Echoes, Shadows, and Inner demons vs. Inner Child….

Image by Bea Douglas, from Photobucket.com

http://s280.photobucket.com/home/Bea_Douglas
 

Finally, on this evening when we lose an hour of darkness in trade for light – Now, I am ready to write.

I have all my necessary tools for writing – pen. Paper. Music. Rain (and the silences in between). Light. And seated, I am poised towards my drink.

Ah, today it is my drink that merely only serves to calm me, to soothe my nerves; my bouncing leg, my constant motion. Because, at some point – I actually HAVE to STOP.

Stop, and sit.

"Be still," I say to myself, as mothers say to their squirmy children.

 

Something arises within me, maybe – it is my spine, finally fully evolving and becoming rigid. Something; a shifted gear; a new level; different energies. This thing has arrived in timely fashion, I must say. Served up as daily awakening, the energy that I feel – angsty, nervous and anxious – Only yielding my often uninhibited need to constantly be moving. Active. A new door has opened in front of me now. Though this anxiety and angst still remain, I feel less powerless and more of a powerful source; a valuable asset.

Cocky?

No, but indeed confident. You sometimes have to be just twisted enough to be totally confident. Not arrogant – confidence. That fine line, like genius and insanity. Maybe that is what Mr. Johnny Cash meant when he walked the line. I feel like I also am always towing the line myself. One day brings madness, breakdowns and tears, while the next waking morning greets me with a cocky handshake and with a look of challenge in its eyes. On a good day – I can conquer the world. Now, if only I could control my own…

    Strange visions have encapsulated my thoughts. Visions of disapproving figures, cloaked in shadows, but their eyes shining bright with disgust; with a cautious, wandering eye – warning me or perhaps, trying to protect me – maybe from myself. I only see them in the most desperate of times. Guardians, maybe – but definitely not angels...

    Drifting back to reality – I have just lost an hour to the night – actually to the dawn. That bargain of dark for light. Angels and demons. Thoughts versus actions.

These thoughts that tend to consume me -

My voice, screaming free – loud and demanding; belting out my own words and also words to songs that have changed who I am.

These,

    are things that are most important sometimes. Memories. Songs are memories, and music is life set to a rhythm.

The feeling of that rising in your throat, that triggers your brain into confusion – do you scream? Sing? Cry? Let's do it all, what the hell.

I feel a fury to carve words into the trees and the concrete; chiseled angrily, splintered into splinters - Shattering layers and years, breaking open new ground…shedding new tears and old skin.

A bargain.

 

HI, my name is Kerri,

And I am:

Indecisive

    but firm.

Outspoken

    but still silenced.

Loving

    but not affectionate.

Rigid and stubborn

    but I can be easily swayed.

Selfless

    but selfish.

Motivated

    but suspended in routine.

Strong

    but weak.

Confident

    But so very insecure.

Real –

    -and that is no shit-

I can learn anything

    but sometimes refuse to learn.

Patient

    but in a hurry.

Addictive, in my personality-

    but loud in speaking of having a clear mind.

 

I Can Be:

    Contradicting

    Condescending.

Defensive…

And never realize it until it's too late.

I am happy

    But I am always really

            Sad.

Susceptible to the energy of others, I feel pain and I give mine away. And I receive all of everyone's pain that they expose to me.

If I Love you –

    I will show you, though I am confusing in my methods.

My heart is huge

    My soul is receptive

            But I can seem cold and distant; disconnected, even.

And that is usually what it is –

    I am disconnected.

 

"I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad – the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had…I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very – Mad World…"

• "Mad World" by Gary Jules, from the movie Donnie Darko –
  

 

 

NEW DAY – MARCH 14, 2010

10:51 P.M.

Listening to: Atmosphere "In Your Glass House"

from the album When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold"

 

"Looking at a phone full of missed calls – probably all the people that you pissed off…

Everything seems so sour

So you force yourself into the shower-

Can't do it

Better sit

And let the tongue be the catcher's mitt…

Lay down; face down

Thank God whoever lives here ain't around.

Now what you need is silence

And you don't want no one to see you like this

Maybe you don't recognize it –

But

This is your home, this is where your life lives…

(All we need is 'because' – come and party with us-

Take care of you when you're passed out

Right there with you in your glass house…"

 

<insert random thought/lyric>

"When I am King – you will be first against the wall. With your opinion, which is of no consequence at all." (Radiohead / Paranoid Android/)

 

AH – this new day which has seemingly evaporated quickly into night – my emotions run wild.

Is this the lack of an SSRI? It's been since Thursday morning, the last dose – now it is Sunday, nearly early Monday morning. 11:05 p.m.

I still feel the anxiety. The need. A longing. Need to scream. To sing. To know how to play guitar and play the strings as if I were strumming my soul like a harpsichord. So, one more time, I feel like saying:

 

"Hi.

I'm Kerri, and I am:

Unstable

    But am demanded to provide solid ground on a daily basis.

HI, I'm KeRrI!!!!

And I replace One thing – for AnOThER!

I'm a saucerful of secrets

        An unopened box

A SuRpRiSE.

A Disappointment

Why????

Maybe I'm not really such a disappoinmentt. But perhaps, I am more disappointed than anything else. Maybe…

 

(now listening: The Mars Volta "The Widow" from Frances The Mute)

 

A little while later…

 

It's always really, really cool when you "come-to" (which, essentially, is what most people call 'waking up') at 3:30 a.m., on the kitchen table.

 

Oh lord.

How long have I been laying on the fresh ink from my pen, after it spewed words all over the previous page. The shaker that once held my vodka (but not much vodka – I drank most of it) – was now lying on it's side and spilled all over my papers…my hands…my pants.

Time to change. Clothes, that is.

I slip upstairs, at nearly 4 a.m., catlike –quiet, wide-eyed and floating…

New pants, underwear, andddddd – go!

I am struck with the urge to paint – once again. This time, I actually consider doing it – this time…

Back in the kitchen, I wipe the table, grab my vodka-soaked papers, a guitar (which I later discovered was missing the top three strings…hmm…), an i-phone, a pen, a jacket….

Then I drink the final shot of vodka.

Moving to the basement, the spot under the stairs, that is the most sought-out spot in the house.

I set up the table with my new, non-drinking essentials. It is 4:35 in the morning. I pack a glass pipe with some weed left over from a joint that was smoked earlier that evening. Crush a muscle relaxer I found in the dryer…Turn on Pink Floyd. And then, I write:

 

"Splatter paint

        Like brains

On the back of the walls in my head

 

Forward thoughts

            And grounded controls

And little girls fall into rabbit holes

And eyes that open to the light

Will only close

            When darkness rise

We'll pull the covers

        Over night

And shut out all the natural light

And this, should help

To quell your lies

When morning comes

                Is when the trial does…

Dreams of skin

Waking to no one

That can

Someone, share my pain

For only a moment

Because any longer

May drive you away

A taste of madness

A drink to (s)top it

Something always takes the place

Of another ToXiN

When I swim away, I'm really drowning

Feeling like I'm consumed

Fluid fills my lungs

I'm surrounded; feeling doomed

Drug down

Cement blocks on my ankles

I think – I sink, when I drink -?

What do You say?

Anything to aggravate the pain,

…grind that tooth, peel that skin…

Drive it deeper

Until I say to stop

Feeling numb until

The nerves pop

 

Hello –

Who are you,

Anymore?

And where is the girl who lived here before?

 

Something seems different

Nothing is the same-

Everything is different now,

Except for my name.

 

 

A Picture ...that puts all this jumble into ...a picture... CLICK
 

 

Ah, (yet another) new day (that I made it to)                     3-15-2010; 3 p.m.-ish

 

 

Nightly images produced

By my restless mind

These images frantically push their way through my waking self, into my resting spirit, and again – into my waking world.

But it is only that –

The waking world

Not my waking self.

Because Me and I, well, we became unacquainted these past few days.

Listening to rain and waiting for these images to go away.

What do these dreams mean?????

 

 LeArNinG To SeEeee

2-11-2010.. A Note To Self...

At some point in life, angst and anxiety began to overrule everything in my life. That was when I was about 13 or 14 years old. 
The tapping foot. 
The shaking leg. 
The nervous pacing. Chewing on pencils. Twisting my hair so firmly around my finger...and then pulling it out. 
Overwhelmed by trying to please those around me; meet their expectations. 
16 years later....I still do all those things that I have mentioned. Now, however, it is different. And adult with three children, ridiculed by my parents for an 'untidy' house, and having red and purple hair..For this, for that-
And this
is why I wonder:


"Will I Ever Be At Peace???"

 

Copyright 2010 K. Anne Smith

"The Clearest Double Vision You'll Ever See In Your Life" (Thanks, Dikkie, for the title Inspiration)

(what's a girl to do?)

irRatIOnAL/ indispensable.....IrreSponSibiLiTy

Irregularity Irreplaceable...UninHibIteD....Helpless.. DesPerAtiON!! UNTIL - that little orange tablet dissolves. Choose your poison wisely.

Feb. 23, 2010.

"noonish"

It is bland and tasteless. There is no color to the landscape. Browns, grays; white. Canvas. Except, for yellow school buses.

There is no electric HuM around my head, despite the overhead power lines that crisscross above.

But, if I listen closely -

caw cAWW!!

chirpchirpchirpchirp.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

A distant voice.

A car splashing through, hurriedly.

Inside, the brick walls haunt me. Same four walls, different in every room. It's just like everywhere you go - something is always omnipresent

to lure your mind back into thinking of 'home,' if you've been pleasured to ever have a steady one...

I am haunted. Waking nightmares of never being able to sleep; to never ever dReAMmmmm.

A peculiar man with bony hands sits in the corner of my mind, and from him comes harsh criticisms.

He sits in his chair, looking tall, lanky, and -

quite disturbed himself.

He waits.

Waits.

Although, the wait is usually never too long. He waits, for me to cave. To give in.

"Choose your poison wisely. There are many more elements other than just the one of surprise in this life's game. Good luck."

HE is menacing. Manic. But calm. He is my psychosis at it's finest! He waits, still and silent, just watching...And every so often, he whispers to me:

"Choose your poison...Wisely...muahahahaha."

It is enough to make me not want to remain awake, nor to be asleep. As our dreams are thought to represent and illustrate our suppressed emotions -

this is my fear -

I cannot escape it, waking or sleeping...Something has always been there for to lean on; a 'crutch' if you will.

Cigarettes.

Liquor. Pills.

Weed!

Pills to sleep.

Pills to calm down.

Pills to be healthy...

pills

pills

piLLs

END the pills, already!!!

Tragedy!

Malevolent delights!

But NEVER - I say to myself (and sometimes, aloud)- will I become like THEM.

Shaking, sweating, twisting and fiendish.

Never.

But, yet - standing at this crossroad, I realize that it has come very very close - to me becoming just like THEM.

But now - now, I can clearly understand. I swam through the agony, and can see that you can ONLY see through smoke and mirrors and illusions while in the midst of being held onto SO tightly by such a vice.

No clear thinking.

Only do you realize this you remove the one element that you've ALLOWED to control you. Remove it, and you will see...

Haunted.

Daily, with constantly wanting to please that intimidating Man in the chair, in the corner of my mind. Oh, the stories he whispers to me, over the electricity. He is louder than it. Much, much louder. Deafening, even.

My invisible Man.

My invisible struggle.

Every so often, too, this bastard of a character will do something so, so vile and evil:

He will, with a flick and slight rotation/roll of his wrist - shake loose a pill bottle - the sound, awakening that sense (or is it deprivation?) in you that reminds you...

How good it feels to uP!

Alive!

But, never understanding

that you are really only

Committing SuiCidE!

Ah, well.. the blind lead the blind, with 20/20 vision of destruction!

Then, I feel a shift.

As if some tectonic plates of my being have shifted. Now, I wait to embrace the flood...

It's called:

"Getting Well".

And I'd much more, honestly just STAy well - on my own, without science's chemical engineering.

"This! THIS," I yelped aloud -

"THIS is what 'they' want!"

(The electricity - does it really intervene with our brainwaves, interrupt our thinking transmissions???

It may, but -)

still, I scream:

" 'They' are selectively picking off the weak - the junkies, the addicts, the unemployed( due to the world having driven you insane, and to be compensated with SSI). THIS is the New World Order.The Chemical Age, not new, not by any means at all - But improved, indeed. Stronger. Faster. Longer-Lasting. Oxycontin. Xanax.Percocets.Cocaine.Absolut. Klonopin. Beer. Weed. Yeungling. Ambien. Seroquel. Oxymorphone. Caffeine. Nicotine."

"Name your game, make your trade - choose your poison - wisely.A final 'script' so to speak, one that has ended on very bitter terms for many."

I refuse to continue to chisel out my own name in my headstone, as life moves along daily. Absolutely refuse.

Put down the chisel....

The hauntiNg -

of sleeplessness.

Of no motivation.

Of despair.

Of the screaming feeling that stays pent up inside my lungs, waiting, like cancer to explode and take over my entire being. Consummation.

I am haunted by the dripDripDripDripDripDripDrip of this cold and gray winter. Cabin fever vs. Winter Psychosis?

Or is it just "Seasonal Affective Disorder" (ah, what a cute acronym - S.A.D., ha, I scoff)?

Waiting, like the man in the chair. In the corner of my mind...

To falter.

To fail. But - NO! I cannot fail!

It is my invisible struggle. My invisible Man, who, twisting his hair around a single, bony finger - rolls his wrist and shakes that bottle. He is temptation. And my fight.

Maybe...

He is my conscience.

Maybe

he is a father figure.

Maybe....

He is my guardian angel.

Or, maybe...

He is merely another one of my

DeMonS.

====================================================================================================================================

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====================================================================================================================================

New Thought(less):

1:07 a.m.

1:47 a.m.

3:07 a.m.

7:07 a.m.

7's? Lucky No. 7. If only I were a gambler - but no, that is just another addiction that I do not need.

I do know things that must be done. Thirsts that must be quenched. Thoughts, turned to dreams - then to dust -

Literally -

laying in perfectly cut lines on the table.

One for you,

two for me.

One more for you, I'm not that mean. Unless, of course, you're fiendish in these delights, as most usually do become.

Then it's all for you.

None for me.

And vice-versa.

Oh, what a healthy mind-frame in which to remain.

The buzzing sound of electricity has my thoughts once again. And yet - yes, another thing haunting me - Damned Stephen King and his stories of madness, of "The Flexible Bullet"; thing in grandiose of gnomes living inside of pens, pencils, keyboards, typewriters and such.

Gnomes, as inspiration.

Cute.

SO, I suppose that Mr. King has accomplished what all writers wish to do - haunt the reader (me). With madness, and flexible bullets. I suppose, on a whimsical note, that he has earned his credentials.

I hate the alarm clock.

I hate the clock, period.

Times moves fast, yet, so slow.

Droned and muttering by in whispers as February comes to it's end. I can only pray for sunshine, sometime soon (please, save me) and this bitterness, of Winter's tongue, has lashed me to

the walls - those same four walls. Different in every room..

Epiphany.

New Outlook. Those scare me, too, in a sense. And then, sometimes, a new door opens, offering a while new beckoning, a whole new route to 'chemical perfection' to make things a little bit better - But as always, it is a little bit better, only for a little while.

A new demon, he will remain nameless...

The Man, in the chair - in the corner of my mind - he points that finger, bony, nagging, disapproving and judgmental. That is all He must do. Just point. And I know. I have failed, one more time.

EpiPHaNY -

fleeting, open-minded moments of clarity. Those are the moments that flash by you like life does after your high school career. Time flashes. Sands shift. Things change. But some things never change. Those things are usually always the negative things - our vices, our habits; our weaknesses...

Time has passed now, and the day still remains cold, still presses my mind to the old worry - of not sleeping. Incapable of sleeping long enough to at least be captured by that deep, inner dreaming. Awoken, as if being grabbed by the shoulders. Awoke, as though I am pinned to the sheets, writhing in my own perspiration, waiting, just like my Invisible Man. Waiting, until the next time...

Pills for sleeping. Pills for calmness. How about - PiLLs - for normalcy?

No, that is untruth at it's finest. Normalcy can only be defined by what one perceives is 'normal'. We all have differing opinions. And we all have different names for our demons, even though they are one in the same. Once, I heard:

"Of all my demons, I need you the most."

Beauty, encapsulated by quotations.

Questions to raise, glasses to clink. Drink to this sickness. Drink to normalcy. Drink, to numb the un-numb-able. Anesthetized, but sensitive.

-still-

(pause)

HaLT!!!!

In addition to my Invisble Man- Yes, you know of him very well by now -

the one in the chair, seated silently, yet poised for anything - in the corner of my mind...You should be familiar with him by now. Ah, YeS! What I must do now is driNk! Cigarettes, devil cigarettes, Sleeping pills that don't work long and my brain, plagued by all my evil. By the evil around me. But, I am also overcome by the innocence I see in my own seeds.

Three, there are...

And only three shall be.

I listen once again, to these sounds that surround me. Now, I come to the point where I tell you of the OTheR man in my head - who is NOT invisible. He is real - very much so. And so, with the bond of a common likeness - a common psychosis, even. This is the other, less selfish part of my mind. He is strong, yet he thinks himself weak (at times).

This is NoT the Man in my mind that I try to please. This is the man that I wish to help, and sometimes feel helpless in my efforts.

Because -

as the Invisible Man said:

" You have already failed."

I hear a voice and it rings loudly of familiar pain. But it is not the same. The pain, that is. It is not the same as his. Our experiences and the pain they may bring, are what we are molded by.

Live and learn.

Wish and dream.Hope for better days. I, sometimes, know not how to help, when- at times,

I am helpless myself - at times, that is...

My mind, constantly shifting in thoughts, either full or incomplete, random and sputtering...But constant, always a constant. Torment.

To fail ones self, is harsh enough. But to begin to fail your family -TorMent.

Shifting sands.They haunt me also. When I do dream, I dream of the desert. Blinding heat, and I wake up sweating in bed on a nightly basis. I dream of terrible, horrible insects. They also haunt me (as you may have guessed by now) : )

Shift

Again.

Needs will remain- at bay? Find out on another day, a better day. These things that I miss, they are amiss. Bathed in the moonlight, I drink and I toast. I listen with intent to words of others, even though sometimes.....it's like falling upon deaf ears.

Copyright February 2010 K. Anne Smith

The Art of Failing in the Most Successful Fashion....(or not)

 

 

Successfully Failing!

This conquest that has been set

Run through all the stop signs

Disobeyed all the rules of the mission

I was given

Left up to me 

Whether or not

help would be delivered

Methods fail when

the resistance is frail

I walk on fire

And sleep on nails...

 

The Haunting in the Attic of the Mind....Hidden Dreams and Desire that will never be fulfilled...

A Dick

about being addicted

One foot forward, the other foot planted

Pivot to change the situation, 

Turn away wish away the events 

that have made all this happen

Tripping over you as I trip on my own problems

I got you now, and you're always safe - 

Now I throw out the life preserver, and throw up four fingers

Preserving and perservering 

from OxyContin oceans

One sniff 

Two

Break the lines; One for me and one for you

( I have failed as your refuge; your personal savior)

Now we ride in the same boat, down the same stream 

Both following the same insane leader

A helping hand doesn't slip

or loosen the grip

the bond grows stronger and tighter

with every obstacle we've hit.

Falling from the sky

without a chute

Highter than the sky; without an escape route

Help? I'll help - (need some myself)

My Wings were clipped, 

They stay broken - 

Scar tissue holds that wound together;

Strength is captured in the 

pain we endure

or the pain that we don't wish to remember

So how do we do this? We'll make it, I'm sure - 

I've got your hands;

Hold them close

Hold your heart with a tighter grip than could ever be satisfied

By a Dose

Struggle - nervous meltdown

And I still wonder why 

I feel the cold

Abdorb the rain

And tightly hold the hand 

of the man Who knows me for who I am.

The FOUR; the Foul - 

A heartbroken face that still wears a smile-

My every day mask

Soon, all this will pass

and once again, the fire that ignited my soul and warmed my spirit

Will be doused in kerosene-Flames will rise from this chaos

And turn this habit to ashes.

 Burn away the toxins

and let me meet myself

Again.

====================================================================

Baby, you belong to me

 A drive the lifeboat

that we float on

I keep steering us into oblivion and shallow water

With a leaky vessel

Who will jump from this ship

And abandon Hope

though riddled with holes and punctured 

like the wounds of broken souls

(bleed slow)

Wings are scarred; mind is stressed and tattered

But with you, baby - love is all that matters  

We'll stay afloat

even when that lifeboat proves full of holes

Hold you safely near my heart, every night 

(like I did from the start)

And no matter how broken your soul was, 

I'm here to mend your scars.

Between Two Evils - I Always Try the One I never Tried Before.....

I wonder; 

like Alice

after she fell down the rabbit hole

A landscape laced with traps

Bobbing and weaving to avoid exposure and malice

And frantically, I reach for invisible nets

Something to stop me, 

But I slip on every handle that I grip

Tow the line of sanity

with insane rationality

Faster I fall, 

Further I go

Breaking the barrier of silence

Thinking that I'll soon treat myself to a dose

of self-inflicted violence

Loving you....it scares me

Caring for you; I enjoy

Filled with worry and anxiety

Sometimes, so helpless

I can only cry.

I draw my breath - and never pictures

I hold it in, 

the air feels like splinters

(These screaming thoughts...are they voices - or are they NOT?)

Rationality in small packages

Slipping open the ribbon of the straight jacket

Straight?

Who's thinking straight?

Who was right in deciding my fate?

As long as I squeezed my eyes shut...

wide awake in a nightmare

Ignoring the inevitable (I know this from friends who have remained true)

Twisting Fate and moving the ladder out from underneath my feet

Slipped on a rung, took a few hits

Knocked some things loose

Bled; still dealt with it

Climing upward; getting knocked down 

Down below the dirt

(the dead aren't the only ones buried underground)

So, I tilt this glass again

(Tilt my hat, your face goes splAT!)

Pour another drink again

Find myself drowning, again

Again, I am lost within.

Habits take hold

Destroy the weak and break down the bold

Counterproductive actions and facts

I'm screaming and flying a flag of S.O.S. (it hangs from the brim of my glass)

Drowning, suffocating

My own breath is crushing me

Blind, but leading 

My open eyes are wide awake

and still

I Fail To See.

Copyright 2010 K.A. Smith

Broken. 
Standing the middle of a room, 
playing a razor blade 
                               over veins
Like you would with a bow -
over the strings of a violin

But the chords you play
are screams of  pain
these songs you make 
are violent 
Leave me silenced 
Yet here, in one place; I stay
Sitting in the corner, watching
Letting the skin slip over my eyes

I won't look.
I won't look. 

I can't stay.
I'd get up and walk away 
If it weren't for these pins in my legs
Nails through the hands 
This corner, my crucifix
My head can only hang


These place, 
These in-betweens
Enjoyed in silence
And engaged by all means


Strung

Stuck
Back in a corner
"into your corner"
where two walls meet is silence 
The other two walls,  a grave
The door that stands wide open
Could be the only way
to get saved....
Still, we remain....
























(holding in breath; screaming; pleading - Feel helpless sometimes; the moment always fleeting)