Forensic Analysis –

“If suffering like hers had any use, she reasoned, it was not to the sufferer. The only way that an individual’s pain gained meaning was through its communication to others.”  ― Diane Wood Middlebrook, Anne Sexton: A Biography 

floweerheaad

 

I reach through the fodder of my mental plane wreck, grasping, trying to make sense of it. Like a forensic crash analyst, I picked up pieces of my shattered self and held them up to the light, turning them over and over looking for reasons of the devastation. Is it operator error? Did the machine break? Was it an act of God? Did someone fail to address issues that led to this? These questions are valid even when looking at my human psyche, and to that end I believe that all apply. I made mistakes, very big mistakes, and even if I were normal and my mind healthy, mistakes would still happen. Yes, the machine is broken, it’s totally fucking obvious to anyone who knows me for any length of time that I’m fucked up in the head, that shit ain’t right with this guy. People contributed to this trashing of my soul: abuse, neglect, rape, bullied, rejected, abandoned, violent brutal attacks on my body and mind, yep, all done by others. The sad thing’s not that these happened, ’cause shit happens to everyone, but that, like in movies when they dunk the guy underwater then before he can take a breath he is shoved underwater again, it’s the frequency of the shit that keeps hitting my fan. I’ll barely have a hold on my PTSD and I’ll be attacked violently, or someone will violate my space by stealing from me, betraying me, or whatever. It happens over and over again. What in the hell is God trying to show me? What fucking possible good can there come of my constant devastation? I’ve held on this long because I’m so concerned about taking the next breath that I can barely see beyond right now, in fact, dreams of the future are gone, if they ever were there. I only remember one dream, that of being a veterinarian. It was shot to hell very quickly as I got bullied and fucked with, even by teachers and adults. So that’s it, I was given one dream, it’s gone, so fuck me, all I have to look forward to is catching my breath the next time life pulls my head out from under the water. OK, wait, some self righteous asshole from the back says, “You carry yourself like a victim, that’s why you keep getting attacked.” Oh, fuck me, is that the answer? It’s my fault? Hell, well now I’m all better, thanks. This is not a whining rant where I want people to feel sorry for me, its mainly a way of examining the evidence and helping me toward recovery from all this shit. I don’t want advice, I just want to fucking yell at the trees and mountains ’til I’ve exhausted all my homicidal and suicidal screams, ’til I’ve cried all my tears and I can’t cry anymore, scream and scream until I break down and stop fighting against life. I’ve survived what would have killed most people, I’m still holding on to shreds of sanity and empathy that many would have lost by now. I’ll be OK, and perhaps somehow, I’ll find out how to piece this shit back together, but I seriously doubt it will ever fly again.

Also published in Broowaha

Also published in Opinionsofeye.com

 

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Second Hand

“Of course there had been clues. A bite of the lip. An indrawn breath. Wrinkled brows and shrugged shoulders. A few false starts at conversations about work and balance, but the real alarms should have gone off when all of that faded.”
― Zoe York, Between Then and Now 

helenduplicate

With the wind she tickled the grass

conducting music in the sand

She came, she went, with all she did,

she did in the second hand

Just another throw away, moved from

trash can to trash can

Coming to pick me, broken, used, always

holding the second hand

Lines of age with gray that casts away

at once I understand

There’s always a way for love to free

me from the second hand

Taking those clocks and finding a way

to trash the limited man

Time is the victim she said to me,

it’s killed by the second hand

Hours in the great divide, no worries,

content with just a stand,

In the present we all can feel the touch

of the second hand

Point of No Return

“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.” – Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

 

schwarzesonne

There are moments in my life of wandering, moments when I‘m breaking through the brush of mystery and intrigue in the nurture of existence, to find myself on the very edge of a cliff. A cliff of choice, the point of no return. Many choices, once made, offer no u-turns. My fate is sealed, the dice are rolled, the trigger is pulled. The air is thick with mist, the mist of unknowing. The wind blows up from the chasm of destiny, pulling my hair, pushing me back, forcing me to make a decision. I feel the ground giving way, circumstance will force my hand if I hesitate. Forward progress, by necessity, is a very definite and purposeful choice.  These moments come without warning, catching me in their frenzy and pressure. It’s almost to late. Be prepared my friends, fate comes quickly to demand of you, to smack you with reality, to dazzle you with fantasy, to ask you, what will you do? Choose carefully, once you leap, the ground comes to greet you with a startling quickness.

03222012

Victim of love?

 “…and so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love’s ever been the more destructive weapon, sure.” – Stephen King, The Dark Tower

deppography

Speak to me of love’s glories and I’ll show you the teeth of this wild thing. Love is used as a lever to control people and deliver them to the slaughter. I think of the lonely woman, in love with her man. He beats her, cusses her, rapes her, and demeans her at every turn, yet, because of love, she stays with him. I think of mean and nefarious men who hold a woman captive and force her compliance by threatening her family. Her love for her family is the means by which they control her. Men are not exempt from this cruel trick of nature. I’ve seen a man destroy his family, his career, and ultimately his life because he fell in “love” with another woman. I’ve seen the drug addicted lead many down the road to ruin by courting their love and then using them till they are reduced to only a crust of bread for dinner. I’ve seen children, holding their parents hostage by the same love shown them. When will it end? When will I see that love is evil in this way. It constrains me to act in harmful and completely unreasonable courses of action. It forces me to make choices that are in the end, all the worse things that could be done.

Here is the mistake – Love is not the holy stamp of approval on my dealings with humanity. Love does not guarantee the success or validity of a relationship. I see the reality and necessity of love, but only as a by-product of a healthy relationship, not as the final goal. The relationship should not be ruled by this love, but give birth to it, then raise it in subjection. How should I act when faced with my “love”? Love needs a system of checks and balances. A spiritual check can help control my direction, whether this is a good choice or bad. A logic check is important as well. Seriously, can my love for an abuser, child molester, or addict be expressed best by exposing myself and my family to his/her aberrations? Love will choose the death of the loved one for the best of the whole. If I am held hostage, my wife being raped, my belongings pilfered, all under the threat of killing my children, I say, “Be damned! I’ll not let them ravage my life using that lever of love. If I give in and allow the pillaging of my life, what will be left for the children, or woman, or whoever is the object used to force my compliance? What is left is a broken and shattered form, unable to provide for the family in any way. This is what is left for love when it is used to violate: brokenness, shattered dreams, and an inability to provide. Let us, my friends, be careful to not let love lead us down these treacherous paths and check ourselves lest we be found as victims of love.

Victim of love?

 “…and so will the world end, I think, a victim of love rather than hate. For love’s ever been the more destructive weapon, sure.” – Stephen King, The Dark Tower

deppography

Speak to me of love’s glories and I’ll show you the teeth of this wild thing. Love is used as a lever to control people and deliver them to the slaughter. I think of the lonely woman, in love with her man. He beats her, cusses her, rapes her, and demeans her at every turn, yet, because of love, she stays with him. I think of mean and nefarious men who hold a woman captive and force her compliance by threatening her family. Her love for her family is the means by which they control her. Men are not exempt from this cruel trick of nature. I’ve seen a man destroy his family, his career, and ultimately his life because he fell in “love” with another woman. I’ve seen the drug addicted lead many down the road to ruin by courting their love and then using them till they are reduced to only a crust of bread for dinner. I’ve seen children, holding their parents hostage by the same love shown them. When will it end? When will I see that love is evil in this way. It constrains me to act in harmful and completely unreasonable courses of action. It forces me to make choices that are in the end, all the worse things that could be done.

Here is the mistake – Love is not the holy stamp of approval on my dealings with humanity. Love does not guarantee the success or validity of a relationship. I see the reality and necessity of love, but only as a by-product of a healthy relationship, not as the final goal. The relationship should not be ruled by this love, but give birth to it, then raise it in subjection. How should I act when faced with my “love”? Love needs a system of checks and balances. A spiritual check can help control my direction, whether this is a good choice or bad. A logic check is important as well. Seriously, can my love for an abuser, child molester, or addict be expressed best by exposing myself and my family to his/her aberrations? Love will choose the death of the loved one for the best of the whole. If I am held hostage, my wife being raped, my belongings pilfered, all under the threat of killing my children, I say, “Be damned! I’ll not let them ravage my life using that lever of love. If I give in and allow the pillaging of my life, what will be left for the children, or woman, or whoever is the object used to force my compliance? What is left is a broken and shattered form, unable to provide for the family in any way. This is what is left for love when it is used to violate: brokenness, shattered dreams, and an inability to provide. Let us, my friends, be careful to not let love lead us down these treacherous paths and check ourselves lest we be found as victims of love.

Gentleness of Strength

“Silk is a fine, delicate, soft, illuminating, beautiful substance. But you can never rip it! If a man takes this tender silk and attempts to tear it, and cannot tear it, is he in his right mind to say “This silk is fake! I thought it was soft, I thought it was delicate, but look, I cannot even tear it” ? Surely, this man is not in his right mind! The silk is not fake! This silk is 100% real. It’s the man who is stupid!” ― C. JoyBell C.

“Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.” – Bruce Lee

dewdropzgarden

 Gentle, striving to be easy with the hardness life brings. Being gentle when the attack is not against me is easy, but let my lover betray me, let a random act of violence occur, let my child be molested in spite of my best efforts, then it proves supremely difficult to resist hardness. When gentleness is discerned by the predators of man and beast, it signifies vulnerability, a sign that brings pursuit and attack. There is however, a side of gentleness that is contrary to weakness. Warriors learned long ago that deftness, a soft touch, is as deadly as brute force. The less effort, the faster and more powerful you will be. Gentleness learned is self control gained. To deny the victim demeanor and become a survivor, a warrior, requires a necessary application of gentle traits. Hold the knife easy. Squeeze the trigger softly. Bend not break, as a willow in the breeze. Bruce Lee taught the principle: be like water. Water is soft, yielding, and enjoyable to be around, but still maintains a fearful power. Gentleness is not weakness, it is power under perfect control. I’m this gentle soul, the water that gives way, and still I possess a force to overcome the most difficult opponent, whether it be in the form of man or circumstance.

Bar Time – The way it is

“When I go to a bar, I don’t go looking for a girl who knows the capital of Maine.”  
– David Brenner

olavstubberud

11 pm – And the pressure is on

Feeling no pain, inhibition gone

12 am – The game is in full swing

All the preparation for this thing

1 am – Soon the last call is made

This spot beside me is up for trade

2 am – A challenge there she stands

One more drink in her hands

3 am – We share the passion bed

Our love we switch for pain instead

4 am – I lay awake with open eyes

Without the high there‘s no disguise

5 am – I’m stirring and flipping still

She awakes and tries to feel

6 am – I’m the victim of my crime

Following hard in bar time

The Meat Grinder – Making it through the abuse

“[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.” – Daisy Whitney, The Mockingbirds 

The following is a graphic and personal account of rape. It is not for the faint of heart nor is it written for editorial criticism. It is written to help people that have fallen victim to rape to be encouraged and to seek help. I know, I understand, don’t give up your fight to live life happy again.

Innocent. Walking home from school after getting in trouble, I saw him, my skin crawled, I knew already, something was wrong. He grabbed me by the neck and whispered, “Let’s go see a bird’s nest little boy, it’s over here in the woods.” A small path leading the way through the corner of the forest from the school to another road, became my gateway to hell. I knew he was dangerous, but how, that I wasn’t aware of, yet. Fear gripped me, for years I fought the people in my neighborhood and school, I thought this time they got me. The memories blur at this point but in a few words without any embellishment, I was raped. During the rape, I only feared for my life, I didn’t care what he did, only what he might do, what he said he was going to do. A kind of shock set in, a surreal reality, where pain seemed distant but terror omnipresent. The damage to my body was of small consequence compared to the ravaging of my mind. His words echoed, “If you move, I will kill you.” I heard him scurry off through the woods.

I was still bent over, holding on to a log for support. I managed to find a few leaves to wipe what was left of him off of me. I was to young to really know what it was that I was wiping off, but the knowledge was coming together in a maelstrom of feelings in my mind. It was agony, not the pain of my body, but, deciding to move. I knew he was serious about killing me, and the thought held me stationary for a long while, how long I don’t remember. The shock was merciful, a strange numbness surrounded my body and mind, the only thing I could feel was fear.

I had to decide to move, that meant that I, at 10 years old, made a life or death decision. I had to move, I don’t care if he kills me. That was the beginning of a long mental degradation of my love of life. I stood up, and crept out of the woods, every twig crack and leaf crunch making the most unbearable noise, driving the spike of terror straight through my mind, through my soul, and deep into my heart. I made it out of the woods, but into a long journey of recovery from pain that would take me through untold nightmares and fears. Fear was now my closest friend, my enemy, and my lover. My mind now my worst enemy. Only a few can know the pain of facing death and terror, walking through that gauntlet with numb courage, pressing on to live whatever of life is left for the broken and wounded.

Without going through all the gruesome facts, what happened to me left me broken in way I could never imagine, the worst being an incredible fear that he was out there still, waiting to kill me. Constant paranoia now pursued my little mind, evil forebodings, a foreshortened future, I will not live to see tomorrow, my will to live a flash in the pan. I had nightmares and flashbacks now, to escort me on my journey. I would be constantly on high alert, looking not just for him, but for others that would hurt me as well. It seemed that everyone was out to get me, and to this day, I struggle with trust, knowing how quickly my peace and security, or what shreds of it were left, can be taken. It’s hard to keep living knowing how quickly someone else can ruin your life, at times I think myself better off dead. 

I press on though, with a passion to live and fight against the evil that would destroy me, whether a physical embodiment of it, or a mental shadow. Homicidal fantasies now run rampant through my mind, I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun a few times, finger on the trigger, thoughts racing. He shot me, wounding me far beyond physical pain, I now wanted to kill him, to eradicate his vile semen from the world of the living. He never was caught, still roaming about I imagine, destroying other lives.

Within a few years, I found a misguided and passionate faith, that although I practiced it wrong, gave me hope to press forward. Whenever the tears blinded my eyes, the way blurry and painful, I began to feel a power greater than me, greater than my fear, pressing me onward and upward. I will not succumb to the destructive vices that call for my attention. I talked to counselors innumerable, psychiatrists by the handful, and doctors by the dozen, trying to find a way through the vast wilderness of brokenness. Addictions formed rapidly toward anything that gave me pleasure, anything to take me away from the constant and pressing pain and awkwardness of being me, a scared little boy, trying just to survive. I write these things to give you hope. You may have never told anyone what happened to you. Or, you could, like me, have admitted it but quickly moved on thinking that nothing is wrong, ignoring the warnings that you are critically injured inside. Pray to your God, that he would give you grace to overcome that moment and its repercussions. Talk to someone professionally, a pastor or counselor. 

Do not ignore the bleeding that is happening in your soul. It’s not your fault, you were wounded by another’s vice and selfish pursuit. I know this one thing, and listen to me my dear friends and strangers to my life, you can live and be happy after falling prey to an attacker(s). After losing your innocence and trust, you can recover and be a strength to others that like us, have gone through the meat grinder of rape, and have our revenge in a life well lived as a victor and not a victim.

The Meat Grinder – Making it through the abuse

“[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.” – Daisy Whitney, The Mockingbirds 

The following is a graphic and personal account of rape. It is not for the faint of heart nor is it written for editorial criticism. It is written to help people that have fallen victim to rape to be encouraged and to seek help. I know, I understand, don’t give up your fight to live life happy again.

Innocent. Walking home from school after getting in trouble, I saw him, my skin crawled, I knew already, something was wrong. He grabbed me by the neck and whispered, “Let’s go see a bird’s nest little boy, it’s over here in the woods.” A small path leading the way through the corner of the forest from the school to another road, became my gateway to hell. I knew he was dangerous, but how, that I wasn’t aware of, yet. Fear gripped me, for years I fought the people in my neighborhood and school, I thought this time they got me. The memories blur at this point but in a few words without any embellishment, I was raped. During the rape, I only feared for my life, I didn’t care what he did, only what he might do, what he said he was going to do. A kind of shock set in, a surreal reality, where pain seemed distant but terror omnipresent. The damage to my body was of small consequence compared to the ravaging of my mind. His words echoed, “If you move, I will kill you.” I heard him scurry off through the woods.

I was still bent over, holding on to a log for support. I managed to find a few leaves to wipe what was left of him off of me. I was to young to really know what it was that I was wiping off, but the knowledge was coming together in a maelstrom of feelings in my mind. It was agony, not the pain of my body, but, deciding to move. I knew he was serious about killing me, and the thought held me stationary for a long while, how long I don’t remember. The shock was merciful, a strange numbness surrounded my body and mind, the only thing I could feel was fear.

I had to decide to move, that meant that I, at 10 years old, made a life or death decision. I had to move, I don’t care if he kills me. That was the beginning of a long mental degradation of my love of life. I stood up, and crept out of the woods, every twig crack and leaf crunch making the most unbearable noise, driving the spike of terror straight through my mind, through my soul, and deep into my heart. I made it out of the woods, but into a long journey of recovery from pain that would take me through untold nightmares and fears. Fear was now my closest friend, my enemy, and my lover. My mind now my worst enemy. Only a few can know the pain of facing death and terror, walking through that gauntlet with numb courage, pressing on to live whatever of life is left for the broken and wounded.

Without going through all the gruesome facts, what happened to me left me broken in way I could never imagine, the worst being an incredible fear that he was out there still, waiting to kill me. Constant paranoia now pursued my little mind, evil forebodings, a foreshortened future, I will not live to see tomorrow, my will to live a flash in the pan. I had nightmares and flashbacks now, to escort me on my journey. I would be constantly on high alert, looking not just for him, but for others that would hurt me as well. It seemed that everyone was out to get me, and to this day, I struggle with trust, knowing how quickly my peace and security, or what shreds of it were left, can be taken. It’s hard to keep living knowing how quickly someone else can ruin your life, at times I think myself better off dead. 

I press on though, with a passion to live and fight against the evil that would destroy me, whether a physical embodiment of it, or a mental shadow. Homicidal fantasies now run rampant through my mind, I’ve stared down the barrel of a gun a few times, finger on the trigger, thoughts racing. He shot me, wounding me far beyond physical pain, I now wanted to kill him, to eradicate his vile semen from the world of the living. He never was caught, still roaming about I imagine, destroying other lives.

Within a few years, I found a misguided and passionate faith, that although I practiced it wrong, gave me hope to press forward. Whenever the tears blinded my eyes, the way blurry and painful, I began to feel a power greater than me, greater than my fear, pressing me onward and upward. I will not succumb to the destructive vices that call for my attention. I talked to counselors innumerable, psychiatrists by the handful, and doctors by the dozen, trying to find a way through the vast wilderness of brokenness. Addictions formed rapidly toward anything that gave me pleasure, anything to take me away from the constant and pressing pain and awkwardness of being me, a scared little boy, trying just to survive. I write these things to give you hope. You may have never told anyone what happened to you. Or, you could, like me, have admitted it but quickly moved on thinking that nothing is wrong, ignoring the warnings that you are critically injured inside. Pray to your God, that he would give you grace to overcome that moment and its repercussions. Talk to someone professionally, a pastor or counselor. 

Do not ignore the bleeding that is happening in your soul. It’s not your fault, you were wounded by another’s vice and selfish pursuit. I know this one thing, and listen to me my dear friends and strangers to my life, you can live and be happy after falling prey to an attacker(s). After losing your innocence and trust, you can recover and be a strength to others that like us, have gone through the meat grinder of rape, and have our revenge in a life well lived as a victor and not a victim.