So here it comes on again like the wondrous moment before the plunger goes down and that spiral twists its way into your innermost regions to play songs of the sweetest sin across who you are.
Its a bit different when its in your head though, and nothing but the tin can rattling around to remind you of the slurried remnants of what you once called yourself all but forgotten in an intense longing, for…er…to do…fuck…something.
Clutch point on a catch and release orgasm and the fish is dying on the line.Fuck me three ways from Sunday if I can pin it. So where to go.
Where to go.
There’s a world of misnomers and labeled identities, expectations surrendered to the form that they should choose to inhabit best. Mockeries, outlines of the happiest of folks, and I’ll be damned but I swear some of them really are. It’s amazing. If Sister Sandra didn’t outline your petticoat of ethics while Uncle Chuck was massaging in that Berber fear based scarf that pulls the timidity and downtrodden good graces together with just the perfect smack on the ass I don’t know who did.
I’ve been longing, frothing, aching, begging, sobbing, pleading, wheedling and whining in a desperate attempt to get a new label put on. Something good, you know, for appearance sake.
I tried addict out, poor showmanship and the disappointing fucker won’t get off my back now.
Bi-polar was too average without being so at all, everyone has mood swings don’t they, – ha! – Schizoaffective! – there! – something that I genuinely am petrified of because it calls into question the most basic of natural inborn gifts the lowliest of us has – the ability to tell what you see to be real and gauge you actions and interactions within that bubble of awareness around and off of.
A temperature gauge, a pair of glasses, a belt with the appropriate number of holes, two matching shoes, functional nostrils to determine whether that meat might have been in the sun too long.
All of that seems like an appropriate comparison.
So what now?
I spend the days quivering like some gelatinous and pathetic swamp monster, unshowered and unshaven but keenly aware that I MIGHT not stink that bad because after all I can’t trust my own senses anymore, even with the meds.
Drugs. Yeah, that ought to do it. Only those magnificent twizzle rods of fuck dust are now all run about and out down the line.
No more pixie sticks and heroin frosties to edge out the creeping inanity that is my life.
And I seem to have been sinking deeper and deeper into that mire with it’s welcome embrace.
If I wasn’t so sick of myself I’d be totally sick of myself.
Morosely staring at a computer screen banging out morose and melancholy teenage diatribes to the sounds of a small violin weeping from the parapets, or the playground we’re camped in front of. One of the two, maybe both I suppose.
My wife is laying in bed, we are steadfastly agreeing to not ignore each other while being mirrors of the ignoring we are showering on the other. Fractured trust goes with fractured reality, the road to new pastures of happiness together may be long and the journey endless, maybe this typing escape is something of a lilting start.
Action through words as opposed to trying to battle words and wills into something to take advantage of this laminal state of being, transitioning, transitioning, transitioning, into…..what?
I’m not sure anymore where the road leads, nor do I know what will be there when I find it, the goddamn road that is. But I do believe that Heather has made some very good points and that in this drifting phase of careless and repetitious insanity where I still seem to choke on the cacophony of spoiled ingratitude I can now sense on myself more regularly – now might be a good time to let some of the positive traits start to come back out, start to form something of a new identity. Maybe one that includes some of the pieces that come with being an addict, an alcoholic, a schizo with bi-polar, on top of being a….why is this part so hard….fucking hell.
I am a outgoing, sincere, authentic and a truly genuine man/boy with a desire to ease the pain of folks when they are at their lowest and who will always take the opportunity to show random acts of kindness to strangers because it just feels right. I want to nurture the fire inside those around me, and while I recognize that now I put water on the flames more often then naught, THAT desire is part of what makes me me. I am a remarkably flawed, in soooooooo many ways….but I am always non-judgemental upfront in my mind and choose to accept those that come my way as they are, even when I haven’t been doing that for myself.
I’m eccentric, a weirdo, a goofball, a dork, sexually gregarious and then ambivalent, bi-sexual then straight, poly then mono.
I used to coin myself “Chaos Incarnate” – an unstoppable force of nature.
I’d like to be a force of nature again, less tears though, more smiles, more laughs…..way more laughs…..
My name is Skye, and I’m a force of nature. There’s a laugh, right there.