Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

Where I Have Been

I don't write in my blog much. I have reams and reams of pages in my notebook, but nothing I'll share here.

It's been a very difficult time for me and my family lately. I'm not physically as well as I'd like to be. Doctors can't find anything wrong with me, but are suspicious of a lot of things from diet, exercise, new medications, stress, and other things immeasurable.

I go from days where I really think I could lift the back end of a car to days where I can barely squeeze my hand. Carpal tunnel has been thrown out there, but I have swelling in all extremities, especially the adema in my ankles -- stiffness in joints all the way up to my back and neck.

I saw a acupuncturist on Tuesday. Felt some relief, though nothing immediate. It was good to sit in a room and discuss every little problem I've had with someone who'll listen and give advice I can use. I'm definitely not going to take Tylenol or Alleve for awhile to get that sodium filled crap out of my system.

I know I need to sleep better. The child in me rules and keeps me up most nights. There is no such thing as being productive as an insomniac. Don't believe Maugh. It will run it's course and sap the remaining potential right out of you. Sleep is essential. I just can't get my body to comply because it has been conditioned to self destruct for far too long.

So, I'm irritable and wrestle with these emotions, especially since going off anti-depressants for the first time in 10 years...sorta cold turkey...another no-no I'm told. Bad me. Never listen to anybody and only half the voices in my head!

I could go further, but I'm recording this for posterity and because I want this little blog reminder to go away. I don't want to shut off the warning that I need to write, because I really do need to.

Can anyone tell me if my writing is grammatically incorrect or uninteresting to read? I would assume so, since I'm still sitting in no-man's land wondering when I'm going to get that tap on the shoulder. I'm hoping the next tap will come from God, but he has not come for me yet. I'll just have to wait and deal with the issues inside of my head and around me.

I could be spending more time with my kids and wife...and boy, have I been hearing about it. Why do I keep toiling away at something that won't give back. It's self abuse is what it is. The self-fulfilling prophecy of failure foisted upon me by my old man growing up. He made darn sure I cast no shadows on him -- he'd destroy me if I ever tried to confront him or go behind his back. I loved him dearly, despite the torture.

Thanks to my Mom, I have some redeeming values. But I'm afraid I'm split right down the middle. I lean toward his mischievous behavior some days and I want to be the ever loving and unconditionally embracing soul my Mom was. I really want to honor her memory more. It's the rejection issue. The need for that old man to reach out from the grave and finally say 'I love you son,' or 'I respect you,' or 'I'll give you the dues I've held back,' even in death.

He'll never come for me. It's his prophecy that I fail time and again and self destruct, pushing everyone and everything away that I love -- burn the bridges just so they can't reject me, and then I build them again, burn them again, fearing rejection over and over. My unusual behavior keeps them away. They don't understand the torment, the trouble inside. Neither do I. After 10 years, neither does my therapist. And like the meds, I won't see her anymore either.

I've locked myself away in my own room, letting myself out at night looking for love, but keeping all at arms length. Sometimes, pretending to hug when I really do want to hug. Sometimes, withholding knowing they might have already turned their noses up at me.

they they they...Who are they and what right do they have running my life? Why do I let them? I feel like Stitch when he reads the story about the Ugly Duckling and takes the book and wanders out into the woods and opens his soul to anyone who'll hear and yet no one and say, "I'm Lost."

I feel I became a swan, but still see myself as ugly. Always have. When I did see that reflection, I could only find vanity, not love. I couldn't accept the image holding someone much sweeter on the inside. It's a wonder I haven't self-destructed by now.

I'm Lost. I always manage to find the right crowd and leave them behind in pursuit of the wrong. Why am I even here? Why have I tortured myself for over nine months longing to be embraced by something representative of my father, who could only love himself?

Death visits me every night -- though I do not want to take my life. I just want to die and be nothing than to feel what I feel inside at times like this. There's this huge pull that keeps taking me out of my orbit around happiness and thrusts me into a dark world of unknown. I keep wondering if I'll find the love that has forsaken me, knowing I might die trying to find it.

I wander into these woods each night and make it out alone. No one can help me, but me. But, I find myself just going through the motions time and again. Each night, the search. Each night, the loss -- the failure. Each time, I must recover and be stronger or feel a little closer to death. I keep hoping death takes me. This perpetual tide will likely sweep me from the forest I know and into the black world that I will not be allowed to return from.

And then, I think of my kids. I know how much they need me. I have had to deal with many tears lately. I do not want to reject them, but something always manages to compel me to ignore their needs and search out this darkness in hopes of finding something I've only dreamt of finding one day.

Out of the black for tonight. Maybe, again tomorrow. I love you Alex and Maddy. I love you Jen. If I should fail to return one evening, at least you will know where I have been.

Love,

Brian