i’ll either make it through
or i won’t
but if i make it through, all the way,
without skirting the edges but plowing straight into
the eye of this dervish
i don’t see how anything will be the same as it always
was i don’t see how that could be possible to
go through this all the way and not have it change me
change the way everything looks sounds smells tastes feels
because going back to that sameness
that ordinary nothing unusual happening here ma’am
kind of insanity seems now too cruel to fathom
i can’t go back to imagining that i had a mother and father
that i had a childhood
that i grew up
that i had a family
not if those words have any common meaning
instead i started one day in the world as this person
i am or seem to be now
i just began one day
living here
with no preconceived ideas about what living here means
i wasn’t living
then i started just like that one day maybe as if
someone or something at last noticed the little
switch to turn me on
to animate this form i know not what
only that would finally make sense


before it seems all feelings 



and so forth

were forms of managing 

ways to avoid this


the inevitable result of everything that came


before this when i did not cry and moan and howl


before this when thoughts seemed to follow in some sort of logical


before the vortex pulled me, finally, just below my ability to 

tread water just below my capacity to keep from

swallowing all the rushing debris

endlessly circling

this lifetime 

just before this all became something

other than before

became forever now

saved by character defects

i knew i was holding on to them for some damn reason
someday those defects would serve a vital purpose
flights of fancy (aka rescue fantasy)
and maybe just a touch of perfectionism
all combined purchase yet another day
apparently on planet crazy
hey maybe this is how it’s done
far more often than we ever guess
just one day at a time
keep putting those defects to work
make them finally count for something

at some point

At some point, when quality of life remains below a certain level, and all known rational options (those within access) have been tried, it makes sense to depart with whatever dignity you still have. Determining that point is a tricky matter. Inevitably it results in more trauma for innocent loved ones. For me, that latter reality has been the only redeeming quality still worth suffering and existing for.

note to self: no more notes to self

i see that i’ve left an absurd note to “self”….
this is the kind of false assumption i’ve been talking
about—the kind of apparently logical assumption by which one
(meaning myself) can remind or suggest or express the imperative
nature of that which MUST be done—and hence
(like in some wonderful magic trick)
the self will then somehow possess the capacity, ability,
power, etc., required to follow through with the suggestion
or the imperative.

in reality, in mine that is, it doesn’t work that way. especially
now. i don’t know why. i don’t know if it is a matter of brain
chemistry at this point (meaning that this state of functioning
could be ameliorated with psychotropics)

or whether it is more related to dissociated strands unable to
unite to complete one purpose…or both. or something else, like
a simple phobia or character defect like extreme stubbornness.
whatever. it’s just another fucking mystery about this WTFD
of which i know not what do in response, and based on tons of
reading, there is no solution that is legal, accessible, etc, for
purely socially-constructed reasons. there you have it. nasty and
unpleasant and/or untenable to consider as our shared reality.

so. once again. i apologize to any reader for whom none of this makes
sense. i am sure i would have the same reaction if our roles were
reversed, if i was in your shoes.

based on what “we” all know about human beings, my behavior is
now nothing more than…………insert whatever label or description
seems appropriate and/or most closely aligned with your own frame of reference.
after all. that’s seemingly the most rational and sane choice.

note to self: get help

i need some serious grief counseling and
some damn good meds (not big pharma). some
plain old fashioned medicinal weed and/or a

simple short term opiate script. if i can’t
get these in the u/s/a I will fly to another
country. this is life and death now. the c-ptsd
is compounding the grief 10x or more. not sure
how much more of this grief i can take.

please forgive me

please forgive me son for disappearing once long ago when you needed me most

please forgive me son for not teaching you about evil in this world and for telling you that people can be trusted until they give you a reason otherwise

please forgive me son for loving you too much, it must have seemed like I was afraid that there was a good reason I might lose you

please forgive me son for not finishing your baby book—it seemed like bad luck to finish it, as if when it was done then so your life would be finished, too—it seemed like a harmless joke between us, honestly, though, i feared you were too good to survive in this world

please forgive me for having all these fears without stating the obvious,

Sometimes evil seeks out the good just to watch it suffer and beg for life, no matter the cost—