So We Will Walk Through The Fire And Let It Burn

The Borderline is flaring up lately. In a big 'life-consuming' way again. Its painful. Akin to walking on broken glass with tender skinned feet. I feel the hard-won threads unraveling from my mind, and everything is falling into chaos and darkness. I always hate this part, this free fall into paranoia, fear, darkness.

My world is so strange, this borderline land of shadows and fire that burns black. I can't make it fit into words very well, because it's so large. It's monumental. It's my life, after all. It is all of me.

When the Borderline raises up, like a tide in the blood that reaches every part of me, it brings with it darkness, chaos, fire, and fear. It carries the weight of years, and the strength of natural disasters. Suddenly every action is an attack, every whisper is a shout. Every moment of mild sadness becomes a cause for weeping and wailing and 12 days of mourning. Every minor annoyances unleashes a whirlwind of rage.

It's very restless, this Borderline attack. I don't sleep well, I've no real desire to eat, to socialize.I want to stay in my home and hide from the world and everyone in it until this shadow passes from my soul.

That's what it feels like. It's like being pulled out of sunlight that warms you and thrust into icy darkness. Its a shock to the system, makes it hard to breathe. Makes it impossible to regulate. Like someone stripped all the protective layers off my nerves.

Its impossible to find the words.

I'm falling apart, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts.

Maybe I should try again soon, when my mind is calmer.

Suspended in a compromise.

We sent our gods away, many years gone by, because in our arrogance we felt no need for them any longer. We devoted our lives to a myriad of different sciences, to furthering what breakthroughs we've had to make us technological titans in medicine, machine, weapon, virus and creation. But with no gods, we had no compass. Now, me, I don't believe in gods, and that means I'm just a child of our world, raised with no reason to fear anything but my fellow man and what weapons that are wielded.

I believe we create our own gods and devils. How can I believe anything else? I feel a deep connection with the world around me and the people I encounter, moved to tears by things that other people don't even flinch at, marveling at the world around me. But I don't believe that there is a god in the way the religions I'm acquainted with paint. Just as I don't believe their picture of a devil. I believe in good an evil, I believe in cruelty and kindness, coldness and empathy. I believe we create our own gods and heavens, and our fears fashion us hells and devils. The angels and demons are the people we meet.

A friend, a kind person who is selfless, how is that not an angel of some sort? Human predators who torture and abuse others are as close to demons as anything I can imagine.

Maybe I'm putting too much thought into this. I've been told you can't analyze beliefs, you just basically close your eyes and pick a direction. But I don't believe that for a second, actually. I feel like you have to find something that calls to the core of your very being.

A Christmas or two ago a friend of mine gave me a tarot deck called the Faerie's Oracle and with it I have felt a connecting to an otherness that I only felt as a child, a deep sense of rightness.

After I was home this last time my mom informed me my Uncle Michael (passed away in '89) used to do tarot as well as had the same knack for it I seem to.

How can I not feel connected to this man who I met only in the first months of my life, too young to even remember his face? I don't believe there is a god linking us, I believe that somehow in the vast universe he shared some of his stardust with me, passing on a part of himself in the moment he first held me.

My mother tells me how very much he would have loved me, how we would have been inseparable, two odd little birds flocking together. Maybe the universe wanted to leave my mother a part of him, and since I was so young, so unformed I was receptive to what stardust he had to offer.

This is very, very tangential and I don't plan to revise or edit, as this is a place for me to just write and think and allow everything to flow out of me into a place where I can look back on it. Where I can experience my own thoughts again.

I'm a bit worked up because I had posted the first paragraph of this entry on facebook (I'd written it awhile ago and when I rediscovered it today it hit a note that I didn't want to ignore) and someone got very defensive about God as he believes him to be, and it just made me angry.

Why is his version any more credible or fulfilling than the one I choose to believe? Believe what you will, but do not force feed it to me. If you'd like to debate theoretically or something, I'm game, if you'd like to share your beliefs with me when I invite that sort of topic, by all means...But I do dislike this invasion into something that is, in essence, my space and the brash attitude he took.

I need to go eat something. I think my blood sugar is dropping and I'm just working myself up more.

Inking Wings

Dip your pen in this inkwell of my blood
Carefully draw out my life's moments
Press the silver edge of your pen deeper
Try to soak up my well, so wasteful.
Ink out my grievances carefully
Mix them with rain born of sorrow
Given birth from eyes lined in anguish
The pain, more then I can bear, is as deep as marrow
I'm dying without death
As we form the letters of my heartache.
I'm outlined in crimson ink,
Flowing through the depths of me
Mapping out my history
All the battles and victories, conquests and defeats
Every minute aspect etched indelibly into every atom of my existence.
I'm inking out the wings of an angel
Through every fragile layer of skin,
into the bone and all the way down
To the core of my soul.

Are we bound?

Scars build up on paper thin skin
Paper cuts that sting like hell
Bruises that have to explanation
Maybe you can see the reason for me to be this way
All I want is an end.
Better or worse.
Richer or poorer.
The love-vows only work if you're bound.
Maybe there is a reason.
Explain to me where I'm broken
What part is missing?
How did I survive with out?
I want your hands out to catch me
I need to feel your strength at my back
I feel the cold doubt seeping through my veins
Don't let words mean more then my body seeking yours.
Don't push me away.
Was I your worst mistake?
I don't make any sense to myself.
While you're out I'll pack my bags.
Slowly I'll run away and hide
How long will it take you to see
All that was, could have been, but will never be?
Out the door I do, don't wanna hurt us anymore
Am I gonna be another name on the list?
Another set of regrets?
Will you be another tear tracking down my cheek?
Another scar that mars my skin?
Do we mark each other after all?
Branded....but are we bound?

Failure is my middle name.

The horrible and the heavenly
Perfection in pleasure and pain
The ultimate destiny.
Endure and survive.
This life is shared by all,
The end is the beginning undone
Perhaps be fight a battle indefinitely un-won
This is the blackness
The joy of the dark
This is our reason
Our gods come to our hearts and mind
Wearing black, it's death, the bed unlaid.
Failure is our middle name
We lay in graves unmade, unmade.
Do you wonder how I stand on the edge
And fight the urge to jump?
Have you any idea how the thought haunts me?
I stand here, alone, at the edge of the world
Trying to see the sky, but seeing only nothingness.
Where is my starlit sky?
Moonless, stars too far away for the light to filter down
Nothing to show me my way home
No North Star to guide my skip
Just endless black.
My vices, my sins, the weakness
That hangs over my head
And I stand in fear
of it all falling down around me
I'm not dead, just falling into the grave marked for me
Maybe you can't see my end at the edge
of your presence
But you may decide my fate.

Quietly, quietly.

Defective soul-beats to the sound of tinkling as the heart breaks.

Questing for a salve to the terrors that rock your world, chilling the marrow of your bones.

The only magic I have is the magic in my blood, the sound of my heart and the flow of my love.

Loyalty to the agony that rattles the core as you close your eyes against the tears.

Sorrow that flows like a river to the ocean of your bottomless past.

Childlike wonder gives way to hate as the world slaughters your desire to dance.

So I do not dance anymore, and the lights go out. I see that smile fade and so do I.

Interconnected, delicately wound into the fabric of your existence, I burn out as you pale.

A nightmare turned reality. Will I never be allowed to wake up?

A writing.

I break my own heart, by allowing myself to hope. To believe in the goodness I want to exist within the core of each person I encounter.



I want you to be a good person, and because I want it to be true, I allow myself to be hurt. And I know, shame on me. For I should protect myself from you and your charm and your cruelty that hides beneath the surface. But I want to believe. I want so very much to believe.



I want to be a good, strong person. But sometimes my idea of what it means to be good can hurt people. Or hurt myself.



It's so painful.



I want to make sure I am always honest with you, about how I feel, who I am, and what I want. But sometimes honesty hurts, because it isn't what you want to hear. I understand that. But I don't want to be the liar that I could be. I don't want to lie the way I've been lied to. And I'm sorry that my truth isn't want you want to hear.



I hurt myself, in the process of trying to help others, because I want to heal the world in the way I have never been healed.



I know you think you're so badly off, that the world is out to get you, and that your life sucks so much. And I'm so sorry that you cannot see how blessed you are. Blessed in ways I have never been. I am so sorry that you are so lost in your desire to be pitied that you lose your chance to thrive in the joy of life. But I cannot keep draining myself to pick up your slack. Because I am so broken inside and you will never understand because you cannot live my life or experience my mind.



I give out all the light I have in my soul to brighten the paths of those I love, that I keep nothing for myself. And I am so exhausted, so lost in darkness and shadows.



I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, I wish you could feel the things you have done to me. I wish you could know the world the way I do. I wish you could feel the beat of my heart in your veins, I wish you could feel the thrum of my breath in your lungs. I wish you could feel the pulse of my life, my emotions, my loss and pain and sorrow down in the marrow of your bones. Because I know that if you could feel the depth of my life, the extent of my sorrow, and the keen edge of my loss then you wouldn't doubt my desire to be good. To be honest. To believe. Because if I do not fight for even ounce of sunlight in my life, I will be swallowed by my past.