Literary Persuits and other Ramblings

Tag: rambling

Living my Life: The Disorders

Yesterday was crippling. I hurt myself and didn’t feel that I got the sympathy I deserved, I had a mountain of work to do and then found out that I was going to be completely alone in the office/shop. I felt sorry for myself, I felt fearful and I felt alone.
Then when I was rescued, and it was suggested that we should go grocery shopping, I freaked out. I felt claustrophobic, my skin felt too tight, my heart was racing and all my mind was telling me was that this was a conspiracy to keep me from my comfort space.
Now to many, it seems like a whiny day where I should put my big girl pants on and just get on with it. I have heard this many times in my life. One too many times.
The problem is that I live with a few disorders which can literally turn a mole hill into a mountain.
Yesterday was a spark of my anxiety. I have what is referred to as Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which is fancy speak for if I can worry about it, I will. This also include being anxious about being anxious. Sounds ridiculous, right?
Well for me, it is standard. Yes I have medication which helps, but days like yesterday are bound to happen. Then I feel like I have done various types of extreme activities. Sitting alone in the office made felt as though I was walking across a tight rope across skyscrapers with no net. My heart was racing, I was fidgety and couldn’t concentrate. Despite needing to get work done, I could only think of getting out of there. At the same time if I left, then I wouldn’t get my work done. I eventually was so wound up that I just sat in my chair sobbing silently to myself.
Yes, the solutions seem simple, but for me, the solutions seemed impossible to attain.
Once I was rescued from the office and adequately passified that the work can be done the next day, I was more than happy to come home to my comfy bed where I could get some relief from my emotional turmoil in the form of a nice calming nap. That was my focus, which was then taken away from me by the suggestion that groceries are needed. Logically I knew that the shop would not take long. Logically I understand that we need food at home. Yesterday it just seemed as though my rescuer had turned against me and was keeping me from the only place I could find any peace. I shouted, and threw a temper tantrum a toddler would of been proud of. I cried. I used every arrow in my quiver to ensure that I could get away from anxiety inducing situations and get to safety.
Yes, it was manipulative and I am anxious now about the consequences of my tantrum, but in the moment it was more than I could cope with and I was willing to do anything to get to a place of safety.
Now that was a Sunday.
That was not a need to be functional day. My anxiety has landed me many different labels in my functional working life. I have been told that I am abrupt, rude, acerbic, unfocused, and more often, that I am grumpy. The truth is that my anxiety to make sure that I am working right, not letting anyone down and just plain being functional makes me come across that way. I am genuinely hurt when I hear these things about me. I am a person who loves hugs and cuddles. I am not the horrible person my anxiety makes me out to be.
Yes, it is manageable. Yes there is medication. Unfortunately the best method of dealing with it is therapy. Therapy which, due to circumstances, I cannot afford.
The moral? I am still figuring this out. Until I do many more molehills are going to turn into mountains.

Was it a Dream?

It was just over a year. Longer perhaps, but definitely went over the year mark.

The beginning was happy. Not new and shiny happy, but more of a comfortable fit of a favorite pair of jeans. The kind of happy where the world finally makes sense, and everything that lead you to that moment was just part of the journey. The kind of happy that made you feel as though you have arrived home after a long time.

I still feel that way. One look, a touch, sends me reeling back into the feeling of comfort and safety. The feeling of belonging.

I made a choice, I walked away. I gave up.

A year and no one knew, at least not anyone I was friends with. I was hidden in the shadows like a terrible secret. A secret that one is so ashamed of they almost try and forget that it ever happened. It was happening though. It was there. It was real.

Or for the most part I think it was. There is no evidence that it ever happened. No social media comments or social reality. According to the world it didn’t happen. Life continued and no one knew the truth. If the truth is what the collective think, then the truth is that there was no relationship. Of course there were reasons for all of the secrecy, but as time went the reasons started to sound like the logic of a child.

Then the disappearing acts started happening. Hocus pocus, abracadabra and alakazam. Gone for a day, a week. Almost a month. I was rejected. Not even important enough to be included. Heaven forbid I point out it was wrong. May I be struck down for saying that I need attention too. Why did I not understand what was happening? Why couldn’t I just let it be?

Why does all of this have to hurt so much. Five minutes to delete everything from my life.

That is all it took.

Five minutes to delete a couple of digital photographs that no one ever saw. The only evidence that may have proved that something had happened.

Was it a dream? Dreams have happy endings.

No, this was more like a nightmare. A place where I did not exist. Where I was not as important as anything else in the world.

My significant other was my world and I was not even on a list of priorities. I existed only when and if I was wanted, like a toy which could be discarded at any moment.

This is not the first time, although it may be the first time I gave away all my love. The question is rather why do I let this continue? Why do I try and justify being treated with such disregard? Do I really think that little of myself that I would stay and be treated like a ghost?

No. I do not. I walked away.

I may have left my heart behind but I walked away.

And there is not even a photograph of us to prove that it wasn’t a dream.

Writers Block

Her hair was coarse.
Dry as veld grass in winter, and about the same colour. I was certain it had been dyed though.
I guess it made sense.
She was dead after all.

Mirage

something of an illusion. that is all it was.
I stood there at the edge of something that should of been beautiful. Instead it was desolate, empty and broken.
In the end, it was a mirage

Assurance

So I have wanted to write about my tattoos and their various salient meanings. I say salient, because as I grown and change as a person the meanings behind my tattoos alter slightly. I guess what this says about me is that I spend a lot of time thinking about my tattoos and their meaning. That way I am not going to have a tattoo that loses significance later on in my life.

So, my first instinct was to start from the first…

Then I thought I would start with the tattoo I am planning on covering up.

After the last couple of days, I have decided to start with the last.

The Backwards Text Tattoo

yeah yeah, slightly NSFW.

So, other than those perverts, whovians and OCD cleaners, you may probably notice that the text is backwards. Well duh. If you going to leave a message for yourself maybe you should be able to read it when you look in a mirror. No, that is not the real reason but it is a good reason.

Actual reason: I like to write backwards. So I got a backwards text tattoo. How awesome is that?

So, what does it say?

So I wrote you this song, but you won’t sing along

Okay, that is kinda poetic and cute. Maybe a little girly. Where did it come from?

Well, that part is easy. It is lyrics from a song called Assurance by a band called Hurt.

The significance?

Well it involves a boy. A stubborn, pain-in-the-ass ginger accountant to be precise. There are many ways to interpret that sentence. Lets just leave it as it being said with more than a little fondness.

I fell in love with G almost immediately. Well, he gave me butterflies the first time he smiled at me. An amazing feat considering we were running uphill, and it was some ridiculous time in the morning. Say, 7am or so. I was struggling (because I hate running) and he was prancing around, running backwards and all round being happy. The moment was fleeting as I still had to run back to the kung fu school and do the torment of what was then San Shou training.

However, I was eager to go to every extra training class after that just to see this strange boy (with a fantastic ass).

So, after much flirting (to which he is immune) and dropping hints, I eventually asked the dumbass on a date. I think I have probably fallen in love with him more and more each day since.

The issues started a while into our relationship.

He is grounded, stubborn, logical and prone to depression.

I am all over the place, stubborn, emotional, and well, all my flaws will have to be written up in a another post. We could be here a while.

Needless to say, the concept of opposites attract mostly applies to magnets.

So, where does the tattoo come in? Well, it was one weekend. We had been fighting a lot, the first time around (we have tried and failed this relationship twice now) and this weekend we were back to normal. It was my cousins wedding. When we eventually got back to my aunts place and collapsed into the squishiest bed on the planet, I asked him what would be the song that we would play at our wedding.

He said Assurance by Hurt.

So I listened to the song. After we broke up, I listened to it all the time. I still listen to it.

So, what does my tattoo signify?

  • love is not enough to keep a relationship together
  • no matter how hard you try and be someone to another person, sometimes life has other plans
  • sometimes two people who love each other cannot be together, but it doesn’t make the love any less real

It is by no means a sad tattoo. It reminds me of many happy moments I got to share with G.

So mostly, it is a reminder that loving someone is complicated. That combined with the complications of actually being in a relationship with another person means that if you know two people (or more) who have relationships where there is love and it works, you should be really happy for them.

Burnt Bridges

If there is one thing I am good at, is burning bridges. 

Once a relationship has run its course, turned sour or toxic or is no longer fitting as snugly as it used to, it has to go. Harsh, yes, but I have always been a bit of a lazy friend. I wouldn’t say I am a bad person, but I would not say I am the easiest person in the world to have any form of relationship with.

So when the time comes, I wave goodbye and walk away.

Usually messily.

So, yes, I am very good at burning bridges

Although I am now starting to think that sometimes when you burn a bridge the foundation is left. You have to clear all the rubble, and probably patch up a couple of things, but no one said that a fire destroys the foundation of something. 

So maybe, and just maybe, when you burn an elaborate expensive bridge, One filled with memories, character, trust and love, there is a solid foundation waiting underneath all that rubble.

I am sure in some cases the foundation will never hold such an elaborately decorated bridge as it once did, but perhaps it can hold a stable decent bridge. Or even a bit of a misshapen slightly wonky but full of character bridge. Whatever it is, it is still salvageable due to the foundation.

However, there are those rare times. Times when the foundation of the bridge was so well built on mutual respect and love that a bigger, better bridge can be built. A bridge that will last a lifetime.

I am not saying it is easy to sift through the rubble of burnt bridges. I am also not saying that all bridges that were burnt should be rebuilt. 

What I am trying to get at, is that if both sides are willing to put in the effort, the forgiveness, sometimes what you find under the rubble will surprise you.