s clear overdose and seeming serotonin syndrome. Hallucinations, confusion, twitching, staggering, blind terror….certainly seems like something that you would want to do over and over again. I had been safely knocking off items from my to-do list, planned to tackle so much more for the day, when the fluttery thought of a cold beer dusted across my determination to continue the 48hr. streak of happiness and health I had been maintaining. So what if it was an hour walk to the liquor store and I had a pocket half filled with change.

Cut forward 8-hrs to my wheedling, intimidating, and self-righteous anger with my wife because she won’t give me the grocery money so I can get a pack of cigarettes.

This is my life. There is no rationality, no planning, scant expectation of success. An ego the size of this planet argues with a weakly protesting child, and the outcome is so basic that it bears minimal mention. Joy in one, anger and loathing in the other.

I’ve always questioned whether or not the majority of most other individuals at AA or NA meetings have experienced that same flat out smothering weakness. Non-committal and breaking at the slightest touch. I’m not sure. The “Big Book” speaks on “incomprehensible demoralization,” but there is always a touch of glamorization around each escapade that denotes in the back of my head some control. To be truly out of it, with only the smallest hint of coherency or willingness to fight against the thing destroying you – probably just my arrogant inner self bleating for sympathy because I must be just that damn bad. If the world had more people like me, I’m sure they would have popped up on my radar some time. Then again, AA preaches terminal uniqueness and loss of control as some of the basic precepts to their program. Depending on the time of day I’ll feel one way or the other about it.

To put it in perspective on a physical level, imagine yourself preparing to make dinner, say a tasty salad or some such other vegetablish item. Now picture that about halfway through, a casual thought about how tasty some meat would be in addition to the salad, but sadly you lack the funds. Before you finish, you’ve discussed the variables, the outcome, the possibilities, the pain – and you’ve come to a conclusion – your finger would make the perfect accoutrement. Down with the knife, up to the lips, and in a heartbeat, you’ve maimed yourself over a passing thought. Now that the moment is over, you can embrace the pain and relish the understanding of how sick you must be, provide yourself that information for an ongoing reference to continue justifying your actions.

But this disease sustains, it offers glimmers of hope, of optimism among the shroud of misery that you wear over your daily interactions with the world. This last time, that was absolutely the last time. Tomorrow you’ll feel better, and you’ll be stronger for having survived another ordeal. Until the day comes that you bitterly and pathetically weep that there won’t be a tomorrow with longing and hope for your expiration. Choking on tears and gasping prayers to any god or devil that will listen to remove the pain once and for all. Prayers so rarely answered it seems.

I told my wife at counseling that I had given up, but was balancing the need to see her, my son and my unborn child set-up someplace where I would know them to be safe and housed comfortably with a cushion in front of them. Seconds earlier, our counselor, Paula, who had initially been working one on one with me, had announced that she would no longer be working with me as she felt that there was nothing she could do to help and had become discouraged.

“Well, then why haven’t you gone out full tilt?”

At my core, I’m still a coward. I know where that will take me. Not where I hope it will, but likely to an institution or a jail where that one prized aspect to my existence that I have ever embraced as the key to masking the inner turmoil; independence. I don’t want to lose my family, and I would to delude myself for a few moments longer that all is not lost. I want to feel like I did one good thing as I crashed to Earth. Even if that single action was a mere minor amelioration of the damage so unjustly caused by me on way down.

And I’m human.

I’m scared.

 

Pen with Wit

This prose of mine,

Uses wit to share,

A world all in rhyme.

 

From common to fantastic,

A one man show,

Cheerily quite tragic.

 

My thoughts Will Shake,

Romantic exaltation,

Bard your thirst I can slake.

 

Hear this soul vision,

Verses as a paintbrush,

Abstract mind without television.

 

I abdicate the final word,

Nod my head to a Lord,

Whose pen was mightier than a sword.