Life Intrudes

Haphazard Creative has always been a place to share creativity. I have not made much of my life issues here. I am going to now.

I am having a hard time dealing with things. I had a medication change at my last appointment. My doctor and I discussed escalating symptoms.

Since I lost my Mom, it has been increasingly difficult for me to believe I have a purpose. Being alone is not ideal, then going out is hard because I tend to isolate myself. I have trust issues exacerbated by paranoia.

My insecurity and self-censure grow. I am trying to continue a creative practice, but it is steadily more difficult. Dealing with Schizo-Affective Disorder has never been easy, but before, I had family support with me. I could reality check when I needed it. I believe it is why I have thus far survived.

I am trying to get a daytime schedule in the midst of all this, and it is complicating matters. I am typically a night owl.

I have several pain issues too.

Please be patient as I try to get through everything that is taxing me. I am going to attempt continuation, but tonight I feel like creativity is a bit luxurious. I need to survive; living is another level.

Elements may all
Come together to grant dreams
But it sometimes seems
That everything conspires to
Slow progress on every track.

Return

I thought there were angels!
Every polished tile floor, numbered,
Held more, patient there, watching
Over me, who had been far gone,
Someone, I think I knew, called me,
“Come back; there’s no time to leave,
Yet,” I was sent unwilling, not of my
Volition. Pain, it was all too much,
Nothing was left I wanted – touch.
Reality was a terror-filled dream,
Oh, so, awful – rigid deadly thing.

Waking, on pristine white sheets,
Hooked-up, white walls even in
The reflection of a light slice bounced,
Through the half-open windowed door,
Pulling loose, crumply legs – shaken,
Securing myself, balanced over feet.
Thousands, whispers, voices
In the air, surrounding everywhere,
Steps slow to the door, an angel
There waiting, noticing me, “Do you
Hear something?” Tones, soft, deep.
My eyes searching, not seeing as I turn,
This, that way, some trick, the sound,
“Yes, I hear speaking, yelling, but they
Are not here, present, anywhere.”
The angel with a half-smile, “It’s okay,
You’ve come back. You’ll be safe.
Settle, stay.” I thought, ‘Not an angel
After all, cause my life, more often,
Disaster loves than ordinary days.’

I tried to write about waking up in the hospital after days; they say I nearly died or could have stayed comatose. Instead, I got a chorus, and I have learned to live somehow in and out of time.

Cry It Over

Forgive me the moments
When I become lost beneath
Feelings which cut all
Reasoning off, I retrieve
Myself with tears, singing, prayer,
The revelations
That cast out paranoia, fear;
I hope you avoid
All those “cracks in the fabric,”
But you know my thoughts wander;
Happiness, standing
In the storms of desperation,
But crying to sing
Praises, although the brokeness
Will never leave, disappear.
I learn, learn again,
That life is overpowering –
Sometimes hearts bleed out,
I apply pressure, bandages,
Hoping God will fill the lack;
I do not own my
Faith, Jesus is love for everyone,
But He maybe loves me so,
Stops my hand when I come undone,
It is not a pretty story, fighting crazy –
Is hard luck, but there must be
Some purpose, for here I remain.

I cannot describe for you all there is in what troubles me at times. Once in awhile I attempt to put Schizoaffective Disorder into words. I am not good at it. Recently times are very trying, though there is the mania too. Maybe it does not matter to others. I do not know. I just write what I am given when I am given to know.

As a prompt, you might create something about a challenge you face. It could be a food allergy, a learning impairment, a thing you must conquer, anything really. The thing with this is to open yourself to see the strength in your weakness, and possibly gain courage from sharing.

It seems to me, we all need to be real. If we want to come closer to peace we have to understand who we are. Weaknesses and faults are part of that, being transparent.

It Might Be Okay

It might be okay to hurt this much if there were an acceptable reason for it, like getting run over by a Peterbilt. As far as I can discern, I have not tangled with a big rig. Given the way my consciousness is working, I suppose I may have missed an encounter, but due to COVID-19 isolation, I consider that dubious.

Speaking of isolation, I generally think of myself as an expert, but it has now reached the point my tolerance is fraying. I have spent a goodly share of hours trying to ameliorate my negative feelings. Music seems to be my best weapon since a 9 mm and firing range is not in my vicinity.

You probably have your own list, so, I will leave off illustrating mine.

Oh, I turned on the TV, once I figured out which remote worked it. The first thing to splash on screen was a commercial. Then there were more. Have I told you how much I hate commercials and ads? Yeah, I use VPNs, subscriptions, and avoidance to make those nuisances remain outside my life. My son does not have all the ad-blockers I do, and he is more geek than me. I ask questions of geeks is why I have armor. My aversion is such that I had not touched the TV remote since February. They believe me at AT&T because the DirecTv portion of my bill is less than $20. We will not talk about the outrageous other portions.

The problem with this level of pain is that it works like a predator, which diminishes the possibility of sleep to nil. Sorry.

If someone came to you and told you that you could not fail, what is that thing you would immediately begin doing? Are you already doing it? Preparing to begin? If not, please consider that the item you thought of is your purpose and probable area of giftedness. You should start chasing the making of this the goal of your life yesterday. My son, Alex, and I have an expression, Prime Before, yeah, there is a comic sketch, brilliant really, but he says that is us. I agree I want to have the thing at my fingertips before I know I need it. I believe this is the motive of some of my collective behavior.

I want to be a writer, which I am, and so I write every frigging day. Feel like it or not. Inspiration, or only about the dregs at the bottom of the empty well. I write.

I am not whining to be a nuisance. Were you in my place; you would get the pain. I am doing my best to put positivity to work. I must say when all of the crap built to the point, I just wanted to knock things over and spill everything on the floor, and I figuratively grabbed myself and called out for the only backup I have. I felt a sense of accomplishment. I told Alexa to play Gotta Get A Grip by Mick Jagger. Music has long been a panacea for me. I think music, reading, and writing, along with the grace and forbearance of God, and my dear mother, who is now gone, and the son who has been an overarching blessing, are the defining reasons I struggle to remain.

I am rambling a little; I keep hoping I will find peace enough to sleep. None of you may read this, I am on the edge of giving it up despite my vow. WordPress keeps spamming me about renewing my domain. Commercials, I did say they were abhorrent to me. Yeah, they’re coming into that annoyance level where I decide to the abyss with this. I will note it before I tell WordPress goodbye.

This is getting old, not sleeping.

Very well then, alright. God Bless You all, and many blessings sent your way.

Insomnia

I do not know how others do it. Many just fall into this thing called sleep. For me, it is a challenge, a runaway I cannot catch. I want it, believe me, I dream of it, but it evades me.

I have Schizo-Affective disorder, which among other annoyances and gifts, means that losing sleep can catapult me into psychosis. Nowhere I want to travel because my symptoms are ever-present, but in psychosis, I entirely lose reality. I am compliant on medication, but for about two weeks, my brain will not turn off, and my pain recommends destruction.

Two to four hours of rest is insufficient. Insomnia is a unique brand of torture. In a pandemic, it is a thing of unusual cruelty.

Posting this may be too much information, but one day, perhaps someone will want to understand these struggles. I love having long days, but it is essential to plunge beneath the stream of Lethe for some hours.

I am uncertain what has caused this prolonged disturbance. Almost always, my meds send me into slumber, but not recently.

The battles with my hyperactive mind have increased. Not a problem yet, but let’s not ride the boat over the falls.

Anyway, that is my condition note. What quest are you all on?

As a prompt, think about something has become a sign of this pandemic in your life. Not only losing mobility in the world but an effect that you are experiencing personally. Create a work that gives this authenticity.

I will come about with a more typical post later.