Month: November 2021

It’sneverenough-whatIdo.

There’snotime,safety,security,peace,orrelentmentofthepressure.

There’snoplacetogo-nothingIcandotostopthiscycling.

Pacic,dread-strugglingtogetagriponmyemotions,onmybody,onmyhead.

Don’texplode,don’tdestroy,holdtight,rideitout.

Don’tgivein,nomatterwhat.

I’mgonnaslipI’mgonnaslip –

I’mslipping!

9am

Workmen arrive outside our back door.

They never knock and just keep talking in the quickest, highly intelligent, relaxed hippy-type stream of assessment I’ve ever experienced.

It’s like having a human burbling brook appear outside my window.

Melodic cacophony downloading and processing analysis information.

The puppy’s bark collar is not working because the refill cartridges were eaten by the highway, and rumor had it no more existed locally.

She begins to “wuff!” Low bark and growl constantly.

I can’t blame her – but, she can’t bark here.

Boiler plate lit inside by cbd goes from zero to 102 degrees, instantly.

1-2am before, got a blink of sleep before picking up youngling from late shift.

5-9am a brief nap that was not repleat.

930am

Try to get youngling to have pup in bedroom.

Pup clambers and whines, trying to go after cats and eat everything.

Youngling too tired to be nice and cbd has me wratched.

Brief argument squabbles between us spit fire and venom.

Puppy is my charge, again.

10am

I give up trying to recover and get dressed.

The never-ending river-speak has now engaged upstairs neighbors.

Getting the dogs leashed: I’ll introduce them.

Panicking internally without externally transmitting because puppy needs to not begin bay-barking.

Go to the back door, dogs barely under control.

Pull aside curtain and open door – Nothing.

From 1 second before, they’ve all vanished!

No sign of them, anywhere.

Youngling gripes by text to get cartridges.

I gripe back they could “kiss my biscuit” and find a source.

Cartridges found and held for later pickup.

Returned to bed with earplugs in to calm distress.

Neighbors above, inside, won’t stop loudly talking.

The earplugs at least muffle.

Then, they turn on loud base, which pounds through body – erupting system.

If I responded how my body and jacked-up emotional mind wanted me to, the walls would not be left standing!

Herbs can sometimes have the opposite effect on me.

I noticed this began happening about 25 years ago, after ingesting rancid food oils from a fast food place, which wrecked some of my intestinal lining.

I thought I had contracted food poisoning – that’s how bad my gut reacted for weeks after eating the fried flour shell to a taco salad.

If I didn’t eat an apple at the same time, I couldn’t digest anything, and cramps were severe.

I came away from this with leaky gut and for years was chasing illness symptoms.

My digestion is reactive and I often feel nutrient depleted – although you wouldn’t know it by looking at me.

I am mindful about what I eat, and try to take care of my body.

My immune system is just always fighting overload, which is reinforced by events externally.

It makes me sensitive to everything because particles that should be prevented by tight violii in the intestines are now permitted directly into my blood stream by micro gaps were the lining was damaged.

This causes systemic inflammation and reactions in my body to foods that should be ok as if they are allergens because they don’t get processed properly.

It also makes my nerves constantly on edge, because longterm inflammation erodes myelin buffering and hormone byoroducts that should be easily flushed out of my body get reabsorbed – which magnifies their effects on my system.

(Do not put me on birth control. I promise you won’t like the result!)

In essence, my body does not properly rid its waste products, and thus, always has too much of a load on it – which propagates chronic fatigue.

Supplements promoted to repair the intestines have not worked for me. For example, aloe vera and licorice inflame, and L-glutamine is such a fine particle, it goes straight into the blood and shocks my system.

Products like holy basil for nerve calming and turmeric for inflammation are reacted to as too spicy.

When I tried a CBD chewable last night to try to help take off the stress edge, its effect has now turned me into an intolerant “bitch,” incapable of applying patience.

Guess what I’ll be returning to the store!

Where’s the product that heals me?

I was speaking with a colleague about this, and wondering what prohibits me.

It isn’t just a lack of good forums to practice in, but likely due to past losses of self ownership.

I hate to say it, but I was brainwashed alot when I was a kid.

It was not safe nor permissable to be me, if I did not want to be re-targeted.

In my adult life, I can look back and say I’ve done some living. I have interesting resumes to proove this.

But, in each temporary phase, my way of expressing was geared to the type of role I was playing. I shifted personas to accomodate circumstances.

So maybe, I’m on a quest for self identity, and my diversity is expressed as it arrives and develops in my writing – where I can see, take note of, and track it.

Maybe I feel at risk for losing sight of myself.

Writing gives me a sense of security.

Our system is set up, unwittingly, to propagate victimization. Here are are some examples:

A woman can not go to a protective shelter if she’s seen or feels the signs of abuse coming – but it hasn’t, yet. She must wait until she first receives the abuse to apply for help. Even then, if it isn’t physical, agencies debate that it has happened.

A family cannot risk getting off of Welfare unless a member who is willing to support the others gets a job beyond the gap between poverty and middle class. This is because once a family begins bringing in income, they get penalized by benefits reducing before they can successfully bridge.

Unemployment compensation pays out very little compared to a person’s normal wages, and if you try to supplement by working, any income you make is subtracted from weekly benefits. So if your benefits per week were $150, and you got a temporary job that paid $150 that week, you only get $150 – even if you need $300 per week to survive.

What do I mean by using the term “victimization” in these scenarios? My point is that we are penalized no matter the difficulties we face in times of hardship, and if we try to improve our lives, society only supports this if we are mired in struggle.

The woman cannot outmaneuver the hammer trying to “nail her coffin.” The family cannot prosper without fear of losing what little they’ve gained. And an unemployed worker has no hope for success unless they regain liveable wages..

No one is allowed to be happy during these trials. If they are anything but miserable, they are not seen as in crisis, and they will be denied services – or at least hassled and suspected of fraud.

Having a positive outlook – or feeling ok because the system is aiding you temporarily – is frowned upon with shame conveyed that you are a “burden to the system.”

The smashing-crash impact of the vehicle speeding behind me hitting the bag of items I’d left on the roof of my car in the dark with its bumper rocketed me into a new emergency.

Pulling over into the middle lane as cars wooshed and sloshed past me, whipping the rain’s moist buffeting air against me and the car at night was unnerving.

Luckily, no accident was caused – just pulverized glass, the last bundle of my business cards, proof of dogs’s vaccinations, and paperwork I’d spent hours collecting that I had readied for faxing.

The gecko lamp and bulb worth $35-40 that didn’t work, and the dog bark spray refills of citrinella we couldn’t stand would have refunded money.

A few empty bottles of No. 1 Rosemary Water (TM) I’d intended to add to the three bags ready for recycling didn’t make it – except one jagged body missing its neck.

One mistake from overwhelm obliterated this afternoon’s efforts.

Luckily, no one was hurt – and I felt stupid being out there timing the cars, trying to not get decapitated in the headlights as I bent over in attempts to scrape papers stuck to wet pavement.

I had to leave most of them out there, strewn across the road, recognizing that I could not retrieve them in that dangerous situation, and that likely they’d be unrecognizable by the morning.

Though any cleanup crew, police officer, or on-foot passerby later investigating might receive free marketing for my services.

And by grace, my parents’ mail I’d saved to send to them remained intact and sealed it its plastic bag.

This one task, I could finish for them this evening.

But maybe, I should wait until tomorrow.

Shell Shock can have a lasting impression, long after the event has passed and damage would seem healed.

It’s one thing to sew flesh and tend to it: you can witness resistance to progress and mend it.

But, when a wound impacts the senses, it burrows deeper than mere impressions.

It can hijack perceptions of safety – and movement made to break caution’s pattern sends out alarm signals for mitigating.

This gets misdiagonsed as procrastinating while the system attempts to recalibrate

Many intelligent people seem broken, because they need their missing pieces.

Sometimes, just listening to them and honestly empathizing can be what is needed.

At other times, going with them directly to the source of pain and calling it by its true name helps to release.

But, generally, we are not taught how to do this.

We are discouraged from being “humane.”

We are taught to believe that another’s suffering could be catching.

We are taught to be selfish – and only invest if there is personal gain.

We are taught to disassociate from our own feelings, as if to know and own them is weakness or flaw.

We are taught to ignore our own instincts, so we’ll line up and be fed to The Maw.

She might be the only survivor, having stayed hidden until danger had passed.

One by one, they had been taken.

She remembered silent screams from the blast.

They didn’t even know it had pierced them, but just shambled off to take their place.

The drones had moved into the internet – for enslaving the human race.

As she walked into the Great Hall, clad in nothing but common decency, she felt the ripples move throughout the room, as if she were a rock sent skipping along surface waters.

“Pariah!” they whispered.

“Not One of Us!” barely censored

But, little did they know her ancestors’ lineage.