The monster within and the broken god, flirting with disaster.

Originally it’s just you.  No influences, no pain, no issues.  Just you.

But then life happens.  You learn things, you experience things and you change.  But maybe you don’t want to change.  Maybe you are resentful or disappointed.  But you must change; so you bury the pain.  You smile and you change and you move on.

Then you have to change again.  Then things get harder, complicated.  And you bury, because you need to keep going.  You say that you will just make it through the right now and you will deal with it later; let it out when the calm comes.

By the time things get better and you just want a moment of rest.  So you leave it buried, just for a while.  Just to enjoy the peace of a moment and not deal with the ghost of the past.

Then, as the circle of life would dictate, you make a mistake or maybe you are a bystander, you get hurt or you hurt someone else; either way things get complicated again.  And you must deal with it.  You must be strong and keep it together.  You have to keep going for the sake of those around you and the sake of your life, your future, and your goals.

So the cycle continues, one day you forget how to tell the difference.  You don’t know any more what it is like to deal with things and not bury them.  But the ghosts don’t stay buried.  So you are always pulling out the shovel and putting them back.

Finding room for the new things; categorizing and shoving.  Jumping up and down on the suitcase that is you to make sure everything fits; knowing that it will occasionally burst open but planning how to force it all back in again.

They tell you to stop, they tell you to unpack but you can’t; because if you do you will break into a thousand pieces, and then those pieces will break into a thousand pieces.  You smile and you bury because when you stop you won’t start again.

You are the teapot with the internal crack, if only it had been seen and fixed in time the teapot would be strong and beautiful and functional.  But now, you are only half of what you could be; you are biding your time until the crack grows, the structure weakens, and you break into a thousand, thousand pieces.

It’s not as simple as just having a cracked shell because all those things you bury fight back.  Ghosts still don’t stay buried; even after all the practice getting them there.  They are the monster inside you.  Growing and moving and pushing and reminding you that you will not make it.

The monster grabs ahold of all your fears and mistakes, taking over wherever it can.  Pulling at you, breaking you, it knows you better than anyone; it keeps cracking you, waiting for the break.  It waits, for when you are so broken you cannot be fixed.  For the thousand, thousand pieces that it will absorb and bury; while it overwhelms what used to be your life.

Is this the only choice?  To shove, push and bury until you ultimately bury yourself?  It can’t be.  There must be more.  A way to unpack and leave behind the extraneous without being irrevocably broken.

You need support, love, accountability.  You need strength surrounding you to hold together the pieces while everything gets organized.  People can’t do it for you; they have their own pots to deal with.  What’s left?

Here’s an easy segue to religion, but I’m only sort of going to do that.  My beliefs are not a secret on this blog and I won’t apologize for them, but I’m not going to tell you that you must believe what I believe.  That’s a bit too arrogant for my tastes.

What I will say is this, for when you are hurting and broken.  If the only “higher power” you have is you, then you are trusting your everything to a broken god.

Motivated solitude

He wandered and then he waited.  Then he wondered and waited.  Unsure of what to do, and unclear on the why he was doing it.  When she entered he found himself surprised despite the fact that this is the moment he has been waiting for.

Instead of the words he had been planning leaping out of his mouth they lay stuck in his stomach, at best leaping to his throat before retreating back to that hiding place, the darkest depth inside his soul that all secrets seem to find.

Why couldn’t he speak!?  This is not some random stranger or acquaintance.  This is family; is that the problem?  No, not quite.

Family is compulsory; she was voluntary.  His familial bond to her is simply words; well, not simply.  There are factors: shared community, mutual affection, history.  They are friends.  But even the closest friendship bond can be broken in a moment.

Some things cannot be forgiven; others can be forgiven but not forgotten.  Would this make that list?  Would she forgive?  Could she forget?  She expects so much.

No, he can’t lose this.  He should smile it away; he will be fine soon enough.  This isn’t that important really, it’s just a moment in time; it is to be dealt with and discarded.

Yes, she will ask.  She will want to know and will want to help; but she can’t.  Some things are to be taken on alone.  Some burdens cannot be transferred.  He will save this, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.

He won’t break and he won’t lose; because she is there.  She lives in his thoughts; his memories; and, most importantly, his conscience.  Simply the knowledge that someone like her, as good as she is, allowed him into their life encourages him.

But what to do when the inspiration for strength is the source of great weakness?  What happens now when the need for help is overwhelmed by the fear of disappointing her?  She expects so much.

Disappointment is worse than anger.  Worse than sadness, worse than anything said from hurt feelings.

He smiles a determined smile.  He will be fine, until the secrets are controlled, until he is good.  Secure in the knowledge that she is there and that someday, maybe soon, he will be strong enough to be the friend she deserves not just the ‘family’ she accepts.

Silence

Her silence was deafening.  Nothing was quite as noticeable as that.  The words she spoke were pretty, they were moving, and they called to the masses.  But it was her silence that said the most.

When the show was over, when she thought she had a moment to relax before the next began, that is when she was the most truthful.  The sleepless nights wended their way onto her face; she aged a decade in a moment.  But only a moment, for someone called to her and once again there was a smile, the show had started again.

The spark in her eyes glints on command.  The ease of which it finds its way is nothing short of phenomenal.  It speaks the truth of how much she cares for the people around her, that they get to see the spark is a privilege they know not of; that they must never know of.

She will find her way home.  Not with the voice she nurtures, but by the silence she fears.  Some will notice it; few will understand.  Even less will experience it.

This one who the world dubs strong, gifted, heroic, this one who never ceases trying to make it beautiful, to whom does she send her vulnerability?  Who will see her truly silent?

A blessed few receive this gift; for it is not in her words or actions they will find it, but in her silence.  For her most honest self is in the silence.

 

For one very dear to me.  Hoping it will keep you secure in the knowledge that you are not alone; that there are those who love you.  Those who would love to sit with you in healing silence.

26th century protection

(Yes, I am using inverted commas; no, this is probably not 100% accurate.  I’m going from memory, work with me.)   ‘You know, if you keep putting your guard up with me, I’m eventually going to be offended.  I try very hard to have my guard down with you.’

Crap, this again.

To be clear, I didn’t realize at the time that I had my guard up.  I was just doing what I always do.  I was being okay. (Before this goes further the author of above statement needs a name… I’ma call ‘im Bob.) To those keeping up with my posts, yes this has to do with the being held at knife point thing.  Sorry, it was kind of a big deal to me.  Next post will be about something totally different, like puppies or unicorns or something.

Unfortunately for me, Bob has made it to what I like to call stage 4.  It goes a little something like this:

Stage 1- I let people think I’m a bit shallow and simplistic, because I rather enjoy being underestimated.
(I feel like this blog may put a bit of a damper on stage 1…)
Stage 2- People figure out I have a bit of insight and might be good for a snippet of advice here or there.

Stage 3- I get told stuff like “you’re so strong, you just don’t understand.”  That’s usually because of my general attitude of keep going.  (I was told once that it was impressive I actually got up and did what I was told was expected of me… I was like ‘what else am I gonna do?’ Apparently most people in that specific situation opted for staying in bed for two days before deciding that they needed to do something).

This brings us to…
Stage 4- Stage 3 (if not the other two as well) is complete BS.

I’m sometimes so far into denial that I can tell you I’m in denial without consciously registering that I’m getting wet (see what I did there?).  I’m ‘okay’ because I don’t know how to function within the definition of ‘not okay.’  Even when I tell people I’m not okay, it’s because I’m upset, I know they will know I’m upset and would not classify me as okay.  Therefore I say I’m not okay while still inside believing I’m okay… Have I confused you yet?

Emotionally defensive child’s play…

I was told this week I have a 26^th century defense mechanism and walls are so 21^st century.  Forget lock and key, I have laser sensors and facial recognition software.  I know I’m not the only one like that.  I’m not the only one who doesn’t have their life organized in layers where when people make it through to section B they have access to list ‘B’ of personal information.

No, for me, reapply and confirm ‘worthiness’ at each step, please. (Which is decided quasi-arbitrarily as it is based partially on mood)  That includes me… I have to reapply to myself… It’s sort of a “do I think I can handle being honest with myself right now” kind of thing.

But people won’t deal with that forever.  Even Bob will eventually get offended.  If I really want to have the long term friends I say I want then I need to trust them (Rikes!  <– Say it with a Scooby Doo accent).  You’d think this was a ‘learn once’ type of lesson but it seems to keep floating out of my brain.

I guess that is because before I can trust them I have to trust myself.  Realistically, I can only let him (or anyone else) in as far as I let myself.  If I’m lying to myself, I’m lying to them; and I don’t want to lie to them.

So, fellow 26^th century level defensive peoples, what do we do about it!?

Don’t ask me! That’s a totally personal decision.  But I can tell you what I did.  I sat around a bit.  And I thought a bit.  I looked around and realized that I wasn’t just wet, but half buried in mud and muck, from denial.  And then I decided that I didn’t want to be there.

So I thought about last Sunday.  And I thought about the knife.  I made myself relive it in a controlled (not unexpected flashback) sort of way. DISCLAIMER: That last bit may not be the best choice for everyone, for some that will cause unnecessary panic and pain.  Don’t do it and then say ‘Tylene said so.’  I’m NOT an authority.

And I realized; really, truly, honestly, realized I wasn’t okay.  And I needed to do something about it.  So I did.  Within 3 hours I had enlisted a friend, booked a hostel, and got on a train. (That was the tense part… Okay I have a bit of an issue on public transport right now, sue me)

And you know what we did?  We went to church.  Like Robert Frost, when people realize they are not okay they come to a fork in the road.  They can take the road of temporary, and often chaotic, self-medicating, senses-dulling, relief or they can find healing.

Church may not be the choice for everyone, but it was my healing.  It was my emotional, mental, and physical, safe haven.  It was people who were happy to see me and music to heal the soul.  I was no longer inside communal isolation I was in community.

The train still made me a bit tense, and walking down the road I may have looked a bit like an owl.  I walked a bit closer than normal to the friend that makes me feel safe.  I was traumatised.

I hate that word, traumatised.  But it’s true; I didn’t just get insulted, I got invaded.  I’m not healed, I am healing.  Not a good event but the aftermath may be helpful to me in the long run.  Eventually, trust will be natural instead of a moment by moment conscious decision

I chose a path, and I’m on a journey.  I can’t tell you if I took the road less travelled by; but I can tell you I have chosen the one that has made all the difference.

“Not cool Robert Frost”
-Kid President