emotionally, I am exhausted

Emotionally, I am exhausted.
I can't fight anymore. I have been waddling in and carrying too much pain for too long.

The anger has eroded away my life, and now, this broken container needs to be repaired and filled with happiness and love again.

that is all i ever wanted
that is all anybody ever wants

what was and what will never be
what will and what won't
was out of my hands
is out of my hands

exhausted, I am emotionally...

insane

the wind is whipping the snow across the streets like an rabid and terrified angry mob.

The sun is trying to peek through the thick translucent veil of luminescent haze.

Can you hear the muffled wailing through the wind?


the pain is unbearable.

the snow squall is beginning to slow down again

flash flood of frozen condensation

and my pain, it comes and goes, weakens and strengthens in intensity, not dependent on anything except chance and fate

the rhythms of the body and mother earth
different yet so much the same

the same
the same
yet different...

nothing will ever really matter

nothing will ever really matter

that fragmented beyond repair

are my fragile and delicate bones

of sadness and despair

shards of reality encrusted in

shadows of murky dreams

I find disconsolate evidence

of vindictive accusatory scenes

try to justify the essence -

this complete notion of excuse

your brainwashed reality

is filled exquisite abuse

locked by the will of your own

and poetically die from the pain

torn between cheap little lies

your prerogative will sadly remain

in this universe to survive

enlightened, alive with no guilt

exist on the lies of this house

that you have so carefully built

despite your oblique description

of what is black or is white

nobody is fundamentally worth

the ultimate price of this fight

so in the end

nothing will ever really matter,

but on you will that depend

what you will decide

but this pain i will transcend

you are here...

Your truth, your decision, your best interest...

you are here...

Evil is the interruption of a truth by the pressure of particular or individual interests.


Alain Badiou






.

i refuse

i refuse
so many things
so many ways
but i refuse
to betray myself

little explosions

insanity visits

with little explosions

in the mind

frenzied cognitive eruptions

yesterday, today, tomorrow, next week, next year

compressed into a nanosecond

electrostatic convulsions

stumble words from the mouth

come faster through my fingers

thundering

hyperkinetic delusions

not enough words to describe

or ways to outline

the utter disorientation

gravity immobilizes logic

solidifies paranoia as

liquid ice inside my eyes

dizzy with terrifying intensity

evaporation

insipid, inert reaction to the

anguish and lost hope of

hope

how can u be shut out

without having to shut down

completely

why will

no

pill

keep

you

away

from this day forward...

Everything was simply perfect -

the dress, the makeup, the hair

the maid of honor and bridesmaids

my mom and all her wonderful glowing aura rays

the limo

the flowers

the church

the organ music

the huge group of people who came

the food

the decoration

the music

the dancing

and the weather - oh the weather was just so perfect

and the man, the moment and the day

that is what dreams are made of

and my husband and i now being a new life together

from this day forward.

everything was just so perfect, beyond my wildest dreams

the scariest thing

excerpt from a letter to a friend, freeform...

i saw firsthand the side effects of IL2 treatment and it feaked me the fuck out.

I'm so shaken, i can't close my eyes...

20 minutes after her dose, mom began to shake - i mean almost grand mal-like seizures. Apparently the body goes into septic shock. And apparently, this bout was not bad. Last week, she was shaking the bed. Two nurses had to hold her down lest she fell out and onto the floor.

she writhed in pain - moaning and shaking. All I could do was stroke her hair and shoulder and keep on repeating :"I'm here mom. It will all be okay..."

will it?

She was admitted monday night, and they didn't start treatment until today - thursday.

That's a long time to wait. She's fed up, exhausted and wanting this to be over.

she doesn't think she'll make it to # 3.

The more she gets, the better her chances are for getting rid of this thing forever.

2 is not a good number. The doctor wants 8.

minimum...

I'm so overwhelmed.

Have been swinging up and down - manic to depressed, but a more desperate depressed and manic. I'm afraid I'm going to hurt the cats in a fit of uncontrollable rage, throw my computer out the window (those invitations. I'm sick that they are not working out...) but most of all, myself.

I stood on my balcony today - warm and sunny. Spring is finally here.

But the urge to dive to the cement below head first was almost overpowering.

They are becoming more and more frequent. 

I'm slowly losing control.

But nobody believes me. Nobody who knows me now believes me. They didn't see me 20 years ago, when out of desperation, trying to stop the voices, dangerous rage and abyss of depression allowed me to fly into oncoming traffic - arms spread, eyes closed, willing to give away my life to the air.

what happened?

Somebody saw me.

I was saved.

times like this, i wish I had not been noticed...

edit me

.
.
.

Edit me
make me whole
take me apart
and then
in the fragments
find the meaning
and piece me
back together
again

because from there on
I will never be
the same
the same
or different
because
I'm rearranged

Edit me
because you want
to know me

edit me
because you might
be afraid of
reading between
these lines



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