Im trying, Im trying to feel, trying to break through the armour I have on, the walls I have built, trying to pierce the fortress of my being . Pulling the threads of compassion and passion, unravelling the vest protecting my heart. Is the numbness permanent? will I get true feeling back? Not if we don’t change, don’t have excitement, you can’t get excited without excitement, for that you need more than 2 emotions, need to be able to feel it and show it. I used to be passionate, I used to be full of excitement, I used to do things, go places, leave the house. I don’t so much anymore, I go shopping for groceries, thats my alone time, shopping in a great big fucking supermarket that goes against everything I try and stand for, I hate supermarkets, they are the destroyers of planets. We have no money to do anything else thats fun. I care for him, I look after our son, the dog, I work from home sat in front of a laptop watching the weather change outside the window, the cars go passed. I say work, no one pays me, always say they will but never manage to, Im too kind, too soft, too desperate to do something that uses my brain that I don’t care, I work for free whether I like it or not, most of the time I have no choice.
Am I depressed? Probably..
No, the answer is definitely.
I want to feel something that isn’t numb or anger, or frustration or fear or paranoia.
I want to feel alive.
Sometimes I feel like I’m faking it, that I’m so numb from the constant barrage of red zones I know he cannot help, that when things are ok the feeling of longing & love is just pretend, just a feeling I have to make myself feel, apart from nothing, because I do love him, more than anything or I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t stay, wouldn’t want to help him. I feel sometimes its hard to switch these emotions, hard to get out of the waiting for an explosion, take it to the chest, ignore the words he shouts mind set and get into the he’s my husband, he loves me, lets be lovers mindset, like I have to put it on, put on a feeling of passion and longing, but really I’m guarded, hurt, remembering the words he flings in anger, twat, cunt, bitch, seeing the hate in his flat black eyes, waiting for it to happen over and over again.
I think I’m numb, numb and faking it.
Or is that just marriage anyway?
A flame creeps at the edges, stoking its felicitous fingers into your safe & secure world.
It has shape, a shape you know.
You’re entranced by its passion as it licks, slow & intense.
Tracing the edges of shadows as it tries to sweep across your being.
Its trying to ignites a spark that can burn your world, you must not let it catch.
Scars still tight & thin, you’d snuffed it out, extinguished it before, seen it die, go cold. Relief and sadness.
Ignore the flickering, the desire to touch the flame, to run your fingers through it, to feel the intensity, the pleasures, the pain.
it will all end in ashes..
Ive been thinking recently about why women are perceived to be the weaker sex, to be fragile around menstrual cycles, to be seen as inferior and weak minded due to hormones. This is all utter and total nonsense of course, I have realised that the main reason women have been perceived in this way is plain and simple, its because we bleed and this frightens men, we were forced to see our menstrual cycles as a personal affair that we should keep concealed and to ourselves to remain acceptable to males, so that they don’t have to think ‘Ewh she’s bleeding and hormonal’.
This nonsense way of thinking starts in primary school in around the 6th grade where the sexes are divided and a nurse turns up at the school with a bag full of male & female secrets that shall not be divulged across the gender gap. Girls get told about the impending shame that is to befall them and the many ways to conceal it from humanity, for its not to be seen or talked about and it’ll make you feel different but we’re female so we’re allowed to feel inferior and shameful and tired. The boys get carted off and told about testicles and erections and hair growth and strength increase and deep voices and how they are going to feel strong and driven. This is the fundamental mistake, the genders should not be divided to talk about this stuff, both genders need to know what is happening to each other, girls shouldn’t have to hide periods from people in shame but announce their cycle as a herald of look out, I may be a bit shouty for the next few days but its ok because you, boys, feel like that most of the time but you think its normal and it is normal, maybe we don’t actually feel that different from each other but we’re just told to. I would suggest boys and girls generally feel the same, both are emotional, both are confused, both feel urges of anger and frustration, both feel insecurity and shame. Boys have the shame of unwanted erections and contestant urges to fiddle, girls bleed for approximately 30 years, its life. A lot of the gender differences are imprinted from nurture not nature, if boys were told its ok to cry and be emotional Im sure that they’d be crying most days on par if not more than girls, its the repression that manifests itself as frustration that results in anger, this can happen to both sexes but girls get a pass because they’re hormonal! Boys are hormonal too! Why do educators make it such a gender divide? Surely it must be imperative for each sex to understand the other and not feel embarrassed or shameful about how their bodies work and change and surely this has to happen from an early age. So why in the UK is it still taboo and given such a .
Girls are not the weaker sex, girls have just been told they are for so long that they hide behind this veneer because society has told them to.
I have only truly ever loved two men,
They both have the same name….
I have an awful feeling this is the end of us.
I can’t stop crying, this doesn’t help as its just making him angrier.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t be…
I will always remember the colour of your ears. Thinking how quickly the blood had turned thick & pooled, dark and still, trapped in this bits of your body where it stayed after you heart stopped. Viscous, oozing, moving slowly, only with gravity, to the areas lowermost in your body as you lay supine, a blanket up to your chest, the sticky pads of the defibrillator still attached to your skin just visible under the edge of the satin lined cream wool. Your highest features already a waxy yellow, your nose, your forehead, your chin, your chest, making you look like a waxwork dummy. The dark blood hanging in your ears & lobes. I remember thinking on how wrong they get it films & TV. How can they get the colours all so wrong? Why do they lie? When you’re dead, even just an hour after, you turn a horrible fatty yellow and aubergine purple where the blood is draining & gathering and congealing. Rothkoesque, clashing colours, the colours of death on this still canvas, only possible with a stillness that will come to us all.
No one tells you this, I guess youre never meant to know the colours you go….
I gave up food and took up cigarettes. I got thin.
I gave up cigarettes and took up crisps. I gained weight.
I gave up crisps and took up cheese. I gained more weight.
To give up cheese can I take up cigarettes again?
In response to Fidget Spinners and his inability to tolerate them despite them being gadgets for people with ASD…
“My mental-ness doesn’t manifests in physical twitching, mine manifests in mental twitching.”