Agony

I can't breathe when he isn't here.   I have never experienced this.  I grew up military, I enlisted, I was a military spouse; separation from loved ones is something I'm used to.  I've always been able to deal with it.  But there is a hole in my chest that is shaped like him.  There is a place in my heart that only he can fill.  And his absence is agony beyond words.  I consider myself a very strong and independent person.  I can handle alot, I have big shoulders.  But I wake up every morning hoping to see him there and he's not.  I can't sit in my bath tub without seeing him sitting next to me and waiting for him to say something.  I prepare a meal in the kitchen and for a moment I think I see him standing by the fridge smiling that crooked grin at me like he did when he was here. 

Romance novels always describe an ache inside when the lover is missing.  I always imagined it to mean an lustful ache.  But no, this ache is soul deep and comes from the absence of one I love so much I can't envision my life without him anymore.  I'm not a romantic person by nature.  All the childish fancies of love I'd read about as a teenager were wiped out of me over a decade ago.  I stand rooted in reality.  And yet any song he has ever played for me, any tune I equate with him, brings me to tears when I hear it.  I find myself listening to the playlist I made for him over and over and wishing there was a way to speed time up until his arrival and make it stop when he gets here.  It's hard to function day to day without his presence.

I've never known such agony.  I've never known such love.  And while it frightens me at times just how much I need him to be part of my life, I'm finally deciding that I want something for me.  I'm not settling with my life as it is again.  I have a drive now that I haven't had since I was 18.  Nothing will keep me from writing a future with him.  I know where I belong finally.  And when I'm in his arms again, the agony will stop for a little while.

No Longer Your Savior

I was there when no one else cared if you took one more breath.  I sat with you in the darkness and coaxed you back to the land of the living, not once, not twice, but three times.  When others goaded you, I gave you logic and sense.  But you don't hear logic and sense do you little weakling?  No, you hear the ones you cried to tell you to pull the fucking trigger.  You hate me for stopping you.  Fine.  I did what was right.  And when what you were doing was found out, even those who call you their blood cheered me on for giving a damn about you and putting up with your whimpers and threats. 

Go ahead.  Threaten now.  Blame me.  Say it's my fault.  But I didn't hand you the gun.  I didn't give you the bullets.  I won't be there to pull the trigger.  I struck out.  Now you're up to bat.  Fool.  Sniveling creature of twisted reason.  You don't even know what to call me.  How long did I call you mine?  And yet from one day to the next, even hour to hour, a different name falls from your lips when you speak to me.  Yes I am the Wolf but you knew my true name.  You knew all of me.  But while I accepted the monster in you, you hated the beast in me.  Why?  Because you knew I was stronger than you.  You knew I would never yield or bow.  And that pissed you off even more.  I will always be stronger than you.  I will always be better than you.  And if you do finally take matters to your own hands, I will weep.  But only a little.  It's your choice.  Your weakness, not mine.  I tried to save you.  But I'm no longer your savior.  I have cut you from my heart and spit on what little feeling remained.  Very quickly now, you who I once held dear, are becoming an object of abject hatred and utter disgust.  You were never my equal.  You never will be.  And now you mewl and cry in shadows of your own making.  I no longer pity you.  I no longer care what you do.  You will vanish from me, one way or another.

How unwise of you to decide to throw all the blame at me.  I can be the scapegoat.  But don't think for one minute you will be the martyr.  I'm still the only one that remotely cares that you're not dead yet.  Yet.  You keep threatening it.  You keep saying you're on the edge.  If you have the stupid notion to jump that's not my problem anymore.  I won't push you.  But I won't stop you this time either.  I'm done with you.  I won't even howl to mourn your passing.  I've done enough mourning over you and what you used to be.

You keep saying I'm the one that's changed.  Maybe that's true.  But I don't think you ever really knew who I am.  You saw the figment of your imagination wrapped in my skin.  You want the fantasy I wove for you, not the reality.  Do you even have a grasp on what's real anymore?  I don't think you do.  The only reality for you now is pain and that gun in your hand.  Fine.  I will walk back into my shadows.  Maybe I shouldn't have saved you.  Maybe I shouldn't have protected you from the one that hunted you.  I don't regret it.  But you're not worth my time anymore.  You're insignificant.  Now make your choice and keep me out of it you bastard.

The Wolf as Woman

this is the other side of being a wolf.  being in touch with the wild woman inside is a freeing thing.  the artist of this picture called it "wild muse" and it's very fitting.  i have hidden from who and what i am my entire existence.  we all try to make ourselves fit into society because it's what is expected.  i can play along now, pretend i'm normal, go to my job every day.  but even men twice my size have told those who don't know that i'm not a person to be messed with.  these are regular customers at my job telling some of their smart alek compatriots not to give me crap.  "but she's just a short little girl," the smart aleks say.  and without having seen me in a fight my regulars say "she'll take you down easy.  my money's on her." all because of what they sense in me.  i'm at peace with my beast, my wildness, though sometimes, yes, i struggle to keep it in check.  we all have that part of us we have to keep leashed.  humans are animals, afterall, our evolution doesn't change our base instincts.  it's natural for us to hunt, to breed, to seek what is pleasing.  but we hide behind religion and societal rules.  no need to hide or fully conform.  we beasts know what is right and wrong in us.  and when you make peace with the wild inside, you feel a peace in every part of your life.  i am Wolf, i am Woman, i am myself.  who are you?

The Beast Inside

this is what it really means to be a wolf.  to struggle daily with the beast inside and hold onto you humanness.  the beast is always there, raging under the surface, calling for you to attack at the slightest provocation; those of us with bad tempers fare the worst in this.  i hid so long from my monster that i never really understood it until now.  i can be dark and ugly, brutal and severe.  i can tear you down with a look.  few, when the beast comes to the surface, can even stand to look me in the eye, even tho i'm nothing intimidating to look at.  i'm small, meek looking, many would think me an easy target.  but you see, it's always the smaller wolf that's the most deadly.  we've been ganged up on by all the big bad wolves.  we know how to take the pain.  and when the big badasses are done, when they're out of breath from dishing it out, it's the little wolves that show them what pain really is.  don't walk in the woods at night.  never look a wolf in the eye.  and if you see a woman with wolf eyes, run.  it might be fun to hunt you in the moonlight.

(I don't own this artwork, but I have always loved the dichotomy of it.  to the original artist, i say thank you for giving the inner battle a face)

I Will End You

There are things that are unforgiveable.  Their are sins beyond the point of remorse.  When such things happen, there is nothing but the cold emptiness of vengeance inside.  There have only been a few times that I become so enraged that I tremble with the need to strike out at the sinner.  I have made my own mistakes; there are things I wish I could take back.  But when you purposely lie, deceive, and seek to do harm, you deserve every punishment coming for you.  When you hurt those I call family, I will end you.  And I will do it with a smile on my face as I feel your blood spilling from between my teeth and warm my face as it splashes to the ground.  When I leave you a rotting husk on the ground for the ravens to pluck your eyes out and devour your entrails, maybe then your sins will be absolved.  Even if not, I will feel so much better thinking of you rotting alone and forgotten in the mud where you belong.  Because when the birds are done with you and you work through their system and they leave you back on the ground, you will see what you really are - nothing but a piece of....

The Howl: Resurrection of the Wild Woman

excerpt from Women Who Run with the Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.  (gracias seniora por sus palabras de sabinduria)

"It is told that there is a place in the desert where the spirit of women and the spirit of wolves meet across time....

There is an old woman who lives in a hidden place that everyone knows in their souls but few have ever seen... she seems to wait for the lost or wandering people and seekers to come to her place.  She calls herself by many names: La Huesera, Bone Woman, La Trapera, The Gatherer, La Loba, Wolf Woman.
The sole work of La Loba is the collecting of bones.  She collects and preserves, especially that which is in danger of being lost to the world. 
She creeps and crawls and sifts through the mountains and dry river beds looking for wolf bones, and when she has assembled an entire skeleton, when the last bone is in place and the beautiful white sculpture of the creature is laid out before her, she sits by the fire and thinks about what song she will sing.

And when she is sure, she stands over the creature, raises her arms over it, and sings out.  That is when the rib bones and leg bones of the wolf begin to flesh out and the creature becomes furred.  La Loba sings some more, and more until the creature comes into being; its tail curled upward, shaggy and strong.  And La Loba sings more and the wolf creature begins to breathe.

And still La Loba sings so deeply that the floor  of the desert shakes, and as she sings, the wolf opens its eyes, leaps up, and runs away down the canyon.  Somwhere in its running, whether by the speed of its running or by splashing its way into a river, or by way  of a ray of sunlight or moonlight hitting it right in the side, the wolf is suddenly transformed into a laughing woman who runs free towards the horizon. 

We all begin as a bundle of bones lost somewhere in a desert, a dismantled skeleton that lies under the sand.

La Loba sings over the bones.  To sing means to use the soul-voice.  It means to say  on the breath the truth  of one's power and one's  need, to breathe soul over the thing that is ailing or in need of restoration.  This is singing over the bones."

My voice rises up in the moonlight.  I sing my joy to the Moon.  My howls will heal my soul.

Sunlight Filtering Through the Woods

All the previous postings on this blog were from another that I have now closed.  I've recently undergone a very personal, beautiful, spiritual transformation and come to a new understanding of myself. 
I placed the old blogs to remind me what I have overcome. 
Now it's time to look up from the ground and realize that even in the darkest parts of the woods, the light still dapples the ground and dances through the leaves.  The wood spirits beckon us to play, dancing in light rays and shadows alike.  This wolf feels like running.  This wolf is finally free.

(Image by Julie Bell)

Not usually a JLo fan, but this fits. I can finally dance again...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjgFH01k0gU&feature=bf_next&list=FLoJiBSDcK0tEqqIWHfKnWRA

CAGED

(Original post 11/30/11)

She felt trapped. Deep inside her the beast raged and howled, demanding release; demanding to have its nature unfettered. Anyone looking into those peaceful eyes long enough would be able to see that pacing wolf in the depths of her spirit. She seemed a meek thing to the untrained eye. But there was such a deep resonating strength of will in her that it could never be denied. And yet she leashed and caged herself. She seemed to allow herself to be caught again and again and again, if only so she could rage against those iron bars of her own making. She wouldn't see the signs of the cage until too late; and turning to run, see the door slam shut, throwing her back into her prison. And so behind those pale, soft eyes, raged the wild woman within - pacing, waiting, inching toward that door. One day it will spring open and the wolf will run free again... but for how long?

GAGGED, BOUND, SCREAMING

(Original post 6/19/2011)

We all have our breaking points. We have those moments that bring almost painful clarity. And in those moments, everything we were so sure of about ourselves is suddenly uncertain. I have been rocked to my very foundations, because a fundamental quality that has allowed me to survive with most of my mental faculties intact over the hardships in my life, may also be costing me the one I love. And if not costing me then at the very least it's hurting them. Because I don't know how to shut this defense mechanism down; the almost obsessive need to be strong and never depend on anyone. "Fiercely indepenent" one lover called it... and it cost me him too; despite our enduring friendship to this day. I look back over my life and I find that I now question every choice I have ever made in my relationships, past and present - be those romances or friendships.

A friend recently told me that the way I have lived my life - fiercely and boldly protecting those I love with my own strength while allowing no one to help me - is like the creed of a knight. Ironic since I keep saying I don't need or want a knight in shining armor to save me. I just want to be loved for who and how I am without being treated like a toy or a porcelain doll. And yet, when I get stressed, when I feel I'm failing in my duties as protector, mother, friend, lover, I'm harder on myself than any critic could possibly be. I don't lean on anyone but stand straighter and dig my feet in deeper to push against the problem on my own. I can't allow myself to be weak or vulnerable because then what good am I to those who need me most. And yet when I get like this, when I go into survival mode, it's now been pointed out that I become cold and rigid. The very idea of accepting help is almost repugnant to me, because it implies I can't do something under my own strength of will. And despite my limited resources, stubborness and pride dictate that if I can't do it under my own power, then it doesn't need to be done.

And it boils down to fear - fear of betrayal, fear of being hurt, fear of being let down yet again, despite logically knowing that this time is different. Head and heart agree on that. And yet instinct will not yield. Will does not yield. And so I sit here with a heart wrapped in barbed wire and wonder how I can fix this defect... [Edit 10/11/2020 - turns out instinct was right.]


The lyrics of this song really hit home with me right now.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pdTX1_2fOo&feature=channel_video_title

INEVITABLE DARK

(Originally post 2/2/2011)

Sometimes it takes wrestling your demons and nearly losing to find out what matters in life. Many would say family. But for me the problem is that my flesh and blood family hinders my progress more than helps. It's my online family, the one I have built, that is supportive and loving. My friends and family from my online community are the ones who care when I'm hurt, when I'm sad, or when I sink so low that I want to just sink into oblivion and nearly took myself there on a one way ticket. Some nights I cry until I have no tears left and can only try to still my body while dry sobs rack me to my soul. The cutting eases the inner pain, gives me something to focus on other than the hole in the center of my chest that fills me with so much emptiness. It's egged on by the voices in my head telling me I'm worthless, useless, a failure, a bad mother, that I don't deserve to be loved and taken care of.

I look in the mirror sometimes and I don't recognize my own face. It's me but I look old and haggard. Lines crease my face that weren't there when I was happy; or at least when I told myself I was happy despite all the pain I was going through in my failed marriage. My eyes are dim, like one whose spirit has been crushed beyond repair. That's how I feel -- crushed, broken, irreparable. Shadows consume my mind and heart to the point I don't even bother screaming anymore. I just sit and let them have me. I can only fight so long before I sink into the inevitable dark up to my neck and wait for the final drowning.

THE PENDULUM SWINGS

(Originally posted 10/18/2010)


We all have bad days. We all have good days. But then there are those days where you feel so small and insignificant that you believe in the deepest part of you that if you vanished, you wouldn't be missed. When you feel your life has no purpose or significance, you wonder if any would remember you should you simply fade into the ether as if you never were. Times like this I'm reminded of the story of "It's a Wonderful Life". Is it possible for even the most insignificant of us to touch the lives of so many just for having stepped into those lives for a moment -- a heartbeat?

I have found a love that takes my breath away in its power and devotion. Yet despite having such a wonderful gift I find myself sad and unhappy. Doubts plague my mind, as is always the way of things when you've been hurt and betrayed in the past. And so I struggle with the voice of my inner demons whispering in my ear that I'm not worthy, not good enough, asking why anyone would care. I wrestle daily with that dark Muse because despite her piercing my heart and mind, she also suffuses herself in my art and writing. So somehow I must find a balance between darkness and light during the time of year when Darkness prevails.

I've begun taking a look at my own ugliness and trying to come to terms with things I thought I had already conquered. But the winter king won't allow me to forget the lessons learned in sorrow. This is his time of the year, the time when the wheel turns in his favor and he gets stronger and stronger the closer it comes to Yule. Soon the night of the dead will come and I hope to look even deeper into myself and seek wisdom from those that have gone. Being right with myself is the only way I will be able to happy and honest with the one I love so desperately it might even border on obsession. But even a little obsession can be good at times. The pendulum swings to the night half of the year. When Spring comes and the pendulum moves to the other side, perhaps things will have improved.

A Touch of Madness

                                                                              
A scream echoes in my mind
Blood tears down my cheeks
Make it stop
Take the pain away
It all spins out of control
This isn't me
Madness tightens its grip.
All I can do is scream

(Image by Dorian Cleavenger)