self-psychology

Present

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There’s a line that repeats in my head every time I get super frustrated at my life:

“the medicine of speaking and listening”

Remember back to when smoking pot was new and exciting. A person would puff ‘n’ give while talking, smoke pouring out of their mouth because they’re laughing…I can’t even speak while passing a peace pipe, NO ONE is listening, let alone hearing anything from my lips. A wife is said to become annoying, but NO ONE realizes I’m gone. It’s sad, but not for me.

I have that line.

“the medicine of speaking and listening”

I thought it was me. I’m just not worth listening to, I have no job, I have nothing important to say, so why should anyone listen to me? Fuck that. Sorry to be crass. I’m done being the blame for his wrongs. I’m done feeling like an ass.

I’m yearning for growth through connection, conversation like I used to feel when I got out of my head.

I wish I could give you a present for all the ways you help me in a day. Fun images when snide comments are thrown my way. Lovely lines that encourage my strength, advice in a way to not lose my shit when repeatedly I’m made to feel like a dick. It didn’t matter how often he tried to ruin my day, he couldn’t. Instead of crying and hiding, I climbed a hill and took a cool picture like I used to do when I was by myself. Progress I feel.

Nature giving you a hug 🫂

Whatever

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What would life be like if I could keep the faith, keep believing something I want will stay, you know, to NOT get scared and try to run away. As I roll down the road of life, that’s not my path yet I sware, in spite of all strife, I will always search for the light.

An odd morning, a dreamy atmosphere, wildfire smoke outside choking the light out.

FAITH

it’s in me

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It’s in me. I know it is because my subconscious keeps showing me. The sizzle of the chicken on the stove, open eyes wake-dream your eyes guiding your lips to land on the skin just below my ear, with a kiss grazing my neck, you whisper, “I’m here…” And while savoring that sizzle, oil pops out to smear my glasses, you know, fate reminding me of my reality with a fizzle.

I don’t write sex anymore because obviously I won’t ever get what I wish. Recently, he killed my artist endeavors on Instagram too (made fun of me for a few too many things).

Despite all that baggage bullshit, sexy images popping up in me tickled me pink all day long…

It’s the most wonderful thing! It’s in me! Passion, lust, desire, wild-fun love are in me still!

Seduced

I want to be seduced and seduce my muse!

I now know what I’ve spent my life looking for: someone who inspires me.

I also know what I cannot abide: being belittled and sexless for the rest of my short life.

(I started volunteering at a summer camp for kids with disabilities where my daughter is teaching art and STEM. Good distraction:)

beautiful fear

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So dangerous to me…a beautiful fear. Watching you sing, so titilating. I can’t get enough, so I tried to cut myself off. I refused for a day to indulge…

No!

I tell myself, trying to be good, wondering what you’d let me do if only I could.

And that’s what gets me into trouble. I’m new to seeing someone so lovely, so close that I get confused, hot emotions wild, imagining you’re singing to me “under the covers” when my mouth meets yours, and that beautiful fear disappears as I inhale you while you’re near.

I have decided to begin challenging my anxiety, push my triggers and explore how to see and do more…

Today, I did it.

I’m practicing leaving my house by myself. I must conquer my fears and vanquish the lack of confidence that have kept me trapped…

Idependence achieved! I went with a girlfriend to Michigan for the first time (with no family) in seven years. Baby steps, but it’s a start.

A goal: To find you, love, some day, some how.

You make up my bucket list truth be told.

When I’m grounded, an adult unable to control my world, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you. Funny, I pretend you’re seeing me, when really I have no idea if we’ll ever see each other again.

My heart has already jumped on your ride, and you’re so powerful, you blow my mind!

In fact, like butterscotch pudding thick and sweet tongue-scooped to fill my mouth, eyes closed…the swallow…pleasure seeping into my body, that’s what you did to me today.

Oh…My!

Everyone asleep, I crave another peek, so off to the garage I sneak for another moment between you and me.

I wish I could give you even a sliver of the overwhelming pleasure, gratitude I feel when I see you. You cradle me when I want to crawl out of my skin, when I want to disappear, you help me find calm. I may just be talking to myself, but while I take you in, for a moment, I’m free, I’m wanted, I’ve got you to hold. A moment does my blues a wave of good, and I get to repeat that feeling while I sleep, finally able to touch you again.

Oh my, what a silly woman am I!

unacceptable

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It’s unacceptable. I know. Silly, for sure. I have to purge before midnight, or sleepless I’ll be. So, here’s my unbelievable moment of honesty, with which I show the fool hidden deep.

I miss a video, well not exactly…how can I explain???

Funny how a song can not only bring back things unsettling, but also give a new beginning with a joyful memory.

His video, his voice, his smile, each creative choice did that for me.

No one knows that when I was about ten, I performed a dance routine during a basketball game half time show to “Dancing in the Streets.”

In dance and gymnastics from four to fourteen (when I had a car accident spinal cord injury), nostalgia when I hear certain songs can be unexpected. Well, every part of him singing was touching, and welling emotions made my skin prickly hot when he smiled, especially as he belted a beautiful “Chicago”.

A yearn began to dance about, urging my lungs to expell a belly laugh, honestly, like nothing I’ve ever felt, for tears too dripped onto my phone.

My brain wouldn’t let it go, so I had to figure out if I could find it again. Then, I searched…results:

Gone.

That was last night. All day, knowing it doesn’t matter that it matters to me, knowing it’s something I’ll never again see, breaks my heart repeatedly.

Lost, my confidence whipped raw, I think I’ll take a break from social media. I didn’t used to be so emotional!

I think it’s true…you stay the same age as your greatest traumatic event. For me that makes sense, I still act like a horny teenager, head up my ass.

My excuse is so simple: I want to feel good.

In my life, I’m only misunderstood.

(I put back up a bunch of old stuff, why not, right? If only I didn’t try to hide parts of my writing…)

Oddest Flowers

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Even the oddest

flowers can flourish.

No sowing.

At first, just a seed

blowing when it falls

into a driveway crack,

and dormant instinct

roots foundation through

the black tar and gravel

until the magic of a spring

environment rains

light-food and nutrient-water

to seep deep then

an unlikely flower pushes

with burgeoning strength

through paved black-top.

Resiliency from infancy.

That’s me.

a will, a way

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I WILL myself…some day…to travel like I used to, relying on no one but myself! Ok, well, at least to places like Chicago, a place I know so well.

(Three months of rehabilitation just off Lake Shore Drive at fourteen years old, The Museum of Science and Industry’s been a staple since a kid, and every five months I have an appointment that’s right by School of the Art Institute of Chicago (where my daughter goes)…but…DAMN IT! I’ve traveled to Chicago alone my whole adult life!

How many times did I drive all by myself from the Arizona desert to the Midwest cornfields, from a Colorado Valley to an Arizona Mountain, from a San Diego beach to family in Texas?

How far did I go? My van might know.

I need freedom from silent expectations, bites of resentment, and voiceless screams. I want to escape being ignored as an acceptable way of living.

Hours pass by so slow as I wait for…my chance. The next time a friend says let’s talk, I won’t get scared and avoid the call!

A dragonfly’s wings fan subtle heat on my shoulder, and as if through a microphone-hand my tiny friend yells:

“ANSWER! You silly wench! No more bricks in the wall! You’re no longer a teenager! You’re an ADULT.”

Some day I’ll get away…for now, I guess, I’ll just keep dreaming, and vicariously I’ll trigger myself happy watching from my home.

Acceptance

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As an experience turns into a memory, the more heightened the emotional charge, the more vivid the movie of the moment so that our brains construct natural pathways of dealing with our world based upon our living perception of the meaning from our past experiences.

There should be a natural acceptance that it will never happen that way again.

I struggle with that, however, I’m just self-aware enough to see when I distort the picture with creative play warping the memory, then embracing it wholeheartedly, only to break my own heart.

I run. I hide. I bounce back wise.

One thing that I can’t abide is now currently what I hide, only today an epiphany realized…

I’m so cold inside despite being loved, and I just keep wondering why?

Will I ever again feel something resembling passion? Regularly mentally exhausted, unfortunately, not with him.

It hurt at first.

“FUCK ME!” Aloud, I actually burst.

I don’t know much about accepting change. But, a change happened. More than a caterpillar to a butterfly…

No, it’s more like a Frankenstein in my head that I created from past stories of broken hearts.

Do I kill it? Or do I love it?

It’s a fairy tale of lovely, in which ugly turns beautiful. I’ll take my dreams over reality. I want to be sweet.

I can make magic! Yes! Passion is within. I need no one thing for it to be…I want Passion to make me free. Now, that I can accept, close my eyes, visualize, a passionate soul to chase in the playground of my mind.

Fake it til you make it.

Just found this. So tickled!!!

brain game

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It won’t shut up! Ideas just bubbling, could say percolating, but that’s too focused. Adult ADHD? Yes, got worse with age, now struggling to read, like all those past students who couldn’t do it for me as a teacher. Never had tv as a kid, not through college, nor alone in Arizona as an adult, not until marriage was I forced to give in.

In every room screen-walls, nearly like in Bradbury’s Illustrated Man, that at anytime can show you anything in a flash, but take it away and death comes fast.

Fast-forward a few decades–

Creativity stagnant, passion dead, every night the light in bed is a documentary about something that doesn’t help. But recently, a change I didn’t expect, I’m writing and reading literature again.

My brain doesn’t shut off, but it’s not really bad. I just keep searching a purpose. Distracted, my brain and heart beat each other to the punch, where I get myself in trouble, thinking too much, wearing truth, as if it’s ok.

I know the truth. Birds don’t talk to me, yet I sware they try. By giving them words, I’m trying to fly, trying to get the fuck out of Dodge, trying to talk to my SELF because (though people surround me nearly all the time) no one else will.

But, I think this is my beginning.

I know the truth. I have to be strong. Life sans passion is typical, right? Why fight. My strength will be finding a way to help others outside of the house. I used to volunteer, may need an old bird there. I’ll read books to escape the mundane, you know, the way I used to stay sane.

Oh, what I’d do to feel wanted and skillful!

I know the truth. My chores depict my servicable skill, no one notices but they demand. As a mother, I adore my role with my whole soul. But, I wish a little lust would sprinkle in through my open doors.

How to break free? That’s the brain candy.

Hope

the color of hope

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I want to be part of the colorful tree, the crown, a leaf, a limb, the bark, a tap root, even a root hair.

I think about it and stare at what’s in front of me, walls, a roof, windows, a front and back door.

I go nowhere, but here.

Maybe, if I had the money, motivation would follow, but unfortunately, people scare me, I say too much, and mortified, I leave saying, “Sorry…”

Gregarious and fun, I love to be, so maybe, if I keep practicing, when I’m comfortable, maybe just maybe, I’ll find a way to fit into society. 

A monkey doing tricks to keep my spirit high, maybe if I again use Emerson’s tree metaphor of society and turn it into a lovely image…Yes, a visual of magic working:

“Nature always wears the color of the spirit.”

From blue to red and back again, I am everything between.

Alone or not, I can be my own fucking party!