Outta my Head

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not complaining, evaluating.

I had to take sleeping pills to drop off last night. Probably the twelfth night ever in my life. I took 2 days off, I was shook as fuck and I promised myself I wouldn’t drink.

Woke up with a feeling that absolutely mirrors a hangover, except from the pills. Oh the agony of insomnia and irony.

I think I’m losing my mind this time this time I’m losing my mind.
~Beastie Boys

I’m not losing my mind. I am digging through it and doing some exploring, some of it is not pretty at all.

I’ve been through so much worse.

Not the best mantra.

I’d very much like to get outta my head now, please? I lost the key somewhere.

And my favorite earring from NOLA.

Bummer.

It may yet be found. The key too. All the things. If they are truly mine, they shall return.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3RRrLE5IOQ

I am the key to the lock in your life…I am the pick and the axe.

And right now I am climbing up the walls ~ Radiohead

I can get a new lock and a new key, I can turn that earring into a pendant. I’m resourceful.

Overwhelmed and undercharged. 15% battery and I am hanging on by my fingernails.

I am ready to rebuild any time now universe (do you hear me?) as soon as the earth stops shaking. I forget how hard it is to trust the ground after an earthquake, especially one I caused myself with my own upheaval. I did this.

 

You know I almost miss my explosive rage. I would crack and there would be this amazing release.
In the moment it felt so good to explode. To hit and hurt so someone else felt as shitty as I did even for a moment. So I didn’t have to be alone in pain. I wonder if the earth feels that way.

But so much collateral damage. Unnatural disasters.

It’s been years since I snapped and there is still fallout.

I am more of a controlled crumble now.

I almost miss blaming everything on everyone else.

So much easier than looking inside and finding my fault lines, then tending to them before I cave.

I have to slow way down on the drinking and if I can’t slow down, I have to quit.

That thought has me quaking in my stripper boots.

Did you know I was not drunk in a bar until I was 26 years old? I danced sober for 2 years. How in the fuck did I manage?

I quit drinking the January before my 19^th birthday.

I started drinking at 15 or 16. I would get black out drunk and rage. I was so angry back then. I was the squeaky wheel screaming for grease.

Any attention was better than none.

Now I don’t really want any attention to be totally honest. I get shy when people notice me. It’s harder here because I am supposed to be shiny and new. Not feeling my shine. Like I deserve any attention at all.

It’s hard to accept accolades for just barely holding myself together.

Got my period the day after a meltdown #2 and though hallelujah it is finished.

Nope, one more, forgot about the rule of 3 for a minute there.

And the Lord said let there be another earthquake and there was and fuck it sucked.

Last night was hard.

Had to happen, I could see it as it was unfolding. Didn’t make it any easier to watch.

Didn’t stop the aftershocks from keeping me awake imagining scenarios.

There was a fight yesterday, and I finally saw how I used to be, right in front of me. Like an ugly mirror.

The witnesses said I had great composure. How do I admit that it wasn’t exactly calm keeping me quiet, in reality I had so much shame I was choking on it. Like that I suppose.

I heard my own voice in the screeching cyclical arguments and the twisting of truths.

How did I ever exist that way?

All that anger? All that blame thrown everywhere but where it belonged?

How am I not a pariah of my own making?

How did anyone put up with me?

And better yet, why?

In the time called before I would have had her up against the wall by her throat 5 minutes in.

Dealt with the fallout as it came.

But I am not that girl anymore.

I am the one who looks inside and tries to figure out how to get better.

And fuck it is like work.

No wonder not everyone takes this path, it is a lot of uphill, but the wide open spaces are glorious, if memory serves. It does, too well.

I have to forgive that girl I was then too, make peace with my rage.

Everyone else has.

It is not enough to deny that part of myself. I was angry. From lack of love. Love from where it should have come from and love for myself. I felt disposable, why not behave that way?

Push everyone away and then blame them. All out of fear that they were leaving.

I would have run.

But by the grace of god some of them stayed. Something in me must be worth loving, so I should probably find that part of myself and be as much of that girl as I can.

I can’t remember when I realized no one was coming to save me.
No one is coming to save any of us.
I do remember being terribly afraid for a minute, then relieved.
Light and enlightened.

It is an equal amount of work to blame everyone else as it is to look inward. And both ways are messy I suppose. Just at the end of the day when I set about rebuilding from the rubble, I can feel like I accomplished something instead of waiting around for someone to fix it for me.

If I accomplish my own successes, own my own failures and muster my own happiness from inside, it cannot be taken from me.