cranial limescale

I’m just emptying my head again/more … blah blah whine blah pullyourself together blah blah blahhh …

Urghhhhh … that sorrow that bleeds into anger that bleeds into sorrow. I’ve never been any good at getting through that intact. The way I live means that at least I don’t do any collateral damage these days. I don’t know how to be stable through it though.

Today began simply – sad as hell and that ache you get in your throat when you can’t express it. I had a sensible day, like the one I had a couple of days back. I maintained the healthy routine, took the dog for a walk, did some chores, had coffee with a friend, swallowed my pills … yadda yadda. And my mind felt as though it splintered. Spikes of anger, followed by those unshed tears that build up till you have to grind your teeth to choke them back.

I have a couple of genuine reasons to be angry today. I wish I didn’t.

I spent a lot of time outside and I will again later tonight. Orion, the Southern Cross and the Milky Way are always there, constant. Sitting on my front steps staring at the sky is an irregular, but frequent habit. Today in the sunshine, I kept catching myself with my head in my hands, my hands holding on hard, rather like claws. Nobody plans to put their head in their hands, do they? It happens and at some point you notice it. It’s a fairly useful way to calibrate your misery.

I have a horde of reasons to be sad, but don’t we all?

Teeth alternatively gritted and grinding, I fought to get through the day. I was glad when I got an email notification from my shrink, then disappointed. For some unknown reason, my email refused to be displayed. I double checked it was plain text, took off the file I’d sent her and fired it off again. She will answer next week sometime, and at some stage, the practice will phone me and let me know when my appointment is. It’ll be in March, unless I get someone’s cancellation slot. She’ll give good advice in the meantime, just got to hold fast a little longer.

I have a good amount of things to be grateful for.

Nextofkin is still struggling  too, of course. We are both dealing with our own troubles, as well as the shared stuff. It’s natural, it’s logical and there’s no way around it. There are things, that unless you go through them, will dog you forever, nipping at your heels till you face it.

I have one reason to live, and one is enough.

Eh … I don’t have any other conclusions to reach, I just needed to write it all down.

I vented my spleen in an fb post to my very limited close friends list. I shouldn’t have. Too much snarling on my part. I’m gonna delete the mofo. They’ll all have read it and commented (I have truly beautiful friends), I just don’t want to see it anymore (the post, I mean).

I’m dizzy. I’m so tired of weeping alone. I’m tired.

Blah blah blah whatever. Que sera and c’est la vie and la la la la life goes on, innit?


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battlescarred, bright, bewildered, bent, blue & bipolar

31 thoughts on “cranial limescale”

  1. No way to “like” this post. (what sense does does it make to like a post where someone is in pain?) I do understand and hope that a tiny bit of catharsis was achieved in the composition.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Since the Like is the only button available there to even let the other know u read their post but may not be able to leave a comment, sometimes it is used. For me the like I click is to encourage my suffering friend to keep on and write on, so we even hug each other virtually.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I found this poem accidentally and I was shocked that someone as great as Pablo Neruda also thought about lemons and flowers or lemon-scented flowers…fucking awesome…enjoy…I’m holding a glass of cold lemonade and make a toast to you and your return to wellness.

    Out of lemon flowers
    on the moonlight, love’s
    lashed and insatiable
    sodden with fragrance,
    the lemon tree’s yellow
    the lemons
    move down
    from the tree’s planetarium

    Delicate merchandise!
    The harbors are big with it-
    for the light and the
    barbarous gold.
    We open
    the halves
    of a miracle,
    and a clotting of acids
    into the starry
    original juices,
    irreducible, changeless,
    so the freshness lives on
    in a lemon,
    in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
    the proportions, arcane and acerb.

    Cutting the lemon
    the knife
    leaves a little cathedral:
    alcoves unguessed by the eye
    that open acidulous glass
    to the light; topazes
    riding the droplets,
    aromatic facades.

    So, while the hand
    holds the cut of the lemon,
    half a world
    on a trencher,
    the gold of the universe
    to your touch:
    a cup yellow
    with miracles,
    a breast and a nipple
    perfuming the earth;
    a flashing made fruitage,
    the diminutive fire of a planet.
    -Pablo Neruda

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ode to My Socks
      by Pablo Neruda

      Mara Mori brought me
      a pair of socks
      which she knitted herself
      with her sheepherder’s hands,
      two socks as soft as rabbits.
      I slipped my feet into them
      as if they were two cases
      knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
      Violent socks,
      my feet were two fish made of wool,
      two long sharks
      sea blue, shot through
      by one golden thread,
      two immense blackbirds,
      two cannons,
      my feet were honored in this way
      by these heavenly socks.
      They were so handsome for the first time
      my feet seemed to me unacceptable
      like two decrepit firemen,
      firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
      of those glowing socks.

      Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
      to save them somewhere as schoolboys
      keep fireflies,
      as learned men collect
      sacred texts,
      I resisted the mad impulse to put them
      in a golden cage and each day give them
      birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
      Like explorers in the jungle
      who hand over the very rare green deer
      to the spit and eat it with remorse,
      I stretched out my feet and pulled on
      the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

      The moral of my ode is this:
      beauty is twice beauty
      and what is good is doubly good
      when it is a matter of two socks
      made of wool in winter.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Omg, this is so amazing. If I were a poet this is EXACTLY how I would write. He sounds as beautifully fucked up as me, lol. An Ode to Socks – Brilliant :)

        Liked by 1 person

        1. Neruda is very interesting – I don’t know how much you know about him, so apologies if I’m telling you things you already know. This links to a brief overview of his life, plus 141 poems.

          I’m assuming you’ve seen il Postino?

          I’m glad you’re a fan, I am too. I was fortunate enough to have a mother who casually handed me all sorts of books from an early age – and a volume of Neruda’s poetry was one.

          She visited his house in Valparaiso and returned with an ad for a local business called Neruda Shoes.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. I haven’t googled – I’m guessing from the rhythm that it’s the poem that’s called ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines’ in English?

            I like hearing stuff in it’s original language – even if I don’t understand a word, it’s still an extremely interesting experience.


                    1. Kidding…nice one. I like that :) What I wanna know is if your emoticons are a correct representation of your facial expressions as you comment?

                      Liked by 1 person

                    2. Thanks for your honesty. It’s a kindness on your part to give people smiles…even if you’re not actually smiling. I’ve usurped your comments section lately. You don’t have to be polite;)

                      Liked by 1 person

                    3. Yes! I changed my name because the old one didn’t suit me anymore. The new one means, and you might laugh at this one, but “deliciously attractive woman” (in the curvy sense) haha. Hey one has to do what makes one feel better.
                      One reader of my blog suggested I change my name to edify me and one that shows my value. Lol.
                      What’s wrong with wanting to feel sexy and attractive? Anyway I told her I already know that I’m smart and creative. What I haven’t been feeling lately is physically attractive. So I changed my persona.

                      Liked by 1 person

          2. I have seen that movie, ages ago, but didn’t remember the Neruda connection. Thanks for the link. I know almost nothing about him actually. But I am inspired to read more of his poetry.

            I love his sensory and tactile imagery. It’s a very Latino way to live actually – passion and sensuality.

            Liked by 1 person

      1. Tonight at 8:00 is when they pick…I’m going to make a shrine for the tickets and pray my ass off, agnostically of course! Will keep you posted!

        Liked by 1 person

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