This is so much fun

I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down
I get knocked down, but I get up again
You are never gonna keep me down ~Chumbawamba~

Pretty much what we all experience one or more times in our lives.  If you haven’t had hardship, well, I call bullshit.  Or your definition of hardship is well a lot different from mine or anyone else’s.  Whatever the case, there isn’t a doubt that even the most positive person has suffered life blows moments and had to stand up, brush off their tushy and move forward once again.

Life isn’t a series of just good things.  It’s a series of shit happens and it happens often.  Without all that shit, we wouldn’t appreciate the good stuff.  Even in my darkest moments, I can see the light.  Probably one of the factors built-in me of not doing myself in earlier.  Not that I haven’t tried, seems as if I have a guardian angel or something, if you believe in the horse snot, snatched me up at the last-minute.  Whoa, what the hell are you doing, I’d shout, let me die! Nope, I was forced to survive.

I’ve attempted suicide more than once, even simple as playing chicken with cars as a younger person.  Yep that was me heading for you, and you swerved, should have hit me, but the selfish person you are, you swerved and missed me, just so you wouldn’t get hurt.  Ha! See what I did there? Seriously though, life has its moments and surviving isn’t one to sneeze away.

You see, surviving doesn’t take much effort.  All you really need to do is not do anything.  Yep, pretty much.  Look at all that claim to fame you can have just for doing nothing.  I ‘survived’ cancer twice.  I didn’t fight, I didn’t do shit.  I just let them poke, cut, and radiate my body until it was done.  I wept in silence, because yeah, it did hurt.  I was lonely because people were worried that the chemicals from chemotherapy would leach from my body and poison them.  Even better, cancer is contagious.  Didn’t you know????

Anyway, I was left alone to survive.  There ya go.  Thank you to all and your bizarre reasoning to left me to be lonely while I ‘survived’ through cancer.  Guess you were doing me a favor.  Because I did absolutely nothing, and here I am, spoiler, I survived!

Now you see my reasoning behind not being a supporter of surviving.  I can remember comments like, “you got this, you’re a survivor, you’re a fighter”, um okay….What am I fighting and what am I surviving?  No, I’m a warrior you mother fucker.  I’ve been to war and back.  I did not fight cancer, it fought me.  It took my way of living and it fucked it all up.  I didn’t survive cancer, I ran the fuck away from it, placing obstacles in its way so it will never find me again [7-years out from BC, 5-years out OC]

I did absolutely nothing to survive a horrific childhood, poor decisions, etc.  I’m not a survivor, I’m a doer.  Surviving doesn’t take effort, its mediocrity at it’s best.  When people ask if I’m a survivor and then say ‘woo hoo’ , I look at them plainly and say, “ahem, what choice did I have?”  I either let it eat me alive or do nothing and let the doctors experiment on me.  Either way, it was a death sentence.  So I chose the lesser of two evils.

Ha! Yeah…evils.  Or are they? Someday, we’ll replace that word survivor with warrior, or maybe realize, it’s just life.  Simply as Chumbawamba states, “I get knocked down, and I get back up again.  A mentality that will never let you down.  I love Bozo!

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Even in my darkest hour, and lately it’s been pretty dark, I’ve picked my ass up and did nothing but move forward and will continue to fight the darkness, seeking light, happiness and joy and as any person with depression can only hope to do.  There is no cure for the darkness, embracing it seems to be the only option.  We need the dark to enjoy the light and vice versa, its seems cliché’ and I agree, I’d like to punch people in the face when they use those kind of metaphors on me.  Yet, deep inside, I know the truth, and each day the warrior in me will continue my journey, training, gaining skills and tools, honing the ability and strength to one day cross-over to the real battle, no longer just a survivor, but now, a badass warrior!

If I could lay my brains out on a table…

Maybe, just maybe someone could make sense of the nonsense I call a brain.  There isn’t any logical explanation why I continue to choose or do poorly.  My motivation to fail is outstanding.  It shines brighter than the moon.  When I need to succeed, well, fail stands right up and states, Fuck you, there is no way in your lifetime you will succeed.  Fail flashes me a peace sign and giggles, “bye, Felicia”.

Laying my brain out, unfolding the worm like tissues, untangling the meshuga that transmits thought and possibly putting it all back together then maybe, just maybe, I can after 54 years succeed at something else but failing.

I’m educated, street smart, but for the life of me, when I’m called upon to answer a question, this brain of mine goes completely dark.  Not just a little forgetful, no darker than dark like I never had the information in the first place.  Then suddenly, boom, it returns after I leave the building.  Then failure says, “there, there, you can always try again” with that laugh that you know is pure bullshit.

As I see it and probably appears to others, I am the epitome of fail, find the word ‘fail’ and you will see my face.  Or at very least my brain.  I’m sure its been hardwired to fail, I can’t imagine for any other reason or cause, the path to succeed escapes me completely.

Today, in my heart of hearts I wanted this job.  I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to move forward from the present employment of which is not doing any good for anyone.  I bombed it, brought in my self-destructive personality and bombed it.  The true me, the funny, smart and playful me, hid inside like a turtle, scared to death to show itself.  So today, I’m giving up.  For all I care a bus can hit me tomorrow and end this bullshit.  I’m so over being broke, tired and forgotten.  So over it.

It’s groundhog day everyday in my head.  A labyrinth of failing of which is my only success.  ‘If only’s’ are my only comfort.  Nonsense remarks from others, “oh you’ll do better next time”, “you’re being to hard on yourself”, etc, etc, you all have heard it before.

I write this in hopes that others can know they aren’t alone, not just a forum to bitch and complain, but to see the darkness lies in us all.  I hide it pretty well, which to many may seem that I’m not as unhappy as I state and maybe I’m just a whiny bitch.   People find it hard to believe when I confide in them about my forever state of unhappiness.  It’s not as if I don’t know happiness, I do know happiness and it is a fleeting moment, now and then, never staying for long, just long enough for me to have a taste of what it is like.  Then its gone as quickly as it arrives.

Those moments of giving birth, the giggle of my children.  The playfulness of a kitten or puppy.  The proud moment when your child is more than just a little awesome.  But never a moment where the internal happiness rises from my inner core and says, “hello” do I get to experience it.

I continue to write and allow the process maybe to find its way to happiness, thinking that possibly if I allow all the dark to spew from my brain and physical being so I can lock the door and it can’t return.  Allowing all the darkness to flow into the pages of the internet, trapping it forever, then maybe at some point, at any point, I can say, “bye Felicia”, just maybe.  There, at that moment, I can call a success and push failure to the curb.

 

 

Life happens with the best of intentions* Deal with it.

I’m old, it’s a fact.  A 54-year-old woman, no longer in my party days or wish to be in.  Yet, let me take in less than 5 hours sleep and, Oh yeah, I have a hangover.  A crazy, “who in fuck spiked my drink?” hangover!  Disclosure: I’ve had my share of partying days.  Waking up in places I had no idea how or where I was, and pretty much, “what the hell happened last night?”, rolling around in my head.  Not to say, that wearing a smirk of well I’ve survived one more day, and wow, let’s do this again giggle.

I was pretty much a person who loved to laugh, play and have a good time.  Having parentals who had no involvement in the so-called ‘raising’ of me,  I was pretty much forced into being raised with the wolves of the party world.  Funny, isn’t much surprise that I’m now a dark person inside, sad and dark with thoughts of “how in the hell do I get out of here”.

I realized the other day, I don’t laugh much anymore, nothing is really amuses me anymore…its odd, yet normal.  Anyway, factor in the lack of sleep and you have this mess of garble that some call writing, or self-expression, or some kind of bullshit that isn’t relevant to anything in life.  Or is it?

Disclosure:  I’m a 2x survivor and its a great possibility that I’ll get sick again.  What they term is Triple Negative HER breast cancer, is code for, you suck and you will get it again because I like to roam around your body for a weak spot so that I can eat and screw you up all over again.  Yes, yes it did, in the form of ovarian cancer.  Five years ago now a survivor, a survivor to what?  It’s all bullshit.

I maintained life minimally, I barely did the function of surviving.  I truly wanted to die.  Chemo is just another form of torture.  We should use it as an interrogation tool, slowly dying from the inside out will surely get anyone to talk.  Pushing the poison through veins with the encouragement from others, “you’re so strong”, “I couldn’t do what you’re doing”.  What the fuck am I doing, it’s what is being done to me.  Geez, people are dumb.  How about this one, bald, looking like a man, once having gorgeous skin and hair and still light in my eyes [gone now] and people telling me, “you look great”.  I’m being injected with a poison that could kill, and I look great??  What the fuck, I’m not from the planet Krypton with some super human powers to ward off chemo.  If I had, then the cancer wouldn’t have invaded me in the first place.

I digress, sleep deprivation does this, I will long for my bed tonight after work, after an episode or two of my boys, Sam and Dean [Supernatural], if you haven’t watched it, well, you have 13 episodes to catch up on.  This is me and my husband’s quality time, and we enjoy it. Stop judging me asshole.

Speaking of that we don’t travel, we don’t go to the movies, we do life in our home.  Maybe because we are broke as all hell due to student loans sucking the holy fuck out us.  Yeah, another faction of what cancer does to the receiver.  It makes you broke as fuck.  Two weeks after my graduation with a masters, I was diagnosed the first time, it took me 4 years to find another job after the current employer *cough, cough* CVS decided to let me go because I was a risk, cancer does that after the second time.  They’ll deny the fact but I have it on great authority that I was let go due to cancer and they’d rather not take the 3rd chance on me taking time off to let me heal or die a little more.

The best and most lovingly sweet part of cancer, people ditching you because they feel that chemo is contagious, or was that cancer, or was that both.  Granted I was a walking talking nuclear plant, emitting radiation everywhere, right, isn’t that a fact?  Dumbasses, read a book about cancer and treatments, educate yourselves before rejecting people at their lowest point. Gahhhhhh

Anyway, as you see this post is everywhere, this is where my mind has become unfiltered and the damage is leaking through in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, gotta be a unicorn around here somewhere.  This is who’d I’d like to be, I enjoy being a little demented, but as life would have it, bits and pieces of me have fallen off because after years of, “act like a lady”, “that’s so inappropriate” and the sideways glances of those who are dream killers, and bullies because their lives are full of bullshit and fake flowers, doesn’t mean they need to take it out on me.

However, in some bizarre way, it affected me and I have been conditioned to a darker degree of cynicism.  I’ve lost the playful side, the drive to move forward, the trickster, the joker, the fun part of me died because I’ve had to alter in order to fit in.  Where the fuck did I get that idea?  And why the fuck did I go along with it?  The ‘back in the day’ Barbi would not have let it happen.  Was it the cancer?  Was it that I’m just fucking tired of fighting life and all its problems, especially the financial ones.  If anyone tells me one more time that money won’t make me happy, well bitch, give me your money and let me see it for myself.  I don’t mind being a test subject.  Another Gahhhh for the stupid things people say.

Its going to be a long day, and I know it.  No trying to be positive or upbeat about it, no attempting to self-talk some bullshit that really irrelevant to an unfiltered mind such as mine.  If anyone could hear the thoughts at any given time, you’d be amazed at my self-control.  I don’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings.  Truly, so I believe in keeping silent until the urge of wanting to take out my verbal stupid stick and beat the shit of idiot who really didn’t think before talking passes.  Self control at its best, right her folks.

We all have room to grow and I have plenty.  I feel sorry for my kids, I did so hard to maintain, but I know deep inside, they knew I was losing it each day.  Yet, despite my fucked up parenting skills, or possibly my husband being a better parent than I suspected [because of course, I knew everything, and controlled the universe, right?] and picked up the slack without saying a word, but in his own silent way was hating me to a degree of which was overflowing and sucking love out of the equation.

It wasn’t until the C-word occurred that I saw how damaged I was and my world became so much more clear and how he’d been covering for me for years.

With that, I end my rant due to sleep deprivation and unfiltered intents to mitigate  in the world of chaos with the lack of self-control.  Figure that one out.

*this post is unedited and unfiltered to some degree due to being drunk to to lack of sleep.