Internalized

 

Free use image copyright prettysleepy on Pixabay

https://pixabay.com/vectors/woman-grumpy-grouchy-bitch-mean-5378970/

roar of the judgmental voices

putrid and stale as rotting corpse

dark mind

derision dripping rancid hate

couched in sweet social prescriptions

dogma

rough edges made smooth by the tears

falling from my pariah's eyes

guilty

~cie~

http://www.octpowrimo.com/2020/10/octpowrimo-day-19.html

Poetry Form:

Synchronicity, briefly.

This poetry type is supposed to have eight stanzas with an 8/8/2 syllable pattern, but I was done saying what I needed to say in three stanzas.

http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/synchronicity.html

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http://poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com

https://lbry.tv/@poetryofthenetherworld:9

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Copyright Information

The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)

Copyright 2020 by Naughty Netherworld Press/Poetry of the Netherworld

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Carpe Diem Acts of Devotion: Camina de Fatima

Image Source

little disciple

faith strong in a childlike heart

may it bring you joy

~Cie~

Notes:

I may be a misanthropic agnostic at this point in my life, but it wasn't always that way. As a child growing up in New Mexico, I was a devout Catholic. 

Two things pushed me away from the church: dogma and holier-than-thou blind-faith believers who dared neither question nor explore and condemned anyone who did.

Judgment

Their judgmental ways

 Taught me to be tolerant

 Or at least to try

~Cie~

Prompts Abused:

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

(Flip the mask around and upside and down and try talking of the gods the other way.) 

NaPoWriMo

(Think back to your childhood)

Notes:

I grew up in a very judgmental, religiously dogmatic family. My father's family were old world Catholics. My mother's were hard-line Baptists. These judgmental attitudes eventually pushed me away from the church. I didn't want to be that way.

Flipping the issue on its head, a portion of my trifecta of mental illness is borderline personality disorder. People with borderline personality disorder tend to see everything in shades of black and white. I have to fight against this all the time. I tend to take things very personally, to become very defensive, to feel that I am always being attacked or rejected. It makes it very hard to be close to people. I also tend to push people away before they have a chance to hurt me. It is an extremely lonely disorder to live with.

The upshot is, I can't blame my family for the portion of the problem that is mine to bear alone. I have been guilty of being terribly judgmental, and I have hurt people with my judgments.

A Year of Firsts

Someone let Cie loose in Photoshop again

A Year of Firsts

A Gift

You opened my heart

For the first time I know love

Wish I could heal you

A Double Shot for those who would judge my emotions

I shoot from the hip

For the first time in my life

He taught me that too

My experience

Was not lived for you to judge

Think first on your words

~Cie~

Prompt used:

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

If I’m living on borrowed time, do you think I’m gonna waste my time conforming?

Current age: 62 and has no memories of his accomplishments or his family and friends.
Age at onset of dementia: 55 (and fuck you, Universe)

Lewy Body Dementia discovered post-suicide Age: 63

The Real Cie's aunt: probable Lewy Body Dementia, age of diagnosis: 72

Me: Age 49, will be 50 on February 15.

TRIGGER WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE IDEATION

Here's what I'm noticing. This kind of shit seems to be happening in younger and younger people. I'm not a scientist. Nor am I particularly given to believing in conspiracy theories. The Illumin-Naughty seem as likely to exist as the Illuminati, as far as I'm concerned. But I do see a pattern.

I think our world is polluted as fuck, and it's killing us in various and horrible ways. I think all the people succumbing to these shitty forms of dementia have been poisoned by our toxic environment, and it isn't going to get any better anytime soon.

I evidently have a genetic trigger for this shit, and I have been thinking. I may be living on borrowed time. And if I am, I'm going to off myself when I get the diagnosis. I've taken care of people with dementia for all but five years since 1988. I am not putting myself or my son through that shit.

Given that there's a fair possibility that I'm living on borrowed time, do you know what the fuck I'm not going to do?

Care about a bunch of rules set down by a bunch of stodgy, imagination-impaired, heartless, inflexible assholes. 

Believe as I do. Don't believe as I do. I really don't care. But don't fucking tell me how to think and feel. I was never going to conform to your standards anyway. Given that I may only have five or ten years left, I'm going to conform to them even less.

I have an open mind about metaphysical possibilities. I'm not going to close my mind because my beliefs make some people uncomfortable.

I love what and who I love. If you have a problem with that, take a look in the damn mirror as you point your finger at me. Then take a look at the three fingers pointing back at you.

I'm actually not afraid of this possibility. I'm pretty stoic about it. I've had suicide ideation pretty much all my life. I'm not afraid to die. My life hasn't been an easy one. Sometimes I think the easiest thing in the world would be to down a whole bunch of pills with a butt ton of alcohol and just let the world fuck off at last. I'm sick and tired of hearing what a fuckup I am echoing in my damn head all the time.

I'm not doing it today. So don't get your hackles up searching my URL to try and find out where I'm located. This isn't a "right now" suicide note. This is a "if I'm diagnosed with dementia I'm offing myself" note. Because fuck that shit.

So anyway, if I believe in the possibility of ghosts and incarnate people communicating with each other and maybe even becoming friends or falling in love, who the fuck is anyone else to tell me I can't believe that? 

If I believe the personality survives the death of the body, who the fuck is anyone to tell me I can't believe that?

If I believe in an afterlife, but not an afterlife that adheres to some particular set of dogma created by a bunch of stodgy old fucks to control the masses, well, that is what I believe. If it brings you comfort to think of me frying in a fiery pit because of my beliefs, perhaps you're the sick fuck, not me. 

If I believe in reincarnation, how the fuck is that hurting you?

People are always so all-fired hot to tell other people what they should and shouldn't think and feel. I've had it up to here with that shit. None of us knows for sure what happens after we die. My theories are as valid as anyone else's. More to the point, I don't shove them down anybody's throat. 

I guess my point is this. I don't know if I'm living on borrowed time or not, but I damn well could be. Do you think I'm gonna waste that time trying to please anybody by conforming to their particular reality? I can't live your damn reality, nor do I want to. I can only live my own. 

Stop trying to tell other people what to believe, think and feel. As long as what you're doing isn't hurting anybody else, it's nobody's damn business.

One thing I aim to do. When I do get to the other side, whenever that is, I am going to give both of the dudes pictured a great big warm hug, because they both touched my life for the better and both pulled me through when I was a very sad, lonely, and bullied teenager. I wished both of them could be my friends.

I totally shipped "Mork" as my best platonic friend back in the day, and you will never guess which band was Mork's and my favorite. When you're a sad and miserable twelve or thirteen year old, that kind of thing can mean a lot.

When people judge another person's reality based on their own set of experiences, they do the person they're judging a great disservice.

Both Malcolm Young and Robin Williams taught me a lot. The biggest thing they taught me is that having compassion is the most important thing. As neither of them are conventionally attractive, they also taught me that true beauty is in the soul. Not that either of them are ugly, but neither of them would ever be considered "hunky" by any stretch of the imagination.

Both of them struggled with depression and addiction issues. These are certainly things to which I can relate. 

These are beautiful people--truly beautiful people, not Hollywood hyped beautiful on the outside hollow on the inside glamour seeking glory grabbers. If I do end up being one of the many succumbing to the horror of dementia, at least I will know I am in glorious company. I love you Mal, and I love you Robin. And I do not give one single fuck what anyone thinks of that statement.

I guess I've said what I need to say. It pretty well boils down to this. Quit fucking judging. You do not know what another person is going through or what they have been through. Since you haven't experienced their life, you aren't qualified to judge it.

I can't live as if there's no tomorrow, because my Last Day may be here sooner than I ever would have imagined. I have to get what I can done in what time I may have left. I'm not wasting that time conforming to anyone else's bullshit standards.

~Cie~