You are frustrated and bored
Because they never even begin
To understand the colourful complexity
Of your vast personality
You are far too complicated
To be dissected by a mediocre lover
Whose inept hands explore
Only the hard shell of your existence
You yearn for an Other
To chisel away at your hard surface
Peel away the layers of pain and despair
Release you to a new experience ; naked
But amidst the slew of tinker toy soldiers
Marching over your iron heart
There is no sight of a cloaked Knight
Only a shadow of what might have been…
Well… So much for my anxiety getting better. The addict has bought a new van ( he sold the last SUV) for next to nothing to pay off dealers. I haven’t even bothered to say anything about the utter MADNESS of this decision. I think I have been ignoring it but he got the van today so I have no choice but to accept it now.
He’s already back to drinking once a week this week went to twice. This is even with attending three meetings a week. We all know and have been down this road before. It starts with the drinking and then goes to the crack cocaine. Now he’s mobile and can come and go as he pleases even more so it’s only a matter of time before he starts his shit again.
He bought a manual van and he hasn’t driven manual in YEARS. I’m already foreseeing all manner of catastrophe of driving drunk / high and now in a vehicle which is much huger than anything he had before.
I worry about the dogs what if he hits one of them or damages a wall or one of the other two cars (mine) in the yard. I’m not worried about him dying because those fuckers never die it’s ever one else who has to suffer.
He’s had it less than a day already and is already pissing me off. He was supposed to park in an uncovered area but complained he doesn’t want rain wetting it so she gave up her parking spot under the garage to appease him. Now under the garage the back end of the van is still sticking out a bit and he is already talking about extending the garage… Two posts here and bring out roof here. Am, no.
You barely have it day you haven’t consulted with anyone else living here and you already have plans. Nothing new, “oh he could do what he want”. All the selfish behavior is coming back. The cuss out was close to coming.
Soon enough we will be back in the same position where he will be coming and going at all hours and using again and ha not being able to even sleep because if she locks him out he will be out in the yard making a set of noise to come inside.
I am fed up and it hasn’t even fully started yet. But it will. He didn’t stay in treatment long enough as usual and is already slipping and going to take everyone else along with him.
And while this is supposedly future tripping is it really when you know the inevitability of a situation that has recurred for almost a decade? I think not.
I sit at the edge
Where the sea rushes to kiss
My tired soul – Love
Even though recovery from my surgery hasn’t been as easy as I had hoped I’m doing pretty well. My stitches refused to dissolve so I had to have them cut out, needless to say I was not impressed. But there isn’t nearly as much pain as before.
I’m on a much needed yet rare break from performing and my everyday job is at its lightest point of the year for the next two months or so. Therefore I’m technically on a kind of go-slow mode for a while.
Things aren’t going bad, they’re actually pretty stable so you know what that means … I’ve got a lot of time to start to wonder about when it’s going to GO bad. My sponsor always said that it’s our side of the disease that does that to us… Create an inherent anxiety over nothing that has happened as yet aka future tripping.
I often wonder if that ever gets any better. Can we train ourselves to nix the worry… While people have always touted the benefit of positive thinking somehow I’ve never been sold by the idea. I could never bring myself to look in the mirror and say positive things and feel like I would truly believe them or any of the other suggested reinforcement ideas.
I know in my case it’s always about missing “something”. I’m still missing something in my life and I don’t know what it is and I don’t know if I will ever find it. Anxiety seems to find a way to fill that empty space all the time.
I know I’m anxious about real things but also mostly about unwarranted things… All of which I cannot even control so it’s no use in being anxious about it because it’s all inevitable anyway if it really is meant to happen to me. If anything, fixating on all the anxiety probably makes me even more likely experience what I’m so afraid of… Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
My birthday was this week I turned 33. So I’m not getting any younger. I’m no closer to being settled… Stagnant yes… Settled no. By settled I mean being happy and accepting with life… Whatever life is at this moment.
I know I still lack goals. I suppose a goal should be to find something else to fill the empty space so that the anxiety can’t do it for me. It still leaves me with the question of what that thing could be. I lack zeal in everything so I can’t think of anything that I would want to do in that way… But I want that if I reach 34 I won’t be feeling exactly this same way. I must achieve some difference by then and have found something that I can be interested in.
Goal#1: find something to be zealous about
Trace your finger on
The curves of my body, slow…
Remind me you’re here.
I wonder if life
Will stop disappointing me …
Can things ever change?
I was a lover of books from the moment I could begin reading words. I never went through the stilted one word phase I went immediately to reading pages at a ravenous speed.
I lost my love for reading when my boyfriend died. Strangely… The same way I lost the feeling to sleep. I went from reading easily 50 books a year to none. Not feeling to read, not wanting to read, not being interested to read.
You can’t even begin to see the irony in this with my having a degree and masters in literature and being a literature teacher for over a decade now. Reading is and should still be my life… Yet it’s not.
It didn’t stop me from buying books. I would still go in book stores and continue to buy but they would be piled unread in my room. After the first year passed I read a book. But that’s it … Every year since I read one , two if I’m lucky. I would enjoy it and feel the love while the book is open but once it’s done and I shut it it’s like a light is turned off again… One that takes 365 days before it could be turned back on.
Yesterday while watching tv I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to read something. So I went to my lifetime love Stephen King and read Mr. Mercedes … A book I’d bought and put down and had stared at me for months.
Me not wanting to read a new Stephen King immediately is in itself a blatant account of just how much I had lost the love for reading. I have every novel collected and would read them as they were released… Now I’m not even a shadow of the reader I once was.
There’s no real reason for it. It’s not as if my boyfriend was a reader (he himself would attest that he’d never read a whole book in his life). I just stopped feeling…
Mr. Mercedes was good … I raced through it in about four hours. But of course now I’m back to square one where I feel like that’s it for a long time.
My response to much of life after he died has been like that. I like running yet I hardly do it. I think about it but can’t bring myself to actually do it. If I do I would last a month then give it up again for another six months. The energy to actually get out of bed and do “things” just never seem to come.
The year is early yet so maybe I will get he feeling again before end of year and actually make it two books… we will see how it goes…