Living Through The Storm

"Black are the brooding clouds and troubled the deep waters, when the Sea of Thought first leaving from a calm gives up it's Dead." ~ Charles Dickens

Written September 16th & 17th:

Once again I have lost it. This time almost to complete madness, delirium. I have felt this event building inside me for a long time now. A storm, slowly gathering all nature's elements to release a wrath, an exasperation of emotion and despair.

In a small rowboat in the midst of domineering waves and currents battling for control of the sea, I sit without a lifejacket. As one paddle was ripped from my hands and sucked into the depths of darkness, I knew then the journey to calm waters would be demanding and vigorous.

Slowly, little by little, bit by bit, my rowboat broke into pieces, drifting away eaten by the storm. I cling onto my last paddle. Embracing for the downpour, but in denial of the condition of the vessel carrying me to placid waters. This is how I have allowed my mind, heart and spirit to live, on edge, in flight or fight mode.

Eventually, no matter how strong you are, this way of life will weaken you until bending is impossible and you break. It is now that I must decide. Will I sink or swim? Currently I am too exhausted to swim, not yet ready to sink. Bobbing with the waves in the aftermath all I can manage to do is wish and wait for a life raft to wander my way. With desperation I frantically hold onto the last remaining portion of my rowboat. The splintered paddle. Chunks of wood missing and pathetically the center of my survival, it really would not help anyone move if used.

This storm has left me in such a deplorable state that I am left almost unrecognizable. Broken, desperate, pathetic, weak and defeated. These are the words that now describe me.

Looking into the mirror at the image of what is me has never been easy. Now, however, it is a haunting staring back. Shattered pieces with jagged edges ready to pierce the skin. Sometimes its hard to see the light reflecting off of the scraps that once were me now hidden amongst the darkness.

"Unbeing dead isn't being alive." ~ E. E. Cummings

That is how I feel. Many thoughts that "sane" people find disturbing are a comfort to me. The thick substance, dark red, pooling to the surface of the skin. Slowly emerging from an opening and forming droplets that run down my arm. Not heavy, not light, noticeable and a relief.

"What the hell?" I know this is the thought that is in the forefront of your mind. Because this substance is life. A reminder my heart beats just as yours. Through my veins and arteries flows the life water, a gift from the Gods and Goddesses, from Mother Earth herself.

Does this mean I have pierced my skin to see this? Not necessarily. The thought alone brings relief and comfort. This life water should not be wasted.

Yet the thoughts are there.

This past week I was told I am different, and different scares people. I scare people. If I scare people on a normal basis, then this would terrify them.

I struggle with the thought that I "scare" anyone. Let us look at this in a logical sense.

Scare:

-Verb (used with object)

1. to fill, especially suddenly, with fear or terror; frighten; alarm

-Verb (used without object)

2. to become frightened; that horse scares easily

-noun

3. a sudden fright or alarm, especially with little or no reason

4. a time or condition of alarm or worry

Fear:

1. a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain; whether the threat is real or imaginary

2. a specific instance of or propensity for such a feeling: an abnormal fear of heights

3. concern or anxiety; solicitude; a fear for someone's safety

Terror:

1. intense, sharp, overmastering fear; to be frantic with terror

2. an instance or cause of intense fear or anxiety; quality of causing terror

No wonder I feel like a monster. These words are strong and vicious. Do I truly scare people? Install fear into them? I would hope not.

Ignorance and closed minded propensities breed fear, which in turn breeds hatred.

Perhaps logically, I do scare people. Let us look at the adjectives used to describe me, many I use myself as well as others.

Eccentric:

-deviating from the recognized or customary character, practice; irregular; erratic; peculiar; odd

Peculiar:

1. strange; queer; odd

2. uncommon; unusual

Different

1. not alike in character or quality

2. not identical; separate or distinct

3. various; several

4. not ordinary; unusual

If then I do fulfill these three definitions, I could theoretically scare people. People are afraid or fearful of different ideologies and lifestyles they do not or refuse to understand. This ignorance thus leads to fear which in turn leads to hate.

Now I feel both validated as a monster, and saddened by the unwillingness of people to educate themselves and broaden their knowledge.

"She likes herself, yet others hates, for that which in herself she prizes, and while she laughs at them, forgets she is the thing that she despises." ~William Congreve

I have not been left alone for any length of time since my meltdown. This I have welcomed. Currently I am not strong enough to be alone in my muddled mind. Alone and lost in the sea.

I have done nothing these two days but watch the world slip by. Feeling the warmth of Chico laying upon my feet or against my legs. In the semi I ride. Wasting time. Trying not to think, pushing thoughts of responsibilities I am far behind on to the bottom of my mind. To the depths of darkness resting on the floor of the ocean with my first paddle.

As I sit, I see people in their vehicles. I wonder if they truly feel, live, or if they just go through the routine tasks of everyday life. On autopilot. Sometimes I wish I could live on autopilot.

Through the window I see trees, hills, amazing cemeteries, livestock and fields zoom past. A calming and disconnecting sight. I can only imagine how each of these items smell, sound, and feel under my skin. My previous experiences can form assumptions on these items. That takes more energy then I currently have.

On our way back from Seneca, Nathan stopped at the Precious Moments Chapel. Offering a gift of peace and serenity. The tranquility of the garden, statues, and paintings offered a moment of assurance.

We shall see what my attempt of photography resulted in once I am reunited with the dwelling I call home.

Looking at him I am filled with guilt. Here in the middle of my storm, he is desperately trying to keep our family, our marriage, his wife alive. I have very little strength to help. This is what overwhelms me in guilt. My muddled mind and the actions that result from such.

"I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really." ~Tennessee Williams