thechronically-illtimes - Tumblr blog

thechronically-illtimes · 5 years

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I'm a Monster

I did something to someone I care very deeply for. I did the worst thing a human being can do to another human being. I don't deserve to be called human anymore. What makes it worse, is that I don't have any recollection of doing it because I was unconscious. I was asleep. I wasn't in control of my body. But I hurt someone in a way that's likely unrepairable.

Apparently I've done it more than once. But I was asleep, I don't remember doing it. I didn't mean to do it. I'd never intentionally hurt another person like that, muchless someone that is my entire world.

I want to fix things. I want him to know how incredibly sorry I am... But... How? How does one repent for something they have absolutely zero recollection of doing? I mean, I am incredibly sorry I did that. I wouldn't break down crying on a continuous loop if I wasn't. I wouldn't feel like a monster if I wasn't sorry.

However if I don't remember doing it, how can I determine why I did it? How can I find the root cause? A psyc friend and they said there could be a few reasons for it. The only one that makes any real sense is "emotional state". I have been feeling jealous of the ex girlfriend and mother of his child, who still lives with us, but again; how can I be 100% sure that's whats caused this? How can I properly address this issue and fix it?

I don't know... I'm doing everything I can to not go to 'That Place™️' but that voice inside my head keeps saying I'm a monster and deserve to die. I feel ashamed of something I don't even remember doing which makes it even worse. I feel ashamed, broken, like a monster, and I don't deserve to live much less be with someone that amazing. I don't know why he hasn't dumped me.

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thechronically-illtimes · 5 years

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#anxiety #depression #suicidl ideation #trauma

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thechronically-illtimes · 5 years

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Again, not related to my blog, but to my interests!

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thechronically-illtimes · 5 years

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“She reaches out hoping to comfort him, but her fingers only seem to brush an icy shell and all her words feel like whispers of wind to a brick wall. If only she could look into his eyes and find the spark of love they once held.”

— tara love / and part of her wants to leave, but her heart can’t

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thechronically-illtimes · 5 years

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Not related to my blog but to my interests.

Slow Ride (Take it Easy)

Sometimes you need to humble yourself before God does it for you.

I went for a ride with my girlfriend a few weeks ago. It was Memorial Day morning and we hadn’t ridden together in some time.

Just days before, I was bragging to her about my latest hooligan antics. That week, I reached 95 mph on a surface street (with a speed limit of 35) on my commute and broke 120 mph on the highway.

“I don’t know why I even tell you,” she said, unamused by my trivial boasting, “you don’t listen anyway.”

That morning, we hit the road just before 8:30 am. The streets were as crowded as church on a Friday night. If you ride a motorcycle, you know this is the best time to to take a ride - and the best time to speed. It’s just you, the road, and that throttle.

But on this particular morning, I got the creeping feeling that I needed to slow it down. That I should relax and enjoy the idyllic Southern California weather. That I needed to humble myself before God did it for me.

However tempted I would be to open her up, to wring her out, to crank the throttle, for some reason, I didn’t. We coasted along the meandering route of Sunset Blvd without reaching 5th gear once. Instead of waking the neighborhood with a roaring exhaust, per usual, we took it easy, gliding past Beverly Hills, Bel Air, and the Palisades with a purring engine.

Once we reached the Pacific Coast Highway, my decision to slow my roll started to pay off. Turning onto HWY 1, we pulled up right behind a police cruiser. But unlike any other time I’ve stumbled upon a patrol vehicle, I didn’t have to check my speed. I didn’t have to downshift and try to play it cool. I just carried on at 50 mph.

There’s no feeling like riding alongside a cop and knowing that they have no reason to stop you. It’s free of anxiety. It’s liberating. It’s just as good as the feeling you get from speeding but it requires a lot less - and risks a lot less too.

As we approached the next intersection, we filtered past the cop and continued our carefree cruise. But the first officer was just the tip of the iceberg. Soon, we came upon two motorcycle cops writing tickets on the side of the road. Not long after, a fleet of 4 other Highway Patrol motorcycles zoomed passed us.

It seemed like the entire police force was monitoring the activity on the PCH this morning, exacting revenge on those with jobs that allowed them to enjoy their Memorial Day. As fellow motorcyclists passed in the opposite direction, I tapped the top of my helmet more than I flashed the peace sign. Often times, they returned the gesture.

Despite the unwanted attention of the authorities, Michelle and I rolled along. The sun warmed our backs. The wind kissed our cheeks. The sweet, briny scent of the sea filled our nostrils. I tucked my hand behind Michelle’s left thigh and leaned back, content to let everything the road offered to meet me, not the other way around.

Out of nowhere, the sight of flapping wings caught my eye.

“Oh, shit!” I blurted, remiss to find an expression that suited the moment.

“What?!” Michelle replied, taken aback by my non-descript exclamation.

“Look, it’s a hawk!”

A Harris Hawk soared into the cloudless sky, a snake dangling from its clasped talons. Michelle and I gasped at the grace of it’s beating wings as it moved skyward, ultimately perching at the top of a nearby telephone pole.

“Pull over,” Michelle commanded.

I complied without protest.

We rolled the Harley into a plaza parking lot and placed her on the side stand. With our gaze locked on the hawk, we lowered ourselves to the curb and waited for it to dig in. Instead, it stood still as a statue, staring into the distance with an austere repose, unphased by the meter-long snake clenched in its grip.

“Why isn’t it eating it?” Michelle asked, breaking the long silence.

“I’m not sure. Maybe she’s trying to get it back to her nest,” I hypothesized, no closer to the truth than if I would have kept my mouth shut.

That’s when a pair of crows, attracted by the scent of the kill, started harassing the hawk. From 30 ft above, they divebombed, aimed straight for the hawk, only pulling up inches from the raptor’s head. But the hawk proved unphased, failing to flinch at the provocations of the petulant crows.

That’s when I realized how lucky we were to see this interaction, how happenstance witnessing a hawk catch its prey is, how we would have never seen this if I would have been riding any faster that morning.

Without eliciting a reaction from the hawk, the antagonistic crows moved on, and soon after, the hawk would take off as well - with its catch in tow of course.

Michelle and I would take the same route home, passing the same speed traps and the same plotting police with the same carefree demeanor we arrived with. After passing another 5-6 cops (we probably encountered 12-15 in total that day), but with our easy-going pace, it was like we came across none.

Now, my commute is a bit different. Instead of doing 95 (mph) in a 35, I do 50 (ie. speed of traffic). Instead of revving at cars to move aside, I’m content to sit behind them. Instead of running the yellow/red light, I slow it down. Now I can brag to my girlfriend about the miles per gallon I get and discovering a library on my route to work that I never noticed.

You could say I’m getting older. You could say I’m maturing. But I think I’m simply becoming a better motorcyclist. Just because you have all that power doesn’t mean you have to use it every chance you get.

There’s something to say about situational riding. Whether it’s the commute, a cross-country trip, or a quick ride to the store, each situation calls for a certain style of riding, and it usually isn’t full throttle.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna send it from time to time. I’m going to open her up and put as much power as I can to that back wheel. But, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that speed is much more fun after you take some time to enjoy the scenery.

As the wise Ferris Bueller once said:

Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Take it easy, y’all, don’t miss it.

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thechronically-illtimes · 5 years

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Miserable

I have a good life. A good man. A good family. But I am miserable.

My body hurts all the time lately. Nothing I do makes it any better. I am miserable.

On top of my physical pain, I have PTSD, anxiety, depression, and autism. I am miserable.

My best friend of 12 years stopped talking to me because feelings of love weren't reciprocated. I miss him and I am miserable.

I'm miserable because even when I'm surrounded by my friends and family, I feel so alone.

I'm miserable because my brain tells me no one wants me around, so I isolate myself.

I am miserable because when the pain gets this bad my depression fueled suicidal ideation tells me I should just kill myself.

I don't though. I have a daughter who watches everything I do. So I keep going even though I'm miserable.

I'm miserable because "what's wrong" is never a question I can fully or truthfully answer.

I'm miserable because when I was 8 years old the man that raised me was murdered and left me with severe abandonment issues and problems with being on my own.

I'm miserable because when I was 9 my uncle killed himself, making the abandonment issues worse.

I'm miserable because when I was 11 my mom married an abusive man who forced me to watch him beat my 7 and 8 year old step sisters as punishment to me.

I'm miserable because when I was 15 I was molested by an 18 year old.

I'm miserable because when I was 15 I was groomed by a 26 year old man.

I'm miserable because when I was 16 my step brother raped me.

I'm miserable because every time I try to talk about any of this I have a panic attack.

I'm miserable because when I was 20 I watched my grandmother pass away.

I'm miserable because when I was 22 I watched my other grandmother pass away.

I'm lost.

I'm lonely.

I'm confused.

I'm in pain.

I know I am strong.

But I am miserable.

#im miserable #i feel miserable #miserable at best #miserable #lost #lost light #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #fibrowarrior #fibrofighter #suicidal #depression #Autism #loss #abandonment

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