Tag Archives: reality

Karmic Debt

With the acknowledgement that the past resonates, the question, then, becomes WHY does it resonate?  If one believes in past lives, that we live again and again, learning things, making up for things we did incorrectly the last time, with the goal of becoming something better with the passage of each lifetime, then one could argue that the past resonates because those are the life lessons that we failed previously.  A second chance, per se.

But in my life… in this one… the past resonates often.  And it’s not the past lives… it’s this one.  Things echo.  People walk in and out of my life, more people come in to take their places, and the replacements resonate the way that the other ones do.  It’s like déjà vu.  I told someone not long ago that time is a funny thing.  It echoes.  It throws itself up in the air time and time again, the pieces get re-mixed, and then they all fall back down again.  In a new order, yes, but still the same old pieces – a reflection of what was.

I’m beginning to understand that now, particularly with what I’m doing with the men in my life.   Where two have now left, two others have taken their places.  Not in the same sense, no, but let’s start at the beginning.  I have only ever been madly in love with a man three times in my life.  There was my first fiancé, years and years ago.  When that ended, it took me months to recover.  There’s Buttface.  Who built that one up for a decade.  Getting over that, over it entirely, took forever too.  And then there’s Botboy.  Who I never really truly met, but it’s hard not to fall hard for someone when you speak to them daily, for hours out of the day, and when (whether they’re being real or not) they are everything you’ve been looking for for forever.  They have these things in common:  I was smitten with each of them in their time.  It also took an inordinate amount of time for me to recover from the fallout when it was over.  From the first two, I have recovered.  From the third… I’m mostly there.  It still pains me now and again but I am taking the pieces of that that I can salvage and making those mine.  Letting everything else go.

But that isn’t enough for Karma.  At least not for me.  See, she’s a bitch.  When I do something wrong, when I fuck something up, she makes me do it again.  And since, apparently, I am on my last life before I get to do “something else”, that means that whatever damage I do in this life, I have to fix in this life too.  So the past resonates.  Hard.  I have lessons to learn and no time to learn them in.  It’s like crunch time for finals.  It’s extreme.  But I’m dealing.  Anyway the two in question this evening are Buttface and Botboy.

I am not a bad person.  But I do like control.  I do like stability.  I do like to plan.  I like to know where things are going, what I am doing, and while I realize that you can’t plan for everything, christ, I try anyway.  So we’ll start with Buttface.  Ten years.  We waited to meet for ten years.  When we met, we tried to make it happen.  I believe he wanted it as much as I did.  But we were also both freshly divorced.  Things fell apart.  I don’t have enough words to go into detail here, but suffice it to say that out of a need to control, out of a need to understand, I suffocated him.  I was much younger, of course.  I didn’t realize what I was doing and I didn’t understand that I was killing from the inside what I was trying so hard to protect.  Things ended between us nastily.  My friend that I’d had for a decade was suddenly gone.  I was left to recover.  That was painful.  An impossible task, really.  But I did it.  We had one more small affair, casual that time, and then decided that we were better as friends.  We are friends to this day.  But it’s a hard won friendship.  There were years where we did not talk.  Long years.  I learned some things.  Hard won lessons, but I learned them.

Buttface = Metalhead

Enter Metalhead.  One of my best friends.  He’s had a blog… anyone who doesn’t know about him can go back and read about Rule Breaking.  But we’ve been friends since I moved to Florida.  He’s been one of my best friends through all of this.  We’ve had our periods where we didn’t talk, too, but that’s been more out of business than out of anger or frustration.  However it’s been interesting, at the very least, since we started sleeping together.  I’ve gotten to know him on an entirely different level, which is normal when you go from one level of friendship to another.  But it’s been bizarre too.  He doesn’t look anything like Buttface.  They are opposites right down to their height and hair color.  But their mannerisms, the way they approach life, the way that they respond to things… those things are exactly the same.

At first it was funny in a way, but then, as things progressed, as Metalhead started distancing himself, I started seeing things happening again.  I wasn’t controlling him… not at all.  I was keeping a lid on that, because after Buttface, I know better.  Hence the Karmic test.  Or part of it.  But I realized something else, too.  That I did not want carnal desires (I’ve always wanted to use that phrase!) to disrupt my friendship.  He was gone for a week, taking care of his kid.  I missed him, I missed the company.  I do not want a relationship with him, but I don’t want to lose my friend either.  And so, over drinks last night, we talked.  And we sorted it out.  He understands I’m not looking for anything else (because apparently he was worried about this), I told him that if this was going to fuck up the friendship we’ve built then I’d rather just stop it, and then we agreed to continue on for the time being with the way things are.  Airing out dirty laundry, communicating, that’s what friends do.  They don’t sit around and wonder… not communicate… not grow a pair and just ask (the way I refused to do with Buttface).

I apologized to Buttface for the past.  I squared things away with Metalhead (who still stays over, hangs out, is accompanying me on a trip I’m taking in a few weekends, yes we’re still having an affair because neither of us want to stop right now).  Everything is good there.  Karmic debt paid.  Hopefully this is a lesson I don’t have to continue to do over.

Botboy = Jesus

But there’s another one.  Botboy.  And it’s not the same lesson this time.  Not one of control.  Because with deployments, you realize you have very little and you learn to be okay with that.  Or you move on.  Deployment (his) taught me patience.  It taught me that I can’t always do things my way.  I am good with that.  What it did NOT teach me was not to jump into things headfirst without looking at what I’m jumping into.

And so, I’m doing it over.  There’s another overseas boy.  This one I call Jesus.  Because he physically looks like Jesus.  Same name as my first ex fiancé (the only other one of those).  Different country, but a similar situation.  The food sucks, the smiley faces are the same in the chats, the boredom is apparently the same, the movie watching, all of that is reminiscent.  And all of those things are minor.  Very amusing, but minor.   He doesn’t play with TransFormers, but in the midst of all of this, TransFormers are everywhere… on billboards.  On the freaking television.  On the back of vehicles I randomly pass in the road.  And then there is the girl.

I wrote about her.  I wrote about the girl that at least played some sort of part in the Botboy breakup (The Bot is the blog to reference for that one).  His ex wife, the one he said he did not want, but who wanted him.  The one who kept stalking him.  Torturing him.  Who had made his life more difficult than it needed to be and who, by proxy, made mine difficult.  With Bot, I chose to jump in anyway, knowing she was there, knowing he wasn’t over her, knowing that there was likely to be some baggage (though not knowing how much).  I made that choice.  I made that choice and then what looked like it was going to be okay, ended up not being okay.

Jesus has another woman in his life, too.  The same age (roughly).  And she looks just like her.  I mean these two women could be sisters (though they are not related to my knowledge).  And she says she loves him.  Red flags went off.  Immediately.  Because we learn, don’t we?  We learn from the past.  I had my heart stomped on, I wasn’t expecting it to be stomped on, because I trusted Bot.  It’s not that I don’t trust the new one… Jesus.  I have no reason not to trust him, but I don’t have a reason to trust him either.  And that’s the point.  We’ve not met face to face.  And we won’t until he gets home.

I’m not getting invested.  I can’t.  I’m intrigued by him.  But the girl may be a dealbreaker.  And what I have to learn this time is to let it go.  To let it develop in its own, if It’s going to develop, and leave it be if it isn’t.  I say this isn’t a lesson in control, and it isn’t for the most part.  This is a lesson in patience.  In waiting to see what happens.  In not jumping the gun out of desire.  And I’m learning it.  While it is a painful one to learn, because it is so reminiscent of what I’ve just gone through – what I just began to get over – over the last few months, I’m doing it.  Because I have to.

I have to learn to stop putting the cart before the horse.  I have to stop jumping the gun, I have to stop trying to make those choices for him.  Did we talk for six hours?  Yes.  Did I have fun?  Yes.  But that’s all it is right now.  And that’s all it’s going to be right now, because everyone has free will.  If he wants the other woman, he should have her.  Botboy did not want the ex wife… but I believe he did find someone else, much as I did not want to admit it for awhile.  So this lesson… this one is just letting time play out.  Let the chips fall where they will… let time do its rearranging and just to be okay with whatever design it chooses until it decides to throw them up again.

Karmic debt isn’t completely paid on this one… it’s a work in progress.  But I got this.

The Professor

Professor is gone.  Like, gone for good this time.  Because this time I was final about it.  This time I was clear about it.  And this time I knew what needed to be done.

We’d gotten to know each other again.  And at times, that getting to know you routine had been fun.  It made me feel very young again, I was intrigued.  But in the middle of all that conversation, dealbreakers started surfacing.  Now… everyone has dealbreakers.  Rules.  We already know about that from an earlier blog.  And I’ve broken several of those rules over the last month.  But there are others that I can’t break, no matter how hard I try.

Complaints, negativity, an inability to live up to the promises to stop the sex talk, the gambling, the presumptuousness of thinking that I was going to give up everything the second he flew down here and spent some money on Disney tickets.  And then there was the realization that if I were to do this, if I were to be with him, I would have to move.  I would have to leave Florida entirely.  Because he would not move here – if he moved at all, he’d move further north.  He made that abundantly clear.  And I don’t want to move.  For all that sometimes I find myself very isolated, the eternal summer makes all of that very bearable at times.  It’s a fair trade-off.

And in Florida, I can be who I really am.  I can study what I want to study.  I can believe what I want to believe without being harassed too much about it.  And he doesn’t believe in any of it.  If he doesn’t quite think I’m crazy, he doesn’t seem to think I’m entirely sane either.  Being with him, a lawyer, in Kansas would not only mean that I would have to move, I would have to hide it again.  And, worse, probably, eventually, stop it all together.  Make the voices go silent again.  Deny what I really am.  And I can’t do that.  Not now.  Not anymore.  I’ve never felt so complete in my life.

And yet, if I said no, if I cut ties with this altogether, what would happen?  It’s been a decade since he’s not been in my life.  Of course there were times when we weren’t speaking… more of those times, really, than times when we were.  But I am also thirty.  I’ve argued both sides of the coin – I can afford to be picky, and yet I can’t afford to be picky.  And since he’s filled the void so well over the last few weeks – a void left completely empty by Botboy – if I got rid of him, what would I do next?  What would I do without him?  I could ignore all of this… I could ignore my inclinations to stay here and I could move there, and I could let him have me, and I’d have my relationship.  I wouldn’t be alone anymore.  But at what cost?

When I thought about the reality of leaving myself behind, when I thought about the ramifications of what a move to Kansas would mean for me, I wasn’t sure it was the smart thing to do.  I’d not only be leaving myself behind, but I’d be trapped, essentially, in an area where I knew no one.  Where literally my only friend would be the Professor.  And where I couldn’t go out to make friends of my own – at least not like the ones here – without having to worry about what that would do to his job and his reputation.  I could see what would happen very clearly if I stayed with him.  We’d marry.  We’d argue a lot – not necessarily because there were so many things to disagree about, but because I wouldn’t be happy and I could not force myself to be happy.  If we had children (and I wasn’t even sure he WANTED children – other than sex he never spoke of anything else), they’d suffer too.  I could see myself in it, of course.  But I could not see myself being happy in it.  And happiness… happiness… that is so important.  After the nightmares that were my marriage and that relationship with Gatsby/3.0, I have realized that and believe it more firmly than I ever have.

And yet I was still on the fence.  I didn’t want to hurt him.  I’m not very good at breakups.  They are painful.  They are awkward.  And they are so final sometimes.  And I wasn’t even sure that that’s really what I wanted.  I still couldn’t fathom a life without him in it, in one facet or another, though now I understood that that was more out of habit than out of any real feelings for him.  That Friday, though, when I didn’t hear from him, it was peaceful.  I didn’t know why he hadn’t talked to me.  But it was peaceful.  When I found out that it was because his phone had screwed up the night before and had deleted my number, I took it as a sign.  Because when I can’t do something myself, the universe has a way of making sure it happens anyway.

I chose myself.  For the first time in a very, very long time, I chose myself.  My happiness.  My beliefs.  I chose all of those things over someone else.  I chose all of those things over a relationship.  I put myself first.  I’m a generous girl.  A giver.  And while outwardly I may come across as being very selfish, I’m truly not.  But maybe a little bit of selfishness isn’t such a bad thing.  Maybe a little bit of selfishness is necessary… because you can’t always put someone else first.  You can’t always put someone else in front of you… or else you never get anywhere.  And you give too much of yourself, you compromise too much of yourself.

And so, four drafts later, when I was sure I wasn’t bitter, and when I was sure it wasn’t an attack, I sent an email:

“I have been thinking a lot, to make sure I do not make a mistake. But then I realized that if I have to think about something like this so early on, I already have my answer.

Thank you for the offer to take me to Disney.  It was very generous of you.  But I fear that you have ulterior motives behind this offer, whether you can admit to them now or not. Regardless, I don’t want to feel obligated to you, and if we went, I know I would. And so, I cannot accept it.

Further, I cannot do this.  Not just because of those motives, but because I don’t think that what you want from me is aligned with what I am looking for.  And even if it were, there are simply too many deal breakers in this situation in order for me to be able to look at it with any sort of seriousness toward long term potential (no, it is not just the gambling).  I fear it would be a waste of time for both of us.  I do want you to be happy.  But I do not think that your happiness is with me – not in the long term.  And the short term is not possible either.  I cannot compromise either my principles in the short term, nor my self, happiness, and satisfaction in the long term.  To ask me to do either would be unfair.

With all of that said, please know that I don’t say any of this out of anger.  You’ve done nothing except to be yourself; that’s all anyone could ask of you. And ultimately, I wish you the best as you start down a new path.”

He said nothing afterward.  And it’s been a full week.  There has been no reply, no communication, nothing.  And I’m okay with it.  Because that’s what I wanted.  Finality.  No arguments, no tears, no communication – nothing that would tempt me to change my mind, nothing that would tempt me to go into something I know I would not be satisfied with.

They say that the universe replaces the things we get rid of.  It has up until now, though sometimes those replacements are made with the same people coming back again and again because I don’t exorcise them fully from my life.  This one has been.  I know that now.  This time it feels differently.  Not a temporary cooling off period… this time it’s done.  Something else will enter my life… when it’s the right thing and when it’s ready.  Until then I wait, and I read my books, and I play with my cards, and my herbs, and my crystals, and my pendulum.  And I try to find patience.


About six months ago, after Botboy decided he was going to move in with me when his deployment was over, I began to make preparations.  I cleaned my house from top to bottom.  I made room for all of his toys and clothes in my closet.  I made numerous trips to Goodwill, especially as his arrival got closer and I began to realize, with the arrival of each and every package, how imminent (and real) it all was.  By the time he arrived, his soap was in my bathroom.  His toys were in my closet.  The closet was half empty with empty hangers in the back anticipating the integration of his clothing.  My room had been redecorated and rearranged to better accommodate a second person.  I’d bought new lamps, new pillows for the other side of the bed.  I was ready.

And then things fell apart.  All of this is well documented here, I’m not going to go through the trouble of reliving it again.  But for weeks I looked at my apartment in disgust.  Yes, it looked better than it ever had.  Yes, it was prepared to take a second person if it needed to.  But that second person was gone.  And all the time, all the money I spent getting things ready seemed like a waste.  I didn’t have the heart to even touch the place to clean it for awhile, preferring to sleep elsewhere, to eat out.

So I spent my days at work, my evenings in classes for the psychic and witchcraft stuff I’m doing, my weekends exploring Florida, coming home only to sleep and watch TV occasionally.  The bed I kept clean, the couch I kept clean, the laundry I’d do.  But everything, including Bot’s things, stayed largely where it was when he walked out – his keys on the keyholder, his papers, his notes, everything right where I’d left it that day.  And then I was told to put it away… box it up… put it in the closet out of sight, where the negative energy wouldn’t be able to get out and I wouldn’t have to look at it every day.  It was imperative, my guides said, to do this if I were ever going to be able to properly move forward.

I did that.  And I started to move on.  As I said in a prior post, Metalhead’s living situation is a little questionable right now.  And by questionable, I mean he sort of doesn’t have one.  Up until recently, he’s been spending his nights and weekends in bars, drinking as he tried to find someplace to stay for the night.  Luckily for him, he’s had plenty of military buddies to crash with.  And this had been going on since his two-week drill a month ago.  With the recent developments, he’s been staying at my place most nights.

Here, he has a bed.  He doesn’t have to surf couches.  He doesn’t have to sleep in his car.  He’s using the Botboy’s soap that was left behind here.  The pillows I’d bought for Botboy are being put to good use.  And the company is nice for a change.  It’s been awesome to have someone to walk with when I take a walk at night, it’s been nice to have someone to cook for now and then.  And while my kitchen table looks like something out of a frat house right now since, thanks to him, I’ve revived my love for partying, we’re having a good time together.

Best of all, my life hasn’t had to change much.  Granted, I still stay up late some nights waiting so I can let him in the door, but even that’s not such a big deal.  I’m writing more and I’m getting things done.  He’s motivated me to get my life back together – back to what it was before it crashed down around my ears.  Are we still having our affair?  Yes.  I’m sticking with my original plan to not overthink it.  And I’m happy.

The reasons for that happiness are twofold.  First of all, because I get to hang out, very frequently, with one of my closer friends.  Second, though, and probably even more profound: I’m doing something for someone that needs it.  I’m giving my friend a place to stay while he gets his shit back together.  A place to shower.  A place to do his laundry (though I did some of it for him tonight – I enjoy laundry).  Something other than beer for dinner every night.  Stability, in the limited ways that I myself am able to provide it.

While all of those preparations I made before weren’t made for Metalhead, he’s getting the benefit of them.  “Everything happens for a reason,” he says.  And I agree with him.  I didn’t understand why, after doing all that work, it seemed to be for naught.  But now I wonder if all of that work was never for Botboy in the first place.  Maybe it was for Metalhead, who needs it more than Botboy would have.  It’s not permanent.  I know that.  He knows that.  But for now, he knows that there is always somewhere to lay his head.  And he knows that, next weekend, when he gets back from drill, there is a place to take a shower and get clean.

And for my part?  He’s giving back more than he knows.  I’m not lonely anymore.  This house isn’t empty anymore and I don’t feel like I’ve wasted my money.  Or my time.  Because it’s going to the benefit of someone else.  I can still go to my classes, but there’s someone to talk about it all with later.  “Life turns on a dime” as Stephen King writes.  He’s not lying.  It does.  This doesn’t fix everything, but he’s given me my confidence back.  He’s making me feel wanted again.  I’m having a good time and I’m finally able to take myself back for what I was, the parts I didn’t want to give up, before January.

And you know, I’ve realized something else.  I’m exactly where I am and I’m doing exactly what I’m doing, because that was what I was supposed to do all along.  If things had worked out with Bot, I wouldn’t be able to be here the way that I am for Metalhead.  I am a catch.  Metalhead reaffirms that frequently.  Whatever happened with Bot was not my fault, it’s not on me.  And I’m learning, slowly, not to ask questions.  To just take things as they come, appreciate the days for what they are.  I’ve always done that to some extent.  But I’m realizing the value of it now.  Because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring – perhaps something good, perhaps something less than good, but all of it for a purpose.  And I’m making it count.

And for the first time in months, I’m really excited now to see what happens next.


I am losing my patience.

I never had much to begin with.  I’m the girl who wants what she wants, when she wants it, and if she can’t get it easily, she fights for it.  And while you might say that that is a form of patience, I disagree… fighting for it is my way of making sure I get it.  It’s progress.  It keeps me busy.  I am DOING something about it.

I am a control freak.  A control freak that has no patience.  A dangerous combination.  At least I’m not short tempered anymore.

It’s really quite interesting what goes on in my head.  On any given day, it’s full of plans for the things that I want and a strategy for making sure I get them.  Those plans float around alongside knowledge of all the things I DO NOT want to do – and ways to get out of having to do them.  Those swirl, clockwise, around a layer of frustrations I’m repressing because I do not want to lose my temper.  All crowded around a nexus of recognition – recognition of things, circumstances, situations I cannot control.  And the nexus often feeds back into my desires.  It’s a vicious cycle.

I can identify it.  I can’t navigate it sometimes.  My third eye can weed through it… at least it can see the eventual outcome of some of those uncontrollable circumstances.  But, as any sensible person knows, the third eye is fallible in the sense that it can see what IS and what WILL BE solely on the basis of current circumstances.  She is awake, and she is talking, and I am listening, but I am ever-aware that things change, and they change often, and that sometimes the things that change are changing due to circumstances beyond my control.

And having no control frustrates the hell out of me.  I don’t need full control.  I don’t need to have my hands on the steering wheel all the time (and I really do hate driving).  That said, if I’m not the one driving and I’m not the one navigating, I at least need to be able to call the shots on when I get lunch and when I get to have a pee break.  And when I don’t get that, though you’ll never see it, on the inside I’m the annoying little kid that kicks the back of your seat while you drive screaming, “Are we there yet?”

“Oh but you are navigating, and driving, it’s your life after all,” you’re probably saying.  But am I?   I am not a hermit, I do not live in this world by myself.  And because of that, I do not have utter control all the time.  On a more simplistic viewpoint, I don’t control the flow of traffic… I sit in it, just like everyone else, for some unknown reason.  More personally (and more complicatedly), some of the most intensive situations that I want to know the most about, and could really use some foresight on, are not solely up to me.  “If things stay the same, they’ll end up here,” she says.  But things DON’T stay the same.  That’s not how it works.  She doesn’t have an answer to that.

I live my life, but I also sit on the sidelines as an observer.  It’s like being the lifeguard of my very own swimming pool.  I am in the middle of it, swimming, but I am also in the chair with a whistle in my hand, ready to call it if I see some sort of infraction.  I should stop being so paranoid.  But then on the other hand, if I fire the lifeguard, and shit happens, there’ll be no one to tell me to get the fuck out.

The third eye has been restless lately.  I’m reminded of a quote that I read about the pineal and the third eye… someone who had awakened theirs described it like this:  “When it’s good it’s wonderful, when it’s bad it’s horrid, when I turn it off I am lost.”

I don’t know what it would be like to have a pineal that is not working.  Mine never turned off.  It’s how and why I can see what I see and do what I do.  But she’s been bad lately, and it’s been horrid, and it’s not even PMS week.  Which is why I’m paying a little more attention than I usually do.  I can’t turn it off… when it’s off, as I’ve said in an earlier post somewhere, it’s like being out in the middle of a crowded room, completely naked.  And anyway, likely it’s telling me that something is out of whack somewhere, or that something big is coming, and I need to prepare myself for it.  It just won’t tell me exactly what.  And so, blinded by the vagueness, I don’t know what to identify.  Though I have a few ideas.

I need patience to try to figure this out.  I need patience because I think a lot of it will turn right side up again very soon, in one way or another, and the only thing that is going to be able to rectify some of it is time.  But it’s gnawing at me in the same way that my once broken ankle gnaws at me when it’s getting ready to storm outside.

And my patience is wearing.


There are voices in my head that tell me things.  They tell me what to do, they tell me what is, what was, and sometimes what is coming.  I’ll begin this entry with that, and also the affirmation that I am not crazy.  Not entirely.  Most of the time I trust the voices.  When they are at their peak, they have never steered me wrong.  They fuel my perceptions.  Together we are spot on.

There is one week out of the month, however, that I do not trust the voices.  I call it PMS week.  And during this week, they will say anything, ANYTHING, it seems to make me sabotage anything good that I may have going for me.  They will do ANYTHING to keep me on edge so that I lash out and yell at someone who is laughing a little too loudly.  During this week I am a mess of nerves, panic, anxiety, depression.  The conversations going on in my head are so ridiculous that I’m ashamed even to verbalize them and yet, what we make true in our minds becomes true whether we want it to or not.  And so it is a monthly battle to keep those demons at bay.  I certainly do not want to bring them out into the open.

I can’t really tell if it’s demons that take up residence in there for a week or if the voices just go on some kind of monthly hiatus and come back all amped up from their vacation, ready to wreak havoc on their usual digs.  I used to lose my temper a lot during PMS week.  My previous marriage, if it taught me anything, taught me to control my temper – at least better than I used to.  That’s not to say I do not get on edge.  When people laugh a little too loudly or when noises filter into my training office while I am working (and while it seems no one else is), I have to remind myself to stay calm and resist the urge to go out onto the floor and start screaming at the offender.  I keep my temper because I don’t like feeling guilty about things I would say or do at the height of it all.  That is enough motivation not to lose it.  My coworker’s laughter isn’t the only thing that gets me on edge, but it’s minor.  It’s a good example of how very extreme it can get.

But it manifests itself in different ways, too.  I am generally not an insecure person.  I’m not arrogant.  At least not most of the time.  But I am confident.  I model.  I write.  I do calligraphy fairly well.  I’m smart.  And I have a startup business.  I’m proud of all of these things, and I have every reason to be.  PMS week comes, though, and it doesn’t matter – none of these things, no matter how well I do them, are done well enough.  Last week I shelved the book I’d been writing for the last five years.  I did it because ultimately I had decided that going back and reliving the past, even fictionally, was more of a detriment to the person I was trying to become than I’d wanted to admit.  Like I said before, you can’t move forward if you have one foot stuck in the past.  I picked up the pen again and took up a completely different project – one based on fantasy, totally fiction, no basis in reality whatsoever.  (Because magical dwarves, demons, gargoyles, and gods/goddesses, and dragons don’t actually exist  – and people don’t travel on wooden ships either.)  I started writing it, the first few paragraphs… and then the voices started up.  They didn’t criticize the story.  They never criticize my writing (unless it’s warranted and in those cases, no matter what week it is, they are usually right). 

They got critical of other things.  Things I really can’t even be critical about because I do not know the whole story or have a full picture of the circumstances.  Logically I can’t make a judgment, but try telling them to be logical.  If they could jump around and laugh maniacally, they would do it.  Because for awhile, they were winning.  I got moody, depressed, insecure, anxious.  I panicked.  I stressed.  I hate the way that feels.

Worst of all, though, it fucks with my perceptions.  I felt distant this weekend.  Moreso than I have in months.  I don’t know if it’s perception or if it’s real.  The voices say it’s real.  If it were any other time of the month I would trust the voices.  And since I habitually trust the voices most of the time, it is difficult to tell them to shut up right this second.  I’m used to having perception.  I am used to being spot on about shit.  When I can’t be, I grasp for it because I can’t stand for it not to be there.  Without it, it’s almost like being naked in public (though probably worse for me, since I sort of enjoy being naked).

That’s why this weekend, particularly, was a struggle.  When less than favorable news came on Saturday, the voices went mad.  I tried to compensate for their madness.  I over-reached, and between their incessant screaming and my overcompensation for the fact that my instincts were way off, I did some damage.  I don’t know how much damage.  I’m not even sure if the damage I did was perceptible.  I hope it was not… damage that is imperceptible is much easier to fix than damage that is evident.  Irreversibly, though, things are different and once again, I’m in the dark.  I do not know if the difference is in my perception or if the difference is in the actual circumstance.  Logic and reason and the small tiny voices that are still in there that still have any kind of sense tell me to give it time, be patient, wait it out.  The ones in the forefront that seem to have taken speed or something over the last week want it NOW, NOW, NOW!!!  And when they don’t get it NOW they start pulling similarities between what is and what was – and what was is not a factor here.  I cannot, and I will not, apply the past to the present, even though they tell me that this is exactly what this is.  I think they lie.

It’s a waiting game.  I’m sitting here, because I called in to work today – I needed a mental health day, a day to get my shit together, a day to figure out what is and what is not.  I am taking steps to get this under control, once and for all.  I made some calls, things are getting done, but that will also take time.  Everything takes time and it is never my own time.  I sit, I wait, I observe.  I trust that sense will eventually be made – things will become clearer, because they always have before.  And whatever it is I blew out of proportion is probably not even remotely as bad as what I made it out to be. 

Patience is not one of my virtues.  It never has been.  I want what I want, when I want it.  My supply of patience has been anorexically thin most of my life – though it’s been gaining some weight lately out of necessity.  It becomes critically thin during this week of the month.  I’ve been doing better with it lately.  I slipped a little this weekend, but I am attempting to get a handle on it.  And praying that I didn’t fuck things up to irreparably.

Someone who read my blog once said that the reason they liked it was because it was honest, I take what is wrong with me, I identify it, and then I fix it.  Life is a learning experience, there is a learning curve here, though many times I have broken that learning curve, lost everything, had to start over.  I wonder sometimes how many second chances I’m going to be given.  And how many times I will take those second chances, do really well with them for awhile, then tear them to shreds and laugh at them while I watch them burn, only to look regretfully at their ashes once they are gone.  And then I realize that the only person who has any control over that is me.  And I laugh… not maniacally, but I laugh.  Because I am a doer.  I may not be able to have what I want right this second… the time for that may not be right now, though I cannot fathom why.  I can’t control the circumstances, but I can control how I react to them.  I may need some help this time, but even that is up to me.  So I’m making my calls, I’m getting this under control, and like everything else, I’m making it mine.

And, of course, praying that the voices will win this stupid mental battle sooner than later because I miss my Tarot cards.