Watch the world argue. Argue with itself.

The last week of March 1992 I found myself at a place they call rock bottom.  It was a silly place but boy did I fit in.  Got pulled over by the cops for flying down the highway chasing an egg mcmuffin.  Thought I was clever and in the clear - just a quick class skip and speed race across town and I'd make my clique happy with the delivery of McGoodness before next period began.  But I drove too fast in a 45.  Got a personal escort back to school.  I was a good kid doing bad.  I was a depressed kid who never did anything right.  That moment - that hour - that silly traffic ticket - was my last straw.   I wanted to die.  My parents wanted me to live.

Living with a brutally negative voice inside your head is merciless work.  You constantly have to fight against your inner-self.  It takes so much fucking effort to tell that nagging bitch that she is wrong and that all this pain and heartache and madness is worth it sun up to sun down.  There's very few days where there's any evidence of that being a truism.  So its a constant game.  Trickery.  Mindfuckery.

Last week of March 2012, two of my children help me believe in laughter and unicorn farts and rainbows and time, the other one is trying to drag me down with her.  I live with one indisputable truism:  It's the fear of other people's pain keeping me alive today.  What I couldn't do to my parents, I cannot do to my babies.  I wont cheat them.  I wont make them remember me always as "dead."

First Day of School?  She was dead.
Got my drivers license.  She's dead 10 years.
Married.  Step-Mom will light the candle

Am I selfless or hella selfish?  According to my parents, all that matters is my mental health.  I survived another day.  And I'm still fucking here !!  Its supposed to be an accomplishment.  But at almost the 40 year mark, its still a goddamn burden to be here.  To wake up every single morning and put one foot in front of the other hardly EVER seems worth it !  There's too many goddamn strings attached !

And now the teenager.  The fucking teenager.  She's trying on my shoes.  And she likes them.  She fucking thrives in them.  She is "her true self" in them.  She's got ever reliable access to the best cobbler known to man but she keeps peeking in my closet for my worn thin, smelly, outdated flip flops !  I can't take it so I'm angry.  I'm violently angry and viciously effected by her every misstep.  But she likes it.  She's finally who she really is.

Falling Down the Mountain..

Somewhere deep down inside me is a place where fantasies about what should have been flourish. There are faces, names, experiences and memories inside a fantastical vault controlled not by God or shared experience but simply by me and my imagination alone. I fill this space with stories, dreams, passions and knowledge that only the wiser side of self has experienced. The little voice that shouted "No!" before I leaped comes from within this cavern. This side of me always knows better. This girl learns fast and has made the right choice every time. Everything has gone according to a grander plan - a plan designed by ME and me alone. There's no sadness, pain or missed opportunity inside this secret place. Each peg fits each hole with precision. Every choice is rewarded with the perfect outcome and fits neatly into the box only I open and close. Each day ends with a smile and back scratch. There's no regret. Just happiness. Every morning I awake inside this place - my confidence is high, my back is straight, breath fresh and beauty unmatched.

Then I look to my left. Fucking reality.