Anguish Unedited

 I Think I understand complete and utter anguish, more than I understand any other emotion. The place between your ribs, that’s pulsing, and rising up, the opposite of wholeness, but a full brokenness. A place that you go, that not even an ice burg in the middle of the ocean could you find yourself more alone. There is a shame that comes with anguish, that is where you meet bitterness, but when I was young, I hadn’t known bitterness yet.

               As a child, I laid in many strangers bed, reaching out to heaven, with no reply, except maybe the gentle comfort of dopamine that releases when the mind suffers beyond its own comprehension, and maybe that is where we meet God. Still now,a child screaming out in pain for their mother, or their daddy, yanks me out of my perceived reality and I’m seven years old again, writhing In madness, squirming for comfort, there was none. I never went home, and that pain has never gone away, I just learned how to not feel it sometimes. It doesn’t have to be a cry from a child, sometimes just a simple rejection.

Some times I see myself in a room filled with things made of glass, beautiful things, and I have a bat. I think about it, in my loneliest waking moments, where I let my pain transform itself to rage, and it begins in my belly, where is starts to get hot, when the fire reaches my chest, the day dream begins, and Im smashing everything. Glass is flying, and I can feel the weight of the bat in my hand, and the pain I get when I hit things hard and the bat pushes back, but my muscles hold strong. I fear the glass will fly up and cut me, but it some ways I hope it does, so the people that see me, could see the pain, the bleeding and what this rage has done.

               Nothing hurts more than being alone. You just wanted to be special, you wanted the person you love the most to hold you in your arms so you could be home. You never went home.

I think the most important thing for people who have seen and felt the anguish, is to find a place, deep inside, that’s safer than anyone in this world, or safer than any place in the world, because as beautiful as the world is, its far more cruel than your worst nightmares. I’ve been to that place often, deep inside, whether it was during a time I was raped, or mental hospital where your cognitive abilities had had enough and shut down, and nothing made sense anymore. I’ve been there. During a time where you died to your body, for 23 hours bringing a new life in the world, or a time when I had felt the worst physical pain in my life, where my knee was shattered to bits, and I go there. It may not be the place you find God, but many think hes there, but a place where you see yourself eye to eye. I can see the universe swirling there and the answers to my questions, the greater reality. Where you dive into each fractal until it doesn’t make sense, but then it does again. When they told me that my father had got hit by a train, my mother had died, my aunt committed suicide, the darkest despair your mind can not comprehend, there is a place waiting for you there. When your best friend betrays you, you feel like you have to start over again, How many times will I have to start over again. How many times will I break and have to find strength. Until death.. I’ve watched people die, I’ve held their hand until they took their last breath, and I know its a battle, in the heart and in the mind, a fighting and bargaining with your own soul. I know what it is to die to the self, but I don’t think I know what it is to let go, that must be death, the ultimate. Final. death.

Just weeks ago, I spoke to my councilor about my dreams, a recurring dream and fascination with drowning. Whether the dreams had been me drowning, a stranger and even my daughter. I was surprised when he told me that it made complete sense. That drowning is a struggle, and it order to find peace, you must let go, when you do, you go into a state of complete nirvana, and things don’t have to make sense but they do. My heart yearns for that peace, but you have to conquer fear, in conquering you have to let the fear consume you, then let go. Its not abnormal to go to a place, as metaphysical as it is, where fear fills your lungs and you cant breath. Panic.

              I will never sit down, and I will never turn myself in, I will always start again. If these things have taught me anything, its that in anguish, fear, complete brokenness, loneliness, and self loathing shame, that you do always have a friend, in yourself and you must find it, create it if you must, inevitably you will. I don’t know what I’m writing about today, except pain, and that it is real, that we all feel it. You live long enough, and its not a stranger, and sometimes you need to just let it consume you, as long as you get up and start again.  

As Real As It Gets

When I was in second or third grade, I remember swinging all alone on a tire swing during recess on the play ground. I was swinging away, swaying my legs back and forth,it was slightly overcast outside. I could see all the other kids running around, climbing the monkey bars, swinging on swings, each intently busy doing one thing or another, and it all seemed very important. Next thing I know, Im starting at the little rocks on the ground, that filled the entire playground and it hit me for one of the very first times, “ Im alive, and this is real.” Everything slowed down, and I was soaking in each detail, and the voices of my class mates, yelling inaudible things. “ I'm alive and this is real.” I could feel my body, “what is this anyways?”

During that time in my life, I had been in foster care. I had been bounced around to at least 6 different homes by that point. This was before the foster care system had changed. They held the opinion that no child should be in a home longer than 6 months, because they feared the child would get attached to the family. Little did they know the depths of the consequences it would have on a child and their ability to form attachments to people, or their ability to feel content. Before that, I had felt like I was going through life like a story, as in, I was the main character, but some how distant from the story, watching the story unfold, at times it was very strange. I was taken from my parents at the age 7 because of their heroin addiction. I watched them struggle with it, fight it, and lay awake for hours and hours through the night screaming from the pain of not having it. Often times I would take the roll as parent, trying to comfort my parents from the pain, or shield them from curious people who would knock on our door, wondering what was going on, and trying to find out if everything was alright. I wasn't abused by my parents, and somehow, I always had food, but most of the time, I was alone.

 

I was in hotel room the night everything changed. My dad was away at the time, in jail I believe, our house was being “remodeled” or at least that was what I was told, and there we were, late at night in a hotel room, my mom unable to get her fix, shrieking, crying, curled up in a ball. There was a knock on the door, looking back I realize it was the hotel manager. I didn’t know if I should open it or not, but I did. “Is everything ok in here?”  “yeah, my mom is just sick right now.'” I remember the wary look on his face, filled with concern, looking over my shoulder, into the room, to see what was going on. The next morning, two clean cut people came to the door, one woman, one man. They requested to speak with me. “would you like to come with us while your mother gets well, she's very sick right now.”  At age 7, I some how knew what that meant, and there was no way in hell, I wanted to leave her, sick and alone without my dad. “ No I dont.”  “We have some toys in our car that you can take a look at and see if you want.”  “ No, I want to stay with my mom.” Im not sure how many days or weeks, or time in general that went by, before my mother and I were stepping into a court room, then I was stepping out, without my mom. I was left with the cloths on my back and a medium sized container with a few Barbie's. To this day, that's all I have left of that time during my life. I never went back home.  I remember the countless nights, I laid in bed, crying for my mom, yelling “ I wanna go home!”  I yelled it for so long, for so many years it seemed. Even after both my  mother and father died, I would just think, “ I wanna go home.” Even now, when I get really sad, some how that track has been etched, and the record flips on, “ I just wanna go home.” even though, that home no longer exists.

         

It still happens now and again, when Im just walking, or doing some odd daily task, and I realize, “Holy shit, Im alive.” I think we all ponder reality and what it is. When I had just turned 21, I was at a friends birthday party, and for one reason or another, I had been upset with my now, husband, but at the time, my off and on boyfriend. His cousin and I were swinging on wooden swing, in an evening of early August. The air was warm, and their was ( in all reality, without trying to be a cliché) a slight breeze. Such a odd time to be frustrated. I was unloading my problems on him, talking about different issues, when he stopped me in mid sentence. “You have created this.” I was a little shocked and offended. “ Are you saying this is all my fault?” “No, I mean, you create your own reality, you really have NO control over anything outside of you, the pain you went through as a child, the loss of your parents, your struggles in your relationship, how other people treat you, the only world you do have control over is up here.” He points to his head. “This is your world, and you chose how you see it.”

That moment, as small and short as it was, changed my life, and though at times I still struggle with the concept, its still something I will always remember even when I chose to not follow that advise. I cant change the past, I cant change the mistakes others made with me, I cant change my mistakes, but I can move forward from them and I can chose how I perceive them, will they be tools for the future, lessons learned, or will they be a grave I did, and a misery I damn my own self to? I look back at that little girl on the tire swing, who at such a young age had been through so much, but still knew so little. The concept of reality will always be a journey, and the biggest journey for me, has been a journey from powerless, to powerful. Regardless of the many theories of reality, which are all very intriguing, there is one thing that is very true. We can all change our world, our reality, but it first starts in our own perception, and every time that sense of realness hits me, and Im stopped in my tracks and think to myself “ Dear god, I am alive, so very alive, and this IS REAL.”  I see that powerless little girl, who had her world shaken at the hands of others, then I see myself now, and the opportunities ahead, even if the world falls apart around me, Ill know Im still in control, because reality starts in our heads.

Learning to Live Without A Crutch

Ive recently quit smoking, its been a terrible struggle. Ive quit a dozen times before, even though this time seems much easier than times before, its still a battle. Ive been taking the drug Chantix, and I have noticed it helped with the initial withdrawal symptoms, it certainly didn't make it a cake walk. In fact even as Im writting this, I just stopped, clicked the facebook tap to see if my neighbor who smokes is online, so I could ask her if I could buy a smoke off of her. Of course, the battle in my head starts up. "It will take the frustration away, just a few drags and Ill feel more motivated to write, my ideas will clear up and I can see them....But you hate this, you hate everything about it , the smell, the taste, the slavery, mostly the slavery.."  This is three weeks out, three weeks of not smoking, and the justification train still tries to roll up. "Whats the difference if I just indulged myself in one cigarette anyways? Just one. What the hell have I been doing these last 9 years?  I think it will solve all my current problems, my irritability, my focus, my constant feeling like Im waiting for something. Im pretty irritable by nature as it is, so you can imagine my process of trying to quit smoking, my jaw locks up, Ive got a constant reel of negativity streaming when the cravings flood in, like how everyone is stupid, and slow and everything sucks, my fingers feel like I need to keep popping them and then there is this slight twinge I feel in my temple, or this pressure in my head, I can literally feel these sensations in my brain.

Ive always held onto smoking as some sort of crutch. Soon after my mother committed suicide, I picked up smoking, partially because my friend started smoking and it seemed fun, and partially because it reminded my of my mother and it was something to do. The first few smokes I had, I had to literally force myself to smoke painfully. Each drag made me gag and made me feel horribly dizzy, but I just wanted to, goddamn it, I wanted to. When I first started, I thought it was silly that people actually couldnt quit smoking, or had a hell of a time trying to stop. I didn't get it. I thought they were just weak. I didn't know it would end up controlling my life .As petty as an addiction as it may seem, as in, its not heroin or meth, or something along those lines, it does however change the way you do everything. You are its slave. Upon completion of any task I felt the need to smoke a cigarette, as in, in order to feel truly accomplished with a task like doing my home work or cleaning the kitchen, I needed to smoke, in order to move onto the next course of action. Its almost like, what I had just completed or done, wasn't good enough if I didn't smoke. It was a way of telling myself, "Good job, you're done." Even with meals, at the end of each meal, a nice savory satisfying cigarette was a way to end an incredible meal, a way to tell myself I was done and there is nothing quite like it. That's only f your addicted I'm sure, otherwise it would taste like shit. Who wants to destroy as delicious meal, with a mouth full of stale shit? Thats been one of the toughest things about quitting smoking for me. How do I transition? What I do with myself? Ive been drinking a hell of a lot of diet pepsi, thats for sure. I know its horrible for me, but it seems to help with the oral fixation of the addiction.

The boredom smoking. It blows my mind how much  I used to smoke out of mere boredom. I was in a waiting room the other day for over two hours, and I was bored out of my mind after my phone died and all I could do was literally twiddle my fingers, no magazines or books in sight, just me, alone in my head with my own thoughts, how terrifying. As I sat there, I realized that normally I would be going out for a smoke, or sitting there figiting like crazy because I needed a smoke, but I wasn't, I was sitting there, just waiting, thinking. That's something I don't do very often. Im always doing something. Rarely do I appreciate the nothing.  I'm a very impatient person, and I often find it difficult to fully enjoy the now, and for me, becoming addicted make that worse, much, much worse. Always running from the aloneness of my own thoughts, or stillness, needing some feel good remedy from boredom, stress, transition, or whatever the now happens to bring. Its also something to always look forward to. Of course we never look back and think, "damn I remember that one time, I had that great cigarette after I watched that movie." No, it all becomes one big blur, no cigarette really standing out from the other, until you kind of forget you are a smoker, and its just something you need, and only enjoy it because not having it is painful. I call that slavery, the worse kind too, the kind you signed yourself up for.

I hold the opinion that no one becomes an addict to anything by accident. It's usually a willful choice, made over and over and over and over. You dont try a smoke, or a line of coke and wake up the next morning an addict. It feels good to you, and you wanna feel good again, so you keep doing. Each time you do, you make a choice. You may not understand the full depths of the addiction you are walking into, or the path you are paving, or the habit you are forming, but you are taking the steps to get there. As good as it seemed to feel getting there, it s equally if not more painful to step out. The ying and the yang. What goes up must come down, the general law of everything it seems. Nothing really comes without some kind of price.

Not long ago, I faced a major crisis and watched someones life slip away, painfully, and watched their loved ones fight venomously against it, I didn't think I could handle it. Normally the smallest of stresses drives me to the my smoking sanctuary, but this time, no. Even in a house filled with cigarette smoke, by morning family members, I endured and stood strong. In fact that was the first time in 9 years I have faced a crisis with out my dear crutch, the stick of death. I will not be a slave anymore. The man who had just passed was a smoker, I watched him die from lung cancer, smoking to the very end. The strange thing about this was, I had began working with him, just two days after I decided to quit smoking, unknowingly that I would be working with a man who would die right before my eyes of lung cancer from smoking.

As I sit here sipping on my diet Pepsi, proud of each moment I don't smoke, knowing that soon enough, if not just moments from now, Ill need to pee again, because I have drank so much damn soda, I press on. I want my freedom back. Even if cigarettes didn't kill you in a variety of different ways, cost you ass loads of money, taking away from the possible vacations I could be going on, or the fun things I could be buying for myself, even if it didn't steal my health, my voice, my ability to run like I used to. Even f it didn't make me stink, my cloths, my hair, my breath and make my teeth and finger nails yellow, I no longer want to be a slave. I gave up my freedom, now Im taking it back. Its gonna be a fight, its gonna be a battle, and if it needs to be, it will be an all out war, but I'm going to be the one walking away.