Pieces – Beautiful when held away from memories –

“Sometimes I wonder if we ever truly let anyone completely in. The desire for another human being to know you, all of you, all the pieces, even the ones you’re ashamed of — is huge. But too often, we sit down and sort through the pieces only picking out the pretty ones, leaving the ugly ones behind, not realizing that choosing not to share with someone else is like committing a crime against our very soul” ― Rachel Van Dyken, Toxic
 
pozadia

Pieces. Making up a whole, many parts nested together, each influencing another, producing new parts by virtue of the interaction. I pick out a few, examine them closely and find interesting details. They’re beautiful, when held away from the fray of the many tentacled reach of memories and fantasies. After holding them up to the light, seeing their potential array, I shudder to place them back into the filthy nest of my mind. Pulling out the best pieces, I shake them violently to break them free from the sticky strands of complexity and insanity. It encourages me to see the good in the midst of the shadowy world of loathing self esteem. I go through life in this juggling act, bringing out the best, keeping them out front, trying to not corrupt them or damage them. It’s true that others caused the breaks in my beautiful things, but I cannot put them away, even if it means harm, they’re all that I believe is good in me.

First published in Opinions Of Eye
03162012

Diary of a Mad Man – Living with mental illness

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.” ― Aristotle

sagennext

They said to me, “Walk!”. My feet wouldn’t move, frozen by the accident. Appendages that are normally useful, mobile, and independent, I drag them along, taking care that I don’t injure them. The accident, as I call it, was not an accident, but a purposeful intended act, inspired by lust and hate. What they did to me I cannot tell, the acts so horrific. Regardless of the details of their brutal incursion, what I was left with is a handicap, one of the mind, not the body. Having to make do with a shredded normality, crawling through my life, instead of walking, never able to run. What was taken for granted, now became a challenge for me. While others run, leap, climb, and move about with impunity to mental mobility. I must develop new ways, ways that hurt, ways that require intense concentration, intense discipline. Still they taunt me, “get up and walk”, “why can’t you just be like the rest of us”. They can’t see I’m disabled, bound by forces that were neither chosen, nor desired, but forced on me in a cruel and harsh manner.


My injury cannot be seen, my useless legs are a shattered self-esteem, a mind crippled from ever thinking in a sane manner again. Insanity, psychosis, visions, voices, nightmares, self-deprecating thoughts, and accusations invade my every waking moment. Perceptions of reality and fantasy mix together, making the deciphering of fact and fiction a huge effort in itself. All day, every day, I roll around in a mental wheelchair, like one with paralyzed legs, committed to implements of bothersome necessity. I watch the heads wag, “Tsk, tsk. Quit being a pansy, just get up and walk”. Damn it! Can’t you see I can’t freaking walk? Can’t you see that it takes me longer to do normal things? I must make preparations for the ordinary, that which you do without an effort takes me great pains to produce, to perform, to succeed.

I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I’m a success and exceedingly happy, and in these I’ll continue, but the insensitivity of others upsets me. Refusing patience with, or acceptance of the fact, that I’m not like them. I cannot get up in the morning and be without fear, I cannot go into a crowd and relax, I cannot be in the dark. Paranoia haunts me, I sense conspiracies coming from everyone, from everything. Shame burns in me, flushing my cheeks at the least exposure of my faults or idiosyncrasies. My mind races with thousands of thoughts a minute, deep thoughts, all of them.

I ask for no special treatment, just for a bit of patience with me as you accompany me on my journey through this world. Please, not only with me, but with the many others afflicted in a like manner, be sure you understand that although the pain of mental illness is not visible, it does handicap us from doing things in a normal manner. Be patient with crazy people, we really are cool, even if it takes us awhile to work our way through the battlefields of life.

Also published in Broowaha

12282011 

Certificate of Insanity

This post is from fellow blogger, Miss Audrey. Enjoy!

I’m trying not to cry,
the tears want to come out,
but I’m holding them captive.
The thought of me being insane
is my only relief.
I don’t want to believe
that this is me being normal :
that would mean that
I would have to live my entire life
with my tears wanting to come out,
with the lump in my throat,
with the rocks I have on my heart.
No, I must be insane,
a passing insanity.
I will go at the doctor,
to put his stamp on the certificate.
It’s only a temporary certificate of insanity.