No longer as truthful as should be deserved, some names, places and events deliberately vague to protect identities that aren't mine

Wednesday, 20 April 2016

Bedtime Story

Once upon a time there was a bear, and the bear roamed far and wide in search of food but he was a lonely bear and wished he had someone to roam with and tell all the things he found to.
And one day, this bear stumbled a warm cave, with a light deep inside, and he wandered in and there, in the back of the cave, he found a boy.
The boy was sad and also alone and he didn't speak much, and he didn't seem to like the bear's food much, but he didn't tell the bear to go away either so the bear stayed and sat down next to the boy and didn't say anything for a while.
And when the bear looked around, he noticed tucked away in a small corner were some sticks, and some skates and some gloves, and he asked the boy about them and the boy said they were for a game so the bear asked if the boy would play it with him.
The boy still looked sad, and didn't say anything, but he slowly got up and went over to the pile, and he pulled out some sticks, and gave one to the bear, and he pulled out some skates, and gave a pair to the bear, and he pulled out some gloves and gave a pair of those to the bear too.
The boy and the bear went outside and started to play.  It was a game called hockey.  And as they played the bear started to learn what to do, and he got good at this game called hockey and he liked it a lot.  And as the boy played hockey he started to laugh and smile, and he remembered that hockey was a good thing, and he liked good things.
When they finished they went back into the warm place they had found and sat next to each other and discussed all the things the boy knew about hockey, and the bear liked them and wanted to know more, so the boy decided he would call the bear hockeybear and the bear liked this name.
Sometimes, they go out together, with more sticks and skates and gloves and they find other boys and teach them to play hockey.  Sometimes the other boys aren't interested so the bear and the boy just play by themselves.  Sometimes hockeybear goes out alone and protects the boy from other boys who think hockey is silly.  The bear is much bigger than he looks and much stronger when he fights to protect the boy he found. 
Sometimes the boy goes out alone, and he comes back very sad.  And he doesn't talk again.  And boys eat different things to bears.  But he doesn't tell hockeybear to go away either.  So they sit together and hockeybear watches hockey with the boy, until the boy looks at his sticks, his skates and his gloves again, and then at the bear, and he remembers that hockey is a good thing.  And he likes good things.

Thursday, 7 April 2016

Young, scrappy and hungry

I know my sister like I know my own mind,
you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. 
If I tell her that I love him she’d be silently resigned,
he’d be mine.
She would say, “I’m fine”
She’d be lying.
But when I fantasize at night
It’s Alexander’s eyes, 
as I romanticize
what might have been if I hadn’t sized him up so quickly. 

Tuesday, 5 April 2016

Somewhere a clock is ticking...

Tick.
The thought pattern rises in my mind; the one I've been suppressing for weeks; that same one, over again.

Tick.
I can see the mood forming, taking hold, that crystal clear understanding of the irredeemable stupidity and pointlessness of everyone around me.  Their comments, reactions and inactions predictable to me years ago.

Tick.
Time slows down, as the laser sharp clarity of probability cones narrows along each and every path.  Time enough to watch the change and see the change in inevitable fate.  Chance becomes irrelevant.  Certainties solidify as each and every line I care to examine eliminates alternative options over and over to the nth to degree till each point is obvious.

Tick.
A portion of my conscious brain slaves itself to my subconscious thought, mildly amused for a brief period to watch the events of each timeline i choose to observe play out exactly as my analytical mind has already deduced.  It's a passing distraction at best but it's enough conscious attention to assuage my subconscious that I am devoting energies to it.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.

I split my attention more, each into it's own compartment; a part to tomorrow's work problem; a part to the future; several parts to several different types of solutions, none of which anyone else would condone; each a ward against my subconscious and conscious thoughts fully aligning


I refresh the window into the world I allow myself and try not to laugh.

The self delusional addict, burning up once more.
The lost trying to save everyone around them as they fall
The martyrs screaming to their gods (the little gods and the big gods)
Adverts, more things for a desperate distraction from an unavoidable state of maximal attainable entropy

Tick.
I sleep, and dark thoughts turn to dark daydreams which give way to darker dreams.

People become easier by the second, but by this point, I've lost whatever passing interest I had those few moments ago.  It's pointless when you're hundreds of moves ahead.  Watching them roll the dice in their heads in a game you've already played 20 times over, and seen them make the same decision every time.


Tick.
Tick.
I wait to see how long it lasts this time around.  I make what arrangements I can in the time I have; it'll all seem like chance even to me when it's over.

Friday, 25 March 2016

Pandora

I have dark thoughts, this isn't news to anyone.

Some are very very dark.  Some would easily destroy in a moment everything around me if I let them take hold.  They're ones I don't like to even admit to, that scare me because I realise what they would do.  They exist in a firmly closed box that I bury so deep I usually forget the box itself even exists let alone its contents.

Once in a while the box creeps open.   A comment or a thought process in my own head takes a lateral step and makes a connection to some other line of thought.

I've learnt to recognise that incipient other thought; the opening of the box before the full idea comes out and announces itself.

If I'm lucky I can stop it there.  A half second while the thought process completes in which every other part of my brain is filled with urgency and alarm.  Panic.  Fear.  The need to do anything in the very brief window of time I can still save it.  Stop.  I cry out loud or in my head.   Stop stop stop.

If I'm lucky it aborts.   Pandora's box shuts again before anything gets out and after a breath I go back to who I was; broken but functional.

If I'm not lucky... White hot rage at everything I've ever encountered or could encounter; the utter idiocy of it all, the insignificance.  It can all burn.  It should all burn.  Every second I abide the world longer without destroying all I see is a failure of myself and my crystal clear understanding.  I pray I'm alone when the thought latches on.   I won't be less destructive, but my own life is easier to salvage when the dust settles.

One day maybe I can deal with these parts of me.  For now there are other bits which are less dangerous to tackle.  I continue to cry stop, and wonder what good it does.

Wednesday, 13 January 2016

Neutral ground

"..and if we should meet through some misunderstanding,
I'll be very sweet, very patient and forgiving;
Now get off my side of the state.

And if we should see one another in passing
Despite these techniques there is sometimes no avoiding
There must be some kind of mistake.

We'll raise high our white flags and bow heads and shake hands
Declaring the land, we're on un-American:
We'll call it even, we'll call it even.

I am the tower around which you orbited,
I am not proud, I am just taking orders,
I fall to the ground within hours of impact,
I hit back when hit and attack when attacked.

And I am an accident waiting to happen,
I'm laughing like mad as you strangle the captain,
My place may be taken but make no mistake,
From a little black box, I can say without shame

That you've lost, that you've lost
Do you know what you've lost?

So take whatever you'd like, I'll strike like the states on fire.
You won't sleep very tight, no hiding, no safe covers,
Make your bed and now lie just like you always do,
You can fake it for the papers but I'm on to you, I'm on to you..."

Monday, 4 January 2016

Willpower

This is gonna hurt...

People seem constantly amazed by my willpower, my ability to either commit, or to resist.  It's nothing like that.
My power to commit is based off knowing all the alternatives are unacceptable to me.  It's not willpower, it's my only viable course of action.
My power to resist is based off not putting myself in the circumstances in the first place.   I have zero willpower, so I simply avoid the situation so it's never tested.

I saw it coming.  I should have said no when those plans first changed.  I should have cut my loses then.   But I am a secret optimist.  I always live in hope the same course of action will have different effects.  That this time it will go the way I intend, not the way it inevitably does.

It was my last hockey game today.  I can't afford it anymore.   4 months ago I gave up the gym so I could afford hockey.  I loved the gym, but hockey was good for me, so mental health won over physical health and I put my money towards hockey.
Now I have to pay for therapy.  It's not much, but it means I have to give up something.   My only major recurrent expense from my disposable income each month is hockey.  It's a huge blow, I hate giving it up.   But I have to.  And hope the pay off for my mental health is worth it.

I wanted it to be a nice final night.  And it wasn't terrible.   There were friends.  We won.  But the friends were late.  I was going to go home with one after and talk to them about a load of important things we both have going on.   We didn't.   He told me he'd go home with me.  He told me he'd make sure I got home.  He didn't.

It's going to be a horrible few months with other changes I'm facing, but this is going to be the hardest.   I'm loyal to my friends to the point of a character flaw.  It takes a lot to push me away for longer than 5 minutes or make me give up.  But I can recognise when I have to avoid the situation in the first place, because I don't have willpower when my friends ask things.  So I have to stop myself being asked.

This is gonna hurt...

Sunday, 29 November 2015

Bears

Bears watch over me I'm told.  Bears are on patrol in the South, protecting their charges.  Bears that like the winter.   Greater European Moosebears.

A jackal ranges far and wide for the charges I once gave it. 

But even bears don't watch as closely as we watch each other.  It's intimidating, so I'm told.  A near-palpable force that can be hard for others to break into.  A sixth sense constantly aware of each other, constantly keeping tabs and checking in.  Guarding.  Protecting.  An feat we can't manage for ourselves. 

He makes dinner and puts the rest in the fridge for the week.  He knows I'm not eating.  I put petrol in the car and keep my keys closeby in case.

Bears have been spotted nearby.  Out in the dark.  Marking their patrols.