The Black Car

I have found my own modern day hermit’s cave, which I call The Black Car. I work, only because I must. And on days when I have to bring the magic in my job I have one of my parts do the heavy lifting. I’ve stopped answering most text messages and phone calls. There are a small few people whom I will reply to or answer calls, but its often painful for me to do so, and I’m usually itching to cease the communication.

Last month I had memories start to come forth, though only slivers of clues that beg further questions. Though enough has come forth that I am constantly stupefied by memories that pour out of my brain at moments when I need my full concentration, usually at work.

I tried explaining to one friend in particular this afternoon why I had been isolating and strugggling. When I told him I had been struggling with memories he just looked at me, and said nothing. And then after an uncomfortable silence he changed the subject altogether. I felt silly sitting there in that sushi restaurant with too many sushi rolls between us, and the cloud of discomfort in the air. The interaction confirmed my instincts for staying hidden away from most people to the extent possible.

I walk around only seeing what is directly in front of me.  An old friend saw me in the tea shop yesterday, and she had to wave me down and say my name loudly to get my attention. I honestly did not see her sitting in close vicinity of me.

I have days where I can fake it very well, when my dear Sabrina can fully come out at work and bring the magic. And then at the end of the day The Black Car is waiting again, and Sabrina has left when she senses that she is no longer needed for work.

The Black Car is a dependable old girl, and she’s always there patiently waiting for the next ride.

The fear in my head

The fear in my head can tell me all sorts of stories, many of these stories are not the present truth. Though once in a blue moon, the fear warns me a of  a true danger. Unfortunately, these rare moments of true danger live forever in my head, and they return with a vengeance with the slightest sliver of a reminder.

And when that fear starts raining down on me it’s hard to get out of that spiral. I start to make doomsday predictions: I will lose everything. I will be homeless. Everything good is going to disappear. I won’t be able to feed myself. And then it further disintegrates into thoughts of disappearing because my head can’t conceive of going through the danger and the pain again.

Deep down inside me there is a belief that good things are not for me. When I get those slivers of fear I let them into my head because goodness feels fleeting to me. Anything positive feels transient, and borrowed, but with a quick return date like a new release at the library. The bad news and awful things feel familiar and known.

When people tell me they miss me, I’m stunned. Authentic happiness from people upon seeing me still confuses me. It’s not the self-perception of myself that I want, but it’s the one I have at the moment. Believe it or not, this is an improvement from just two years ago. Back then, and for as long as I can remember in my life, I would live with suicidal ideation most days. I would wake up in the morning and my first thought was that I shouldn’t be on this earth, and I would work against that desire sometimes on an hourly basis, depending on the day. Thankfully, my dark self possesses a sliver of hope within that propelled me to fight this desire my entire life.

And it’s that sliver of hope that I hold on to in moments like this when the fear has overtaken me, and I feel like the universe is raining on me. I try to keep perspective. I check my perceptions with friends. Sometimes I have to repeatedly check because I have a hard time believing I’m really okay. It’s hard for me to hold the belief that if I do lose everything in my life, in a worst case scenario, I am still worthy as a human being, still someone that people will want to know.

10 ways to tell a story

1 is the number of lives I have, at least as far as I know. Hence my efforts to stay on earth.

There are 2 choices, live or not. I get through the days of not wanting to live by thinking of the days where I’m glad I’m alive. I know they are around the corner, but I tend to forget that, and need to be reminded.

I have 3 kinds of pain: spiritual pain, physical pain and psychological pain.They each take turns in the front seat. On bad days all three take hold of me.

I am trying to avoid a 4th lifetime trip to the hospital. They are not healing places, just a rest stop for a hiatus of sorts. I do like the friends I make in those places though.

There are 5 children in my family of origin. I’m only close to one sibling, a sister. All of us are scattered across the country like debris leftover from a disaster.

I was 6 when my father chose his addictions over his family. I knew this when he broke my piggy bank for money.

We were a family of 7. Inevitably we were often seated at a large table in the middle of restaurants. This was a great place to showcase the shit show that would play out every time. My stepfather would invariably yell at my mother, “God damn it, Momma! Why did you make me spill that? Get me some napkins!” Red Lobster loved seeing us come in the door on Sundays.

It’s been 8 years since I’ve had a drink. Funny how a drinking problem found me, despite my childhood vow to not become my father.

This year will make 9 years of choosing a different road from that of my father. The person that gets me the most in this life is not a role model. My brain can get fuzzy from pondering this too long.

Don’t let any of the pain get to a 10, if it can be helped. Call a friend, get some acupuncture, and get yourself a dog this year. It’s been too long of a wait.

Today’s post is written in response to Today’s Daily Post.