2009: Hero Complex....REPLAY

UPDATE:

Looking back, following the clues forward, as I begin to BELIEVE more in my own truth, and less reliant on outside sources for energy.

It's a time line that has a few bends and curves, but it's a persistent seeker of better times who make it to the top of that mountain.

I've got gear, and am climbing, a vine would envy ascent or growth.

Most certainly I send my best regards to all who climb fences which have kept us separated from who we are, our history, our higher impulses.

Laura Attlast
Rabbit hole in the wall gang

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Good luck to us all

Thank God, I have another blog where I can come to and write what's on my mind. This has been a crazy, emotional week, beginning to even describe it will be difficult.

After so long, being ill, stressed out, and generally disagreeable, I've kind of hit the floor again. Crying; lots of it this week.

I guess I'm growing up whether I like it or not.

People are fucked, the system is fucked, and why I ever thought it wasn't supposed to be that way is beyond me. I guess parents, teachers, government, religion, philosophy, psychology, theologies, had me thinking that there could be some intelligence, fairness in this world.

Stupidly, I thought people were real and authentic, and that deep down they really cared. What I've learned is deep down they are really scared.

Scared to be who they are and frightened to death that they might slip and be normal, fuck ups like the rest of us already know we are.

I know I have some fantasy world I live, not live in, but actually live. It's the one where people are more like me: not afraid to tell the truth, unembarrassed to be themselves, trying to be better and learn. Willing to admit to the truth, and more than anything else to stick to the truth, whether its painful or not.

Yeah, the great Pollyanna. The hero complex and all the rest.

I tried to live my ideals. Then I found out that by doing this, by being free to be me, I have upset the apple cart.

It's been a lifetime's worth of "I really respect you and like you," but could you change this long list of things about yourself so you don't scare me so much.

My early life was all about lies and deceit. Whether anyone in my family will ever admit to their own complicity and denial, is really unlikely. It's hard to watch people do the same things year after year until they fucking die.

But because I have some weird issue about the truth, I spent my life arguing, debating and fighting. Gee, things have really changed.

I remember the gossip mills from my childhood. Hell it was right there in my own house. Grossly flawed people judging other people about their race, religion, jobs, weight, height, color of their hair, the way they spoke, it didn't seem to matter, they just wanted to feel better about themselves by taking down others. (loserville)

I watched this for years. So, in my tiny child mind, I deduced that I didn't particularly care for this sort of mindset, and set out about finding my own. But I had to fight through the morass to get to my own situation, which is far from good, but the best I could do.

The past never goes away, we all have so many things that hurt us, and we think, "oh, if I don't think about it, it will be all right." And others who won't stop thinking about the past events yet will never do anything to actively try to change it.

Bitching and complaining, but no ovaries/balls to do anything about it.

I can't help but remember a short term job I had in an office situation. For one looonnnnngggg year, I heard everyone talking about all the negative issues within the office. My hours suck; my desk is in a corner, the boss is an idiot, the managers treat us like children, the system is inconvenient and on and on.

Not thinking I would be there very long, I didn't engage these things, and just made the best of my situation. Which tended to piss everyone off. Yes, I can have fun doing anything, pretty much.

Then the day came when they asked me to join them in a meeting with upper management. These weaklings sat there in front of the top dog, and put their noses between there paws and didn't say a thing.

The room was full of fear. The manager sensed it and began to placate everyone rather than actually problem solve.

Immediately I became irritated with the situation. Suddenly, I was talking, and giving it a good go. There's not too many who could have kept up with me in an argument in my younger days. And this day would be no exception.

After I castrated the managers for two hours, we all left the meeting. Like a flock of frightened fowl, these employees, circled around me, eyes agog, and said, "wow."

I dissed all of them. I said I have been listening to all of you cry and moan about your situations, and when you had the chance to share your opinion and have your voice heard, you sat there.

They said, yeah, but you did great. I left the job immediately, these were not the people I mesh with.

Honestly, I don't know who I mesh with. I have very good friends who have known me for years, and they had to learn to accept me, for all that I am and am not.

This week I am a wreck. Emotionally twisted into a ball. Conflicted in every way.

Why, because I do believe if you fight for right, you will win. That's plain idiocy. Justice is a roll of the dice. It won't balance out in the end.

That's what I have to learn. I'm involved in a situation where a lot of people were hurt, including myself. What people don't know about me except my close friends, is that I'm really a kind person who only wants to do the right thing.

Other people from the outside see me as "cocky" "smartass" who thinks she knows it all.

Let me let you in on my side of that widespread opinion. I am my worst critic. I will give everyone else a break before I will take mine, if I ever do.

And recently, I decided to pray in public, which apparently caused alarm amongst the audience who heard it. So, I'm assuming my reputation has escalated to the "devil" herself.

Fuck you all for thinking I'm not in constant contact with God. I ask for guidance in all matters. I realize I know nothing, and that anything I do seem to know comes from the creator of this life.

I don't think I'm better than anybody else. Quite frankly, I often think that I am somehow lower than everyone else. But I've worked on that self esteem issue and try to realize my place in this world.

Self esteem, that's another interesting thing I've learned about with other people this week. Sadly, I see wonderful people who don't know how great they are hiding in the background of life. You can't convince people they are very important to the universe, each of us has to find that place on our own.

Then the others I most likely will fight with, are the people who are so weak on the inside that they have to put up a huge front and they are rather aggressive when you touch those tender buttons. They will lie to protect their facade, attack to keep you out of their weak areas, and everything they say will just be a reaction. Not an action, of the will. A response like a single celled organism.

My other blog is full of sarcasm, humor, showmanship, but that is a tool, it is not me. I learned it well though.

It's my invisible sword. Words are my missiles, and they have hit many targets. Some of it was friendly fire, regrettably so, but we can all learn from what makes us tick or freak.

A friend of mine asked me a question and that was, "are you happy." I had recently arrived home from another horrific medical experience and couldn't remember anything else she said.

While I took my respite to heal up, I realized I was angry about the question. Then I thought I was angry with my friend. When I stopped resisting the feelings, suddenly the answer came.

"Yes, this is what makes me happy." I called her to tell her about my answer, she hadn't really thought about it again, but I did.

We got into a long discussion about happiness, and I realized, not just intellectualized, I knew that I am becoming what I was supposed to become. What was on the back of my seed packet. "Needs partial sunlight, water and feed regularly."

Happiness is the underlying acceptance that it comes from within, not from outside sources. So many people can't or won't let themselves be happy until they have enough money, look better on the outside, have a great job, or whatever needs we use to put off being happy.

I think its more of an acceptance of all of life.

At this moment, I accept that there's a battle about to ensue, and that I will do my best to take it on. I'll do it by God's direction, and whatever happens will be what was meant to happen.

I'm learning. I'm mad at the world, but that is the stupid part, as I am my world.

Well that was wild rant. Fuck yeah. I'm afraid for my readers, because I'm wound up now. I'll try to post a warning: Rant in progress. Maybe not, you can figure it out for yourselves.

Trust is the next issue. I'm so conflicted in that area right now. It could be my lifelong issue in fact. I suppose we all go through it. But I'm sitting on documents for court and I don't know what to do but kick a chair or slam things around.

I've not been crying for myself this week, I've cried for others. Prayed that they make good decisions, that they learn, and that when the dust settles we will all come out of this thing stronger than ever before.

Good luck to us all.

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Eyes wide open...listening to bi-polar stories

They were wide eyed when I finished the story...

I must say people who listen to my stories tend to be sort of shocked. I recently recounted the month of December in 2007. My cousin and her husband had not heard about the events of this wicked month, so I sort of went into the whole dramatic tale.

I suppose some background is in order, but that was the year I died on the bath tub and decided to come back. Yes, I discovered death's secret!

The first part of December, 2007, I had been attacked by my biological mother's friend, let's call him. He caught me off my guard one night, and a struggle which would last five hours took place. I wasn't in the best of shape, I was maybe 90 pounds, and emotionally drained dealing with my mother's breakdown.

This dude had some idea that he would overpower me and possibly rape me. I had the notion that there would be a fight before that happened...and there was. I'm not saying that I didn't get beat up, I had my head cracked against the dresser, but then that's my head, harder than fucking wood!

We fought and fought and finally he got up and said the famous words: "You're stronger than you look."

Indeed, mutherfucker!

The stress of that event would set off a drinking binge which would end with my sister and brother finding me in the house ingesting pills, ghostly white, and half dead. They were my rescue squad.

Earlier in the day I had tried to find this asshole to fuck him up. For some reason he wasn't home when I came calling. I took it personally and got very drunk.


My siblings took my sorry ass back to my brother's house where they waited to see if I could emotionally recover from the fight. My sister stayed with me too and we three bi-polars came together to survive another ordeal.


The book wrote itself...

Weird things happened when we the three bi-polars stayed together that week. My brother's father had died of a heart attack at the house only a month earlier.

The whole thing shook the stability of us all as his father had become sort of a stabilizing agent for us grown up kids! His loss was felt by the order of the bi-polar disorder, but my brother was deeply distraught and started drinking heavily every night. I honestly thought I would go insane myself from all the pressure.

Trying to stave off madness, I had my sister and brother hook up my computer and I started to write..the first book in the series, "The Chronicles of the Bi-polar Reporter." My mind was locked into the book, the imaginary story running through me without any effort.

I remember looking out at the people around me, but I could not hear them. I could see them talking, laughing, but I was inside the book. I was writing and I became the characters. I became the events of the story and I got lost there. 

No sleep for the weary only death...

After my book was complete, my sister had left, it was my brother, his booze, and the bird. It was tough as he kept the music playing, mostly Pink Floyd's "The Wall," all night. Then one night I woke up and realized he had passed out.

I was so happy I had to pee. Actually, I had to pee anyway, and tried to be quiet...that didn't work out too well. LOL

Hazy from the sleep, I quickly headed to the bathroom. I wasn't quite awake and kind of confused his house for my house, so when I entered the bathroom I tried to flip the light switch into the up position. Too bad for me as the switch was side to side. Ooops!

I had moved too quickly, the darkness grabbed me, and I fell forward. 

I was falling and had no idea where I would land. Time slowed down- my hands reaching for something, anything, to catch me.

The next thing I remember was a sound so loud it woke the dead, or my drunken brother in the other room. He said it was so loud he knew something terrible had happened.

It was a matter of inches...

We live and die within inches, and had I been standing four inches back I would have missed the pleasure of mutilating myself on the side of a tub. 

Quick point here is that I had been in the tub area earlier in the day getting it ready for my parrot, Sky, to take a bath. However, the tub was disgusting and I did not want my parrot in there. But I had done something which probably saved me from plastic surgery: I left the glass tub doors open.

Lazy ass that I am left those doors open and thankfully so, or I would be a face full of scars. 

Had the glass door been shut I would have hit that and likely had severe lacerations. As it was I hit the metal rail leaving a dent in it that fits my head!

Shit, some psychic's bend spoons, I bend metal rails with my fucking head. This metal rail has been examined by many people and each one is more amazed as the metal is solid with no give.(I'll show you a picture soon)

A bloody mess...

It wasn't a pretty scene, my brother said my blood sprayed the whole bathroom.

I remember hitting the tub, then drifting off above my body lying on the floor. I could see my spirit breaking into pieces, disassembling itself for the afterlife. It was eerily quiet except for the pleading voice of my brother: "Don't die!" 

Jesus Christ, that SOB, my brother, would not stop saying that.

Here I was in the presence of the creator, ready to bow out of my performance, and yet I could not because this sorry ass could not stop trying to save me. 

I knew I had a choice to die or not to die. "Oh shit!" I thought as I realized death would be boring and I would want to come back right away to avoid this boredom. New revelation! We do reincarnate for a reason.

In a moment, I resumed my life and I sat straight up. "Shut up!" I yelled at my pathetic, sobbing, brother. Yes, my first words back were shut up and I'm sure more cuss words.

It's not a theme I had expected. Near death did not contain any religious figures, any fan fare, only the stark realization that all we  have is here and now. Those fucking Bhuddists were not kidding.

My brother seemed satisfied that he had done his work and I would live. Fuck him! But I do love his tenacity, raising the dead takes some real balls!

Take me to the hospital, I ordered...

At the hospital, I was alert and covered in blood. Two nurses worked to clean the blood which was still bleeding from the wounds. Once they had cleared my face, they jumped back from me and said, "It's the reporter!."

Great.

Just what I needed upon my return from death was to be recognized at the hospital which loves to hate me. I didn't say much to them, but did not get much treatment either. No stitches, only a cleaning and some band aids.

There were two cuts in my forehead which match the rails on the tub. Then there was skin torn off between my eyes which should have solved the problem of my "uni-brow." However, the malignant hairs somehow grew back.

Then there was the damage to my left nostril. The hospital released me with continued bleeding, no stitches, and I had to contend with a severe cut inside my nose.

As I worked on myself at home in front of the mirror, a piece of my nose, cut like a watermelon wedge, fell out in my hand. I was kind of taken aback but decided it was too big a piece to just throw away. So, I found the wound and stuck the damn thing back in! I held pressure on it until it started to regrow back into the area it fell out of...Awesome!


It was a long night of mopping up the blood. I waited to be seen the next day by my regular doctor who did nothing. In fact, he told me that the tub rail had to be aluminum or I would have been dead from the accident. Well, I was dead, he had that part correct.

I never got one stitch but the clinic doctor said he would owe me some plastic surgery instead. Right. Yeah. 

I like my scars, they remind me of my brush with death. And death reminds me I'm alive right now, so fucking enjoy it!

Ten days after the fall I would have a stroke and be jettisoned into a portal in the hospital ER...LOL. That's another story for another time.


My cousin just gasped...

So, my cousin and her husband listened to the story, well they gasped mostly. At one or two points I heard, "oh my God!" And I do believe they had big wide eyes.

The issue of dying has caused more than some disagreement among people who have heard this story. I know what happened to me. I have a tub rail sitting on my deck with my head imprinted in it. I remember it all!

These things happened to me in month's time. There really is so much to learn in this life...I can hardly wrap my head around it! LOL

Have a great day and I hope you create stories that could raise the eyebrow of a bi-polar! Go get 'em!

Laura Hart (bored with death)